scottopic: (nuclear halitosis.)
I dreamt about death all night long last night. I was going through a combination of Tibetan Book of the Dead type stuff and Egyptian mishmash my brain was probably making up. It wasn't entirely unpleasant, and it actually was enjoyable, and I encouraged others I saw riding down these paper rafts with the Gaunt Ladies, molding their version of Anubis out of mud, tracing the lines of the I-Ching on walls older than humanity.

As a part of it, one of my closest friends was willfully dying, but it wasn't exactly suicide. Still not happy about that, as they were doing it in a way that would end up trapping their self in an eternal sadness, and it was completely unnecessary, but seemed to fit how life had been approached lately.

No interpretation desired. I wish I had slept.
scottopic: (arr!)
Last night the mystical world of dreams taught me the very important lesson that trying to make Johnny Lydon stay in the kids' rec room to watch Christian children's specials is generally a bad idea. Even your former boss' golden retriever will try to help him escape.

But then his poor repressed wife, while chasing you down the hallway trying to convince you to come back into the rec room, will suddenly start screaming her desire for several professional wrestling figures.

I mean...what the hell?

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