Recent DJ Posts

Scanning groceries, carding people.

It starts out that I was going to call one of my coworkers for some reason. What happened is that when I clicked redial and wound up calling Misha Collins instead. I think I instinctively knew that it was Misha, but I might have asked who I called. Even though the conversation was short and I sounded like a bit of a fan (I wasn't sure what to say, or explain why I was calling,) he was nice about it. I kept trying to figure out how his number was on my redial, since I hadn't called or texted him before. Somehow I did have his number. I was also trying to create a blog post of the experience, but it wasn't working out. I think celebrity interaction should be counted as one of my dream signs.

The architecture and path in one scene, in order to go down, you must take the path that travels up first.

This little girl, her mom was making her a pink, felted sweater with thin, black detailing.

Actors are running amok in my dreeeeaaaaams.

09/21/10

Don't leave your distractions up to me. Things will get dark.

I'm leaning over the stone railing of the balcony, stretched out under afternoon sunlight. The balcony overlooks the city below, with its clay tile rooftops and climbing ivy. This place is teeming with life, and I allow myself to bask in its positive energy. Looking at the roads below, I can see -

Wait.

"Is that guy riding a unicorn?" I ask.

The soldier standing next to me, dressed in forest green camo, puts a hand above his eyes and squints. "Oh, yeah. That's the pizza guy."

"The pizza guy." I repeat flatly. "Of course."

The pizza guy has convinced his unicorn to go up a flight of steps. As he turns the corner, I see his face. I bury my head in my hands.

I appear outside next to him. "Really, Misha?" I say, "You know what'll happen if they catch you?"

He says something.

I shake my head. "The stage is set." I make a grand gesture with a sweep of my arm. "Your distraction is ready."

How many pizzas would you need to feed a platoon of soldiers, anyway?

Vampires.

The girl looks maybe thirteen years old. She's quiet and sullen, and thirty vampires are following her through the darkness.

She didn't mean to turn them. Well, not all of them. As their sire, she's responsible for them, and needs to keep them under control.

I really need to kill a few, she thinks.

She keeps three.

"Rosie," she says, "It doesn't have to be this way." She's staring at the animated corpse of her friend. She turned Rosie into a vampire to save her life.

Rosie laughs, trapped as she is within the circle. Still grinning, she'll speak the words that will damn her friend forever.

Flashback.

This is the girl vampire's past. She's still human, up in the building that I just left, protected by a platoon of pizza-ordering soldiers in forest green.

The soldiers are all dead, attacked by vampires. The girl is injured, bleeding. There is one soldier left, a recurring character. He turns around to reassure her, tell her they'll be all right. He lowers his weapon.

"Look," I say gleefully. "You can see the precise moment that she turns."

She's a vampire now. She kills the soldier.

Scare Factor: 3/10
Rating: 4/10

I realize this was probably confusing. I've got nothing.

I wanna go back to bed. Nothing to see here, folks.

09/09/10



Misha Collins conquers the world one random act of kindness at a time.

Labyrinthine underground cities. A bluish tinge to the grand entrance halls and expansive meeting chambers. Everything carved from stone, going on into the earth for miles.

I'm sitting in a movie theatre, third row from the front, staring into space as the rest of the theatre's patrons file out. I see movement out of the corner of my eye, and I glance up at the guy standing next to me. His head is tilted to the side and he's looking at me curiously.

"Enjoy the movie?" he asks.

"It really makes you think." I allow.

He holds out a hand. "Misha."

"Sam." I say, shaking his hand. "You're one of the producers, right?"

We talk about stuff.

I wake up a few times, and I'm third person POV on a new dream. Buffy and Willow are coaching Xander through some kind of school-related interview. He has to keep eating ice from the soft drinks, or something bad will happen.

Someone says "Rosenburg" a lot, and Buffy gets lectured by a teacher for corrupting Xander and/or Willow.

Scare Factor: 1/10
Rating: 2/10

My dreams lately have been very fuzzy. Granted, if I remembered the entirety of this particular dream, I believe my head would explode.

Saturday, June 26, 2010

I'm the writer and the reader and the characters in the book all at once. "I finished reading the book," I tell someone, "And I was all 'I can't wait for the sequel!', but I still have to write the goddamn sequel myself and I have no idea what happens next!"

I flip over the book and look at the cover. It says, "Supernatural" at the top, above the actual title. Of course I'd be writing for a franchise, I grouse. I flip the book over again, and it's suddenly pages and pages of notes on loose-leaf paper.

Blue is Castiel and orange is someone else, a woman with an angel name. Lucifer? Samael? I'm planning a trip to Squamish by bus, but I haven't left Ixburg.

Also, notes from earlier in the night read, "You know, I actually am going to have to explain this Misha Collins obsession. I waffle on apparent evilness."

Hack Writers. Scare Factor: 2.

ETA: I have proof that Collins stalks his online stalkers. I'm very concerned.

I walk down an empty road, then go climbing.

I'm walking down the highway west of Ixburg. There's a semi-trailer parked at the side of the road. I peer inside, but it's empty. Now that I look around, there are a lot of abandoned vehicles here. The ditches seem to be flooded, as well.

I duck behind the truck as a cop car rolls slowly by, scanning the area for life. Once it's gone, I keep walking.

The road west of Ixburg, in reality, is a mostly flat, straight piece of asphalt leading directly to a bigger highway. In dreams, however, it leads into a treacherous, cliff-like system that's made mostly of mud and would be very bad to drive in during a rainstorm. The Road typically leads to the various parks around Ixburg, the place my Grandma used to live, and Wood Mountain. It's a real place, there just aren't any mountains.

Later, I'll get an image of my mom trying to follow me down The Road in her car. She'll have to call me and ask for directions, and I'll tell her it's more about intent than the road you drive down.

shift

I'm lead climbing on an indoor structure. I haven't hooked myself into the first bolt, and this is a dangerous route to climb. If I fall now, I'll hit the protruding ledge directly below be, probably break something, and go tumbling all the way to the ground.



I look back at my climbing partner, who is... Misha Collins. Hello again. Guess who's turning into a dream sign?

Two men are arguing in the change-rooms. I'm one of them. The other guy is my boyfriend, I think, and he's... um... yelling very loudly that he isn't gay? What?

The Road. Scare Factor: 2.

Misha Collins advances his plans for world domination. Parents do not approve.

So, I'm sitting on the couch in our old apartment in Ixburg. My dad and I are making fun of an awful movie we rented, which makes for the majority of our father/kid bonding time. Minus work, of course.

The phone rings.

My dad picks up the cordless, and I can hear the voice on the other end, asking for Jack. I recognize the voice and make a grab for the phone, but my dad holds it out of reach. Why is everyone taller than me?

"Who's calling?"

It's Misha, says the voice on the other end. My dad scowls and hangs up on him.

"What?" I say, waving my arms. "Why would you do that?" I snatch the phone away and look at the call display, then throw him the phone and stomp off to my room.

I send a text to the number I read on call display.

Yeah, sorry about that. You should probably just call my cell.

Telephone. Scare Factor: 1.

This is getting out of hand.

I survived Stonehenge Apocalypse, and all I got was this lousy macro.

I drift in and out of sleep as the wind blows my curtain open and closed. I'm watching a slideshow, or a countdown, or a list of clips in order, and why won't the curtain stay shut?

I'm standing on the deck of a hotel, looking down through the pyramid-shaped skylight. I have the feeling that someone's gonna fall through it by the end of the night. There are people milling about, drinking and generally having a good time, and I'm standing inside now.

Misha Collins shows up, once again. (There are subliminal messages on his twitter feed, I swear.) He's standing near the entrance to the pool, looking around and smiling.

"So... why are we here?" I ask.

"It was a robot head," he says seriously.



Swimming Pools. Scare Factor: 1.

Fragment: Misha Collins and I walk through a grassy field, looking for a shed or a house that contains something important.

Fragment: My own dark energies are overshadowed by the presence of bright blue.

I've somehow popped into the Sandman universe, after the end of the Lucifer series. Considering I'm the devil herself at the moment, albeit one from an alternate reality, I think it prudent to avoid people who might recognize me.

A group of the ex-Lucifer's allies are converging upon a town, ready to attack, for some reason. I have an image of him (from my avatar) crashing into one of the buildings with a semi-truck, stepping out unharmed. I realize that I'm going to have to hide my healing ability.

I make for the rooftops. I run up a ramp and leap onto the side of a three-story building, using tiny handholds to inch my way onto the roof. I get to the edge, and I pull myself up, and immediately scramble for cover at the back of the roof. Mazikeen jumps up the same way I came, armed with a sniper rifle and ready to take out enemies on the ground.

I notice that she's recovered the other half of her face.



I inch out of my hiding place to get a better look at her, and she turns around. "Lucifer?" she accuses, calling fire into the palm of her right hand.

"Um, no?" I say, "Not yours, anyway."

She doesn't seem to believe me, and being burned alive is never fun.

"'He flew outside of creation, and the nothing imposed itself upon him. Or maybe he imposed himself upon the nothing.'" I misquote, "It was something like that, anyway."

Yeah, that fireball doesn't seem to be dying down.

"I'm here to help! Really!"

"You're here to help?" She says mockingly, "What can you do?"

Some time later...

I'm a child in white, laid out over an altar. A man holds a knife out in front of him, poised to strike into my heart. Like lightening, I stand up and take the knife, slashing across his throat and spraying arterial blood into the audience. A woman licks her lips, and I wonder what it tastes like to her.

One sacrifice down.

Stray Little Devils. Scare Factor: 2.

A dream occurs on two levels of reality. In one, the cast and crew of Supernatural go about their daily business of making an awesome TV show. In another, I go about my daily business of building houses. This gets confusing when suddenly I'm Misha Collins, calmly vacuuming up sawdust in the basement while a highly amusing PA briefs me on whatever they're doing next. Also, a suspended ceiling puts itself together in the writer's room and the baseboards I've been staring at for the last few days drift in and out of existence at eye-level.

shift

I'm in a den, or a living room, and I think this was a mall a second ago. Everything is in dark shades of brown and black. I'm sitting on a brown leather couch facing a wide-screen TV, and along the opposite wall is a set of dark-stained table and chairs. Beyond the table is another room, which is completely white. Right now, it might be a kitchen, but it's about to turn into a slaughterhouse.

I have my laptop open on the couch, though I'm not paying much attention to what I'm looking at. I move over to the table when a ten-year-old boy wants to flip through the channels on the TV, looking for his favorite cartoon. When I look back, he's pulling up a page on another laptop, which is a list of his favorite cartoons, put together by his dad. A static image of one of the characters shows up on a projector behind the couch, and I start drawing it.

It's later. A team of vigilantes/ex-minions have found out what's really going into the meat made by this factory. They/we are standing around the owner, backing him into the white room. The boy* is wearing some kind of Kickass-style costume like the others in the room, and is staring at his father with an incredibly detached expression.

*I wouldn't worry about the little sociopath. I get the feeling that the vigilantes are all puppets on a string to him.


Practically the Antichrist.

Two men grab the owner and force him toward the wall. He's shouting at them and struggling to get away, but when his back hits the wall, it latches onto him and forces him down a tube. I drift through the wall, and I can see the human sized plastic tunnel he's trapped in. Pistons are forcing the right side of his body, as he's alive and screaming, against the meat grinder. His right arm, part of his leg, and the edge of his scalp have been torn apart by the machine when I see his expression shift, angry but resigned, and the machine eats into his brain.

He probably wishes he'd designed the machine to kill its victims less horrifically, I muse. A straight-razor, perhaps? The machine rearranges itself on my whim, and I wonder if cutting the throat upside-down or right-side-up would be more effective.

Three women are standing in the same room, which, maybe, is supposed to be a different place entirely? They talk about the dead owner's eldest daughter, who has sworn revenge on us/them for killing her father, his right hand man, his lieutenants, the captain who exported the shipments, the cleaning lady, and possibly me, considering I'm short of a body at the moment. Also, for kidnapping her little brother, who I'm half-sure started the coup anyway.

They laugh a little and say they have to get back to camp, so they jump out of the building and land on the ice of a half-frozen river, and start speeding down it as if they're on a slide. I have to keep nudging them closer to shore so their momentum won't carry them out onto the middle of the river, which is slushy and wouldn't hold their weight.

One person crashes into the slush anyway. No one pays attention, and I have no idea if s/he gets out alive.

The women arrive at a rocky shore where a bunch of colourful tents are set up. No one brought chairs, so someone fetches pillows for the half-frozen trio to sit on, and blankets to keep them warm. I, still incorporeal, follow the guy who gets them and see a whole pile of pillows lying on the ground.

Oh, and someone's getting married.

Soylent Green. Scare Factor: 3.5. Reaction: Lucidity, you escape me. And the meat grinder thing was pretty fucked up, too.

ETA: Oh! I know! I know! It was green, and had a giant lizard's head and sharp teeth that changed direction to spiral inwards and then fan out, and I knew I was dreaming because all of my dreams are just that fucking insane.

I can feel it nudge up against me, feel its scales and warm breath as it bumps its nose against my shoulder, and I'm not afraid because I know this is a dream...

And that's all I remember.