Recent DJ Posts

A man's talking to a woman he's recently made immortal. She's very upset, talking about the moment when she'd thought she was about to die, and how she'd thought back on all these things in her life - her family, and the man she'd almost married. I see an image of that man lying in a pool of blood with her kneeling beside him - injured in the line of duty; he's a fed, she was a cop. He survived that. She's saying to the man who made her immortal that she doesn't expect him to be able to understand any of this - it's implied that she thinks of him as too inhuman. He's annoyed. He says to her, if she's so fixated on dying, go right ahead. If a year goes by and she's still feeling so "inconsistent," come tell him, and he'll kill her himself. He's entirely serious, but he believes that this won't be necessary - he believes that trying to make her focus on living will just drive her further into this self-destructive line of thought, but that if she spends time thoroughly thinking about death, she'll stop desiring it.

(Woke up. Back to sleep.)

The soprano from the other night, looking a little younger here, is sitting in a room with another woman, both of them dressed all in white with long white gloves. There's a mirror on the wall behind them. This other woman is standing up and singing, holding sheet music in her left hand - it's light popular music; she sings prettily but not professionally. The door to the hall opens, and a third young woman says, complaining, "Cora, it's almost dawn."

I'm standing on an empty stage, going over some papers for the show currently in rehearsals. My soprano calls down to me from one of the boxes - she calls me Mr. Bevelle or Deville or something similar-sounding. She's got black hair done up like a Gibson girl, and an unusually high speaking voice, but in a way that I find pleasant. However, we're both aware her singing voice isn't going to last - she's only going to be able to perform in a few more shows. Because of that, she keeps coming to me like this with demands on how to run her last shows.

Scene changes to show her at rehearsal. I'm disembodied this time, without Deville's sense of background information, and I only catch three notes of her singing - lovely clear tones - but I recognize Lohengrin.

(Woke up. Back to sleep.)

I'm disembodied and observing a setting based on China some centuries ago. Literally just observing the setting - I'm outside of the timeline. Nothing is moving, not even the waves, and the colors of everything are incredibly saturated. I'm on a path with the sea to my right after a long drop, a long single-story house directly in front of me on this path, and several two-story buildings off to my left, among green fields. Far off in the distance I can see the shine of a building decorated in gold. Following the path, it curves to the left of that long house, and off to my left there's a man and a woman standing in a field, embracing, yellow flower petals frozen in the air around them. I know of them, though I don't know them personally. There's something secret about their relationship.

I retrace my steps back to the entrance to that long house, where those two live. I look in briefly, noting the room where she stayed off to my right, with a window looking out to the sea. I leave the house again and circle around to the right, hovering over the sea, sticking closely to the side of the building. There's a door hidden here - she escaped through here, sometime after that embrace in the field among the flowers. It becomes difficult to cling to the side of the building. I float above the water, following the path she took, until I come to another building and look inside - there's a pallet on the floor where she stayed for a while. A doctor looked after her here.