Sweven
Member

Not much to my recall this morning. Just flickers of things that I hope will trigger a fuller recall later.

1- Weight and depth lie behind parallel lines chalked upon a black board.

2- A Gandalf-esque shadow crosses my path but there is no wizard to be seen.

3 - Bliss is found in nonsensical sounds.

Betrothal
Such strangeness to be betrothed to a stranger. This union feels useless. Laughter erupts from my knotted gut. Walk out. Grin at the gathering. They glare back, strangers wrapped in Sunday best. My promised pleas for return. I run. Escape harder for the drama of it all. Find more feeling under wild skies and winding dirt roads.

Kin
Impatiently we await the arrival of all kin. Our golden seats never truly fill. One comes. One goes. We are never all there. We are never collected. We never commence.

Jaws
But for an immense jaw, the rest of her is plain. Teeth, like crackled spades shine our way. In friendship? In threat? We can not say. Snake closer. Can not angle my eyes away from the anomaly that is her mouth.

Ponies and Dragons
I know this prancing place with its waning wicks, somber songs, spirits swilling spirits. I desire sustenance, not possession. There is nothing to nourish me here. Slip through splintered portals. Step sudden into the bright. My soul alights. "Is this the Dragon?" I ask a dancer-by. A nod. A smile. A nudge into the spree. I am embraced entirely.

Note: Finally, without a doubt, made it into the Shire. There have been fleeting instances where I perhaps have been there. But they went without confirmations so I could not rightly claim them. But last night, I was there. I can confidently check 'Visit Middle Earth' and 'Visit the Shire' off my list. Now to get to that big birthday bash in Hobbiton. So close yet so far away.

No dreams recalled on the morning of the 9th.

September 10th

Stranger Party
Roused by shimmers of 'Sing around the Posy'. Know not where I am going or from where I have come. Sing our way to some stranger party. We never arrive.

Flickering Sea
Hundreds of candlesticks blaze cross twilit undulations of a clipped crop. On the fringe of this flickering sea of memories are faces. Some smile Some weep. Some seem asleep. Some stay as simple as sunless stones. I keep lighting fires.

Cast Away
Wind pours through labyrinth alleys. Like jilted rats, people scatter at sight of twisting grey. A baby is abandoned, blanket wound, near trampled. I carry the cast away. Barely elude the loveless stroke of seething heaven.

No dream recollections for the 11th.

Dreams from the 7th Drifters
Snow swift. Cars drift. Shelter in some random roadside lot. Majestic snow ploughed mountains call. Step up the steeper side... then slide. Other sanctuary seekers follow suit. We slide away the frigid day.

The Blessing
Secret spaces. Eager faces. Voices, hopeful, hushed. Spirits are alight while we plot out the night. Past Overhill we will quest for a blessing.

Nothing recalled this morning of the 8th.