quirkytizzy: (Default)
After a night of bad dreams, I went back down to catch up on sleep...only to have an entire afternoon's worth of bad dreams. Demons, the return of Hell to earth, my mother (OF COURSE) joining a cult in which demanded the sacrifice of her children (OF COURSE), and me finding a way to squirrel Cassie into safety. I gave Cassie the keys to an old Jeep. I wanted very much for Cassie to take me with her, but as she drove away, I knew the only way she'd escape was if I stayed. I told my Mom, "Tell you what. Since's she not coming back, you can take me."

I didn't know if it would be enough, only that my mother then stopped scanning the street for the fleeing Jeep and returned her attention to me.

And then more demons. Demons crawling over the cages of culled children, all waiting to be eaten. The demons were tittering and squealing in giddy anticipation. And I walking into their den, terrified, saying "They can no longer harm me", and not believing that even a teeny, tiny bit.

So my subconscious is working out abandonment issues, family bullshit, wanting to be the hero, and as always, fucking demons. This is why, for years, I thought for sure my soul was the battleground for some legion of evil.

Oi.

The sky was interesting, though. Black clouds, black as soot, rolling, splitting only in infinitesimal cracks to let a sickly orange bleed through onto the asphalt. Thunder rattling the houses, thunder that had no lightening or storm to go with it. It would have been beautiful, had it not been the herald to all that is good ending.

I really ought to write them out in full. Thing is, by the time I'm done getting the Cliff Notes out onto LJ, I'm sick of the dream and want it to just fade away. Which, of course, it doesn't, because I'm an idiot and have already written the Cliff Notes to be seared into memory forever.

My brain is such a jerk.
quirkytizzy: (Default)
Someday I will meet someone whose favorite music video is Poets Of The Fall's "Carnival of Rust".

They will know how hauntingly beautiful I find that sort of imagery, because they will find it beautiful, too.

Someone who finds comfort in morbidity. Someone who wants to talk about Death right before sleep. Someone who does not find it a frightening time to discuss the possibility of never waking up. Someone who wants to bring flowers to a graveyard, so that they can lay them upon the graves of those who have no visitors.

Someone who does not indulge in these things for me, but whom does it for their own sake. Someone who does not see it as some adorable outcropping of a past goth youth, but rather whom still feel it themselves. Someone who is not afraid of the haunted, lost parts of a human soul...and someone who finds solace in the things within Carnival of Rust.

In the rusty, the decaying, the fading sound of life. Someday I will meet this person.

Then I will know.

I will know.

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