C Minor

I'm washed up on the shore and without hesitation nor question, move toward the flapping sheets covering the markets.

We are in Thailand, flashbacks replaying of death, sadness, emptiness. Mother is standing there, looking at the fruits, I am so aware.

I love her intensely, watching her turn the light green fruit in her hand. It is as if we are undercover, sometimes I can see the sky, sometimes it is as if concrete.

Swirling flashbacks come to a boy, he moves to me in the market with another boy from a school once upon a time. They are typically nerdy, but normal in their relaxed and easygoingness.

I see the house we once lived in, coming back to the market again.

He looked at me, noticing me, moving towards me, trying to kiss me.
No, no, no, no. I move to mother and squat behind her, feeling him place his hands on my shoulders and lightly massaging. Shaking to one side passively and then the other, I twist away, and turn to look at him saddened and already over there. I tell him I will talk to him, unsure what to say, that I will talk tomorrow.

I move up to him and hold his hands and then flashback to more. Grey almost dark streets, the house where I have lived, they want to sell it.
An elephant moves slowly away, and I go as they all watch me walking down the street towards home.

I am there and look into the smoked glass, the place has lost it's life.
I am alone.

Wait, ClouD has a dream journal? :D

*tear* that was beautiful o.o

I'm not sure of what all was going on, but the writing was so nice I'm willing to read and reread until I understand <3

For me dreams are often emotional and I tend to end up alone lately.

I do have two other dream journals, though they're old and unused, with dreams that don't seem I dreamt any more.

I have discovered a/my definition for lucidity, from the contrast of last night.

Lucidity is all about detachment, the more attached the less awareness, but not necessarily less clarity. The more attachment the less real control -- as opposed to superficial control.

-

It's been so long since I've not had control. I lost control through getting distracted in the scenario, without also maintaining a double edged consciousness of detachment -- this was taken for granted since it had become naturally habitual over the last long months, I think I had almost completely forgotten the comparison.

The insane anaemia. Perhaps it was sleep paralysis, more likely a dream of sleep paralysis.

'My' sister disappeared. She'd been abducted, tortured and raped. Somehow I knew this already, and had to find her.

The dream swirled and zoomed. The second dream was even more-so, so many false awakenings, and some real ones, almost indistinguishable.

'My' brother wouldn't help me. Two Thai girls were sitting on the bed, watching me struggling to get up, the vision completely shaken. It felt like constantly losing my balance, changing direction in an endless vacuum.
I wasn't interested in them, some federal agents were playing their games with black cars and conspiracies, while I struggled to ignore and determine reality from dream.

I didn't manage to, I woke up shaken and scared, and have continued to feel strange up to now.

Letting the fake SP set in, had been the *superficial* problem I think, the catalyst for my attention to be completely divided, truly further losing lucidity for the first time in a long time -- losing that double edged awareness. Slowly dwindling the entire night, just before waking I lost it all.

-

Off to work.

Is this real.

Another question. So fucking commonly asked as human beings and satisfied by another wandering thought -- or so I it thinks.

I don't even see how I can be I any more.
Any more?

I can't see. Shhhh

addap.

Happy sad playful seriousness.

-

Will not be at DV for a while. Not going to kill myself, har ha ha.

Hurrhurr. Taking a break, having a kit kat, thinking of you. Tell a lie. Though I do love you.

-

Do you know that feeling, when there's a post that you have been slowly typing and rereading, and rereading, and rereading, and then the tab somehow refreshes, the browser crashes, or perhaps like in this scenario your "display driver failed to reset" and you get to see a blue screen with anti-anti-aliased, in another word pixelated, white letters and numbers. That feeling where that piece of life, that piece of expression, that very essence of history, of you, yourself, is thought dead.

Well that was the feeling. Yet even a blue-screen-of-death has a lesser effect in that way and seemingly trumps a primitive ctrl+r mistake in it's ability to not-destroy-the-text-typed-into-a-field-in-Firefox.
Note the capitalisation in firefox.

-

I will be taking a break perhaps. Don't die on me.

Rabia, Devir, Daniel, Sean, Gabi, Sam Sam Sam Sam. Actually Sam, die already, live already, blah blah blarg, enjoy some animal flesh as it filters through yours.

The end for now, see you in chat in a couple of weeks may be, otherwise other wise.

:hug: Aww, well I eagerly await your return :) It's gonna be a worse world for many of us without being able to chat with you every night, don't stay away too long! :hug: http://i36.photobucket.com/albums/e27/shiftld/rape.gif

Not to mention I have just discovered that you have a dream journal, and after the first entry I'm wanting to read more!!! Your writing is so beautiful, like an abstract painting or photograph :D

See you later, Jake! We'll definitely miss you! n__n

Enjoy your break, mister moderator of dreamviews!

I miss you.

Don't try to remember;

-

Where are these coming from?

Sitting in a dark room, the calm coldness of air and metal against hands.
It feels like a splash of iced water into face, or a sharp intake of cool air that sends such clarity -- cold has always been that.

Is this a dream, I ask.
The question seems valid, yet invalid, anaemic but with awareness, like I do not need an answer, like I am not expecting an answer.
It still comes.

Disgusting and disgusted, I feel like Sam Fisher infiltrating some facility without reading the briefing. No objective, just shooting, the visual flashbacks come again. Flashbacks? Alternate universes, what is, what is not, what is. I am thinking within a thought, I can see a thin scarf, like soft material, strangling throat with hands of another non-playable-character, rigid graphics where I can see the patterns stretched around block shoulders. Acceptable.
Then 'back', classical music, but utter silence. The scarf-like material floating away with a breeze, watching me, Sam Fisher, as the pale light comes through somewhere.

-

Three AM begs to differ.

I'm running to the left of the restaurant, not so 'away' from the meeting of us gunmen, more just another tangent of action.

Two times I run across the the glass-ceiling banquet room, realising it's repeating itself if I run this direction.

I'm fed up, I look at my sister, she is 'ice'-skating on the floor of the open and white room, surrounded by tables and chairs. I spin faster, showing the others up, my sister becoming me. I am wondering to myself what would happen if I said I was lucid, remembering specifically a conversation between Shift and I on what lucidity is.

I tell them all, I am lucid. The awareness doesn't change. I have complete control, but no more than I did previously. It's like I can always do anything, and already know it -- always lucid(?), but uncaring for it.

Always so aware, but this did nothing. I look at them, and cry. What are they? Will they die with my waking? This is me, this is all me, and what am I?

I let the impossible questions stop, I look at one boy. He is crying for the same reason I am.

I darken the shadows in the room, so they rapidly engulf the light, everything disappearing.

I awake.