wolven7 | Well. That was one of THE weirdest-feeling Dreams, i've ever had.

Not bad. Simply very very strange.

I'm in the grocery store, with my dad, and we're talking about how i don't want the State Department Job. He thinks i'm being very weird about the whole thing, and that it's not as bad as it might seem. We're in the grocery store, in my head, with the mostly sepia lighting, except where it's flourescent white. We pass orange juice, in the open coolers, they use for things, in indivdual 20oz bottles, and i ask him to hand me one. He somewhat sarcastically sighs, and grabs two. One for him, and one for me. We walk toward the check out line.

I'm talking with Seth, and we'er in an online game, that's something of a combination of Wave Race, for the Nintendo 64, Sonic 3D, and Star Wars Galaxies. I'm IN the game, as a character, and he's playing the game, somewhere else, as his character. There's another guy, sliding around on the ice and snow, in an inner tube, and he's playing a character that's related to Seth's. I say to Seth, "Huh, so i guess ther ARE fun things to do in this game." Meaning i can feel and play in the snow, because i'm IN the game. I start riding around the hils and trenches, and valleys, and so on, in an inner tube, and it's awesome. I slide out onto an ice-shelf, and fall through the ice.

I'm swiming around, with someone, which is, in their mind, equivalent to searching a kitchen, for food, and is, in fact, the exact same action. We're looking for... Flesh. Nondescript, floating, pink cunks of flesh. Some people think they're rancid, but he knows that they aren't, so we're trying to find them, for lunch. We're wandering, and swimming, and i come to a net, and he starts ranting, "Get rid of that net, we don't need it, and neither does the whale." I look over, and there's a huge whale, though, somehow, i know not as beig as we Actually are, and he's simply sitting there, floating, on the other side of this ocean-sweeping net, not moving, waiting. I take the net's edge, and move it back, along the line used to hold it up. It's like a shower curtain. After i move that, but don't get too close to the whale, i start kicking upward, toward the surface. It's not like i'm having trouble breathing, or holding my breath, or whichever i'm doing, underwater; i simply know that it's time to go back to the surface. Every time i break the water, it's so dark and murky above, and the Temperatuer is the same, that i have to use the feel of the air, and splash of the water, to let me know i'm not underwater, anymroe. The net extends all the way up, now, and i have to jump, from the bottom, up, three times, before i can securely grab the net. I jump out of the water, and hold on.

I'm standing next to a bunk bed, which is the combination of every bunkbed in which i've ever slept. I'm leaning against it, trying to convince myself to go to sleep, because tomorrow is Christmas. I'm in a combination of my mom's house, and my dad's house of 13th street. I can't get to sleep, because there's all this stuff i want to do. Places i want to be. I realise that i need to know things, that there are places i have to revisit, so, thinking about everything i've done during the day, and all the things i want to remember, i go to sleep. When i wake up, it's 1989, and i'm 7 again. I'm in our House in Olney, and i'm looking out the window, where i see, in an odd combination of a large, estate-style driveway, and the Circle, which was Cashell Court, my grandfather's old car, from when i was little. It's christmas, so it's time to wake up and get ready, but my dad isn't my dad. He's a combination of my dad, and my friend George David's dad. And he doesn't wan't me listening to some rap tape, i have, which seems to be a combination of Dr Dre, LL Cool J, and Ice Cube. I tell him that i haven't listened to it, and that i'm just holding it. He says to himself, that it's time to go visit the family of the boy for whom i'm holding the tape. He goes to the house of the family, which is like a mansion. Underneath it, i can feel the idea of my father's father's house. He's talking to the people, and accidentally spills some tea, on their white-cushioned, wicker chair. He says to them "So what's for lunch?" To which the woman replies "Lunch?" He says "Why, yes, I Would like to stay for lunch. Thank you." And he goes into the kitchen.

I'm sitting in bed, looking out the window, out onto the pool, where i see some guy with my "mom," who happens to be Angela Bassett, from "How Stella Got Her Groove Back." They're flirting and stuff, around the pool, making out, or something. It focuses on them, by the ppol, for a bit, and I stop paying attention.

I'm in the dining room next to the the kitchen of my grandfather's house, and I'm waiting for my mom to finish cooking me lunch. I ask her, looking down at what used to be several tupperware tubs of candy, but is now only one, "Is this all of the candy?" to which she laugh and says "No," with an under-current of "Don't be Silly." I know that lunch will be broccoli and carrots, and maybe eggs and dry wheat toast. Because we are in my father's father's house, and that's what is had for lunch, here.

I'm sitting on my bed, which is now arranged, like it was in the last apartment, and is not a bunkbed, and i'm tuning my guitar, which can also be a bass. I'm tuning it, and playing it, a little, and i see fushi's face, briefly, in some reflective surface, looking bored. Sitting there, tuning, and playing, i think to myself, about the road trip, through the woods, with comorbid. It was through a place that doesn't Really exist, but is a combination of a few parts of DC, and some park grounds, in Maryland, and an area or two, in Atlanta. The road lead to mech_angel's neighbourhood, and we were going to go visit her. I look out the window, again, and see the woods, the front yard, the pool, all of which are on different sides of the house. I go outside, and down stairs.

I'm watching and am, only a little, Cuba Gooding, Jr. yelling at his mom, Angela Bassett, about how she's cheating on dad, and he's simply gone out, for a bit. We're on the family farm, out in Virginia, combined with the house in Olney, and she's yelling, and we have blood on our shirt, from something, maybe barbed wire, and we walk away. Turning, there's a cop, there, and he's pointing a gun. I say "You'll never get away with it." He says "The blood on your shirt... I could say tht you attacked me," and he cuts his face a little, "and i had to kill you," and he goes on to explain why he would get away with it. But, as he does, he changes, talking about how he couldn't do it. How he couldn't kill someone who was nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize, and countless scholarships. How he couldn't just throw that kind of man in jail. And we're In a jail. Cuba is talking to the cop, and the cop reaches over to fix Cuba's tie clip, and straighten the whole thing out. The cop has a huge scar, on the left side of his face, like he's beem severely burned. He has a familial love for the man, across from him.

In a barber shop, that looks more like a stylized florist, in New Orleans, with ornate wrought iron, and flowering plants, everywhere. In the middle of the shop is an old man, getting a haircut, and talking about to someone, unseen, about an appeal. The unseen voice is standing right next to me, and asking for help. This big (not fat) maid, finishes cutting his hair, and turns him around. When turned around, he's no longer an old man in a suit, but an old woman in a maid's outfit, and she's fallen asleep. The unseen voice askes the first maid "Should we wake him up? It's kind of important." She says "I'll do it," and leans down next to the old, sleeping maid's ear and screams "WAKE UP!!! Wake Up, Damnit! I swear you'd sleep throguh the Apocalypse..." Hearing that last, and trying, again, to look at the unseen voice, but being pretty certain of who it is, i wake up

The weird part about that dream wasn't the content, precisely, but the continuity of feeling, from wone section, to the next. A sense of late spring in the south, and the north, at once. I could feel what everyone, there, felt and thought, and they were their indivdual feelings, for the most part; not something constructed, by me. And that's an odd feeling. I'm going to go, now, so that i may do things, today, which need to be done, by me. Reading, and so on.

I'll talk to you all, later.