The death of a moon cowboy

I am a somewhat-youth with ideas and thoughts and too many dreams that sometimes overflow as these little dribblings from my fingertips. I guess you can try to collect and capture them.

Tuesday, September 30, 2008

Strange warriors dream

[dream, morning of 09302008]

We were downstairs, a filthy empty floor in an abandoned warehouse or factory. We were warriors. I had a steel weapon, long and thin that waved like a whip. We saw our enemies--two of them, male--and we attacked. My companion had a long sword. I swung my whipblade and it cut into one of our enemies. At one point he blocked it and it reversed in my grip, came back and cut into my own hand, nearly severing three fingers. I finally decapitated one of them. After we had defeated both of them, I looked down at my hand. My wound was healing up rather nicely. My body's healing abilities were rapid.

We also had to avoid the michens, small insect-like creatures--almost mechanical--that crawled across the dingy underground floors. If they caught you, they put you into a state of suspension. You turn gray and become immobile. Like looking at a Gorgon/Medusa. We quickly stepped over them and left.

--- ---

So the dream was much longer than that, but that's all I ended up remembering. When I woke up my hand was actually hurting like it was in the dream. I must've been sleeping on it funny or lost circulation or something. I'm sure that the whipblade in the dream was inspired by a tape measure which the kids and I played with the night before. Dreams = reality.

Wednesday, September 10, 2008

Wolf dream, morning of 20080910

I was with two other guys on a wide dirt trail, almost like a 4WD road. One of the guys I work with. I don't remember the other. A bedraggled wolf started following us. He was missing patches of gray fur, looked scrawny and hungry. He was gaunt by ferocious-looking. I took out my gun and pointed it at him as he approached us. As if he knew what a gun was and was threatened by it. But I didn't know what to do. The wolf kept coming. Kurt took out his gun, an old six-shooter pistol, and was trying to load it. "I'll take care of it," he was saying. But the gun jammed; he couldn't get it to work. He banged it against his palm.

The wolf snarled and came closer. It lunged at me and I shot it, shot it right in the heart. Dark blood came oozing out immediately, and the bullet slowed the wolf down so I dodged to the right. The wolf became desperate and continued after me. I avoided it and ran to the edge of a hill that sloped downward. We danced, back and forth, he trailing blood and I breathing heavily, trying to keep my distance. We stumbled at the little cliff's edge, and I stepped down on its slope to get away. I looked down at the desert and sagebrush below.