Sweven

I seem to have misplaced a couple of days worth of dreams. Will add them when they're found.

22nd

Runner
Seary runs away backward. "Come back!" I yell. He laughs and runs. Catch him mid street. He is a young woman. Enraged at having to pursue, I slap her in the face three times. With broken obedience, she follows me to the sidewalk. Witnesses don't admonish my violence.

Basslines
It's Duff from Guns and Roses. Catch him. Walk. Talk. "Have you heard my solo stuff?". "Of course," I lie. He asks if I like the bass from tow or undertow better. Lie again. We carry on a half fake conversation about basslines.

Flatlands Camp
No hills, trees, or other vertical elements except for tents and their people dotting the landscape. A campground of absolute flatness. A boring spot to settle. On the bright side, when it is dark, the starfield will be spectacular. Live for the night.



23rd

Hypnagogic
Grocery aisle made narrow by wire bins
Wall of computer monitors stretches across my field of view
A very tall narrow building, only the width of a room
A limping man with a dog whom he slaps at lightly
A woman's neck compresses, she's a head on shoulders
Someone carries too many grocery bags through a crowd

Art Stock
Stock art supplies in some store. Mybur's children happen through. Give extra supplies to them. They talk about an art show they joined. Luc said he painted a tree. Mys says she painted a sunset. We wish there were more art shows for youth.

Knocking
Midnight knock on a front door. Navigate shadow to answer. No one. Back to bed. Knock on the back door. Navigate again. No one. Then a rain of random knocking, windows, walls, roof, doors. See no one. Call 911. Digits are disorganized. With bat and my longest blade, await. Back door creaks open. Stranger steps in. Slash and stab. He screams. Bash and bludgeon. He falls. His dying words, "It was just a prank." Now wait for whatever will fall.

A Hand
Mybur's children find me again. Steer me to their art. Show me to their mom. She and Dohaw lounge neath an oak. A stone summons me, a petrified, coiled leaf. It softens, uncoils. A strange shape is revealed. Turn it upside down to see a flattened, mummified baby hand, wrist bones exposed. Go to the gallery to notify whoever needs to be notified. They take the hand. They take, too, the the giant ostrich plume I didn't know was mine. Return to oak. People are gone. Sit. Pick through the leaves for further parts.