Strange Days
Okay . .It gets wierd from here on in of this post. Tread Carefully
There is a house. It's a two story victorian. Blue and white on the outside. Its in the middle of no where on a wind swept outcropping of rock into the ocean. Its not in the best condition. I guess it's my dream palace. If such thing really exist. It's not scary in the least, its actually very bright and airy. It's one of those places that is old and tired, but you can tell at one time children ran and played through it and it was and is loved. It's littered with stuff, and the floor is real hard wood. Aged and scared, but clean and swept and moped and oil'd. It smells a little like boil'd patato's. I never sleep in the bed room here, but I still have dreams. I have strange strange dreams within dreams. The one who is special to me usually brings me here. It's a person I love more then any other. I can't see there face, but I can feel them. It's like being wrapped in solid love all the time when they are around. They hold me close and I'm warm and safe. There is a cat who lives in the attic. He doesn't like me much, he's black with the longest white claws and bright green eyes. But I'm not scared of him. He's not really a cat you see, he's like a changling, but he brings dreams to people if he scratches you. He scratched me alot today, and I could'nt figure out why. He kept jumping over my head, screaming at me. I could'nt figure out why he was so angry, so I did'nt hit him, just ducked my head and tried to cover my face. I can still see his little white teeth in his open mouth as he jumped over me. I suddenly felt tired and I fell asleep in my asleep. In this dream within a dream I held a old old riffle, it was polished silver, the old kind with the bell opening, I held it close to my chest and it felt like the only thing I owned in the world that was mine. It's my riffle and no one else can have it ever. I woke up from that dream within a dream to go see my someone special, who lives in the bedroom unders the cramped spirial stair case, but the door was locked and dark. Obviously did'nt want to be disturbed, so I followed a different hunch and went up the stairs. Climbing around in circles. On a landing there is a book shelf, on the bottom shelf there was a cat who was dead. Not the changling cat, but a different cat. I felt so bad for this little tabby, but her stomach was all big. Obviously pregnant, so I pushed on it and she was still warm, like she just died. When I did one kitten came out of her, and I knew there was more. So I kept pressing until I had six little barely alive baby kittens in my hands, keeping them as warm as best as I could.
Then my alarm went off and I woke up.
This all took place in a two hour nap that I could get in inbetween a lockout and now. I don't understand how my mind has these broad sweeping vistas of life. So many details, so much reality in my head. But I'm not crazy, I still cling on. I completely understand why artists are crazy. Too many ideas and not enough outlets.
There is a house. It's a two story victorian. Blue and white on the outside. Its in the middle of no where on a wind swept outcropping of rock into the ocean. Its not in the best condition. I guess it's my dream palace. If such thing really exist. It's not scary in the least, its actually very bright and airy. It's one of those places that is old and tired, but you can tell at one time children ran and played through it and it was and is loved. It's littered with stuff, and the floor is real hard wood. Aged and scared, but clean and swept and moped and oil'd. It smells a little like boil'd patato's. I never sleep in the bed room here, but I still have dreams. I have strange strange dreams within dreams. The one who is special to me usually brings me here. It's a person I love more then any other. I can't see there face, but I can feel them. It's like being wrapped in solid love all the time when they are around. They hold me close and I'm warm and safe. There is a cat who lives in the attic. He doesn't like me much, he's black with the longest white claws and bright green eyes. But I'm not scared of him. He's not really a cat you see, he's like a changling, but he brings dreams to people if he scratches you. He scratched me alot today, and I could'nt figure out why. He kept jumping over my head, screaming at me. I could'nt figure out why he was so angry, so I did'nt hit him, just ducked my head and tried to cover my face. I can still see his little white teeth in his open mouth as he jumped over me. I suddenly felt tired and I fell asleep in my asleep. In this dream within a dream I held a old old riffle, it was polished silver, the old kind with the bell opening, I held it close to my chest and it felt like the only thing I owned in the world that was mine. It's my riffle and no one else can have it ever. I woke up from that dream within a dream to go see my someone special, who lives in the bedroom unders the cramped spirial stair case, but the door was locked and dark. Obviously did'nt want to be disturbed, so I followed a different hunch and went up the stairs. Climbing around in circles. On a landing there is a book shelf, on the bottom shelf there was a cat who was dead. Not the changling cat, but a different cat. I felt so bad for this little tabby, but her stomach was all big. Obviously pregnant, so I pushed on it and she was still warm, like she just died. When I did one kitten came out of her, and I knew there was more. So I kept pressing until I had six little barely alive baby kittens in my hands, keeping them as warm as best as I could.
Then my alarm went off and I woke up.
This all took place in a two hour nap that I could get in inbetween a lockout and now. I don't understand how my mind has these broad sweeping vistas of life. So many details, so much reality in my head. But I'm not crazy, I still cling on. I completely understand why artists are crazy. Too many ideas and not enough outlets.