wastelands...
i just had a dream where i was hitching a ride with friends to somewhere x-country and was left for dead near an abandoned river. i wandered through a field of wheat and found a house where i left a backpack that appeared when i found the house in a room while i climbed a bluff to look out over the plains.
I saw a huge granite labrynthe [there's got to be a way to misspell that right] formation miles distant and knew i would confront them in the grecian city at the top.
skidding down the rocks of the bluff like an olympic skiier i ran into some freaks moving into a room in the house. their crew of friends had heard of the big house on the river and snagged it to live in, they were the first to show. in that amazing style of freaks that instantly accept eachother because they've chosen to be different i was one of their crew without question. in several hours i had a ride out to a pit stop on a main drag that lead to the city on the granite from a tank-grrl low on gatoraide and marlboros.
i stomped along a 4-lane for time unnoticed but finally thumbed a ride from a hick driving a gas liner out to a diner at the base of the city. in the shadow of the granit spires covies white birds flew like spastic clouds.
and i climbed.
as i topped the spire i was on the city spread out in front of me, a thousand mediteranean houses each on a spire of their own each with a rope bridge interconnecting them with the others with a mighty byzantine-orthadox meeting hall at the center apex.
i wound my way up, giddy with delicious virtigo at every bridges center. resting on top of one whitewashed 3-high i saw those that had abaononed me several spires away making their way up.
i woke.
i don't have to be freud to interpret this one. abandoned acceptance, wasteland forged alone, random people that don't question who i am, tales of mighty things distant that i can envision clearly though they're further than sight should bring me [hell the labrynth was something joel told me about just last night] and a twisted ghetto path through the nothingness to the goal.
*snorts* there are times my subconcious is subtle. this isn't one of them.
I saw a huge granite labrynthe [there's got to be a way to misspell that right] formation miles distant and knew i would confront them in the grecian city at the top.
skidding down the rocks of the bluff like an olympic skiier i ran into some freaks moving into a room in the house. their crew of friends had heard of the big house on the river and snagged it to live in, they were the first to show. in that amazing style of freaks that instantly accept eachother because they've chosen to be different i was one of their crew without question. in several hours i had a ride out to a pit stop on a main drag that lead to the city on the granite from a tank-grrl low on gatoraide and marlboros.
i stomped along a 4-lane for time unnoticed but finally thumbed a ride from a hick driving a gas liner out to a diner at the base of the city. in the shadow of the granit spires covies white birds flew like spastic clouds.
and i climbed.
as i topped the spire i was on the city spread out in front of me, a thousand mediteranean houses each on a spire of their own each with a rope bridge interconnecting them with the others with a mighty byzantine-orthadox meeting hall at the center apex.
i wound my way up, giddy with delicious virtigo at every bridges center. resting on top of one whitewashed 3-high i saw those that had abaononed me several spires away making their way up.
i woke.
i don't have to be freud to interpret this one. abandoned acceptance, wasteland forged alone, random people that don't question who i am, tales of mighty things distant that i can envision clearly though they're further than sight should bring me [hell the labrynth was something joel told me about just last night] and a twisted ghetto path through the nothingness to the goal.
*snorts* there are times my subconcious is subtle. this isn't one of them.