I dreamed this morning that I was in the living compound of a cult, where a psychic was telling me my future. At one point the old woman said, "You'll learn someday. You're only twenty now." And I yelled, "I'm *thirty-four*! Thirty-FOUR!" She waved this minor point off. Then we were drawn to the window, because in the courtyard cult members were persuading a young boy to do very bad things. What does he have in his hand? the woman asked. "A spyglass," I said. The boy, after taking aim, threw a rock at yet another woman through her own window. Going outside, I collared the boy to scold him, but the cultists surrounded me, preparing to kill me. Two were twins, young men dressed in dark suits, who resembled earnest Mormons except that they wore fabulous art-house neckties in brilliant colors. Thinking fast, I began complimenting their ties, stroking them and shimmying up to the nice boys, who seemed to take a shine to me in return. I tried to convince them I should not be killed by telling them about my little daughter.
I think I convinced them, because I'm still alive.
A white pigeon was on the bus this morning. It strutted down the aisle and stopped in front of a set of double doors and then waited patiently, facing them, until the next stop. Of course then it just stood there, because pigeons are incredibly stupid. But some guy gave it a little kick and it finally flew off.
I loved this post of estepheia's, which was the last thing I saw last night before going to bed. It has a few quotes from Joss Whedon on "getting a life" and fan-fiction, and it cheers me up. Go, Joss.
I have glimpsed the mouth of Hell. I have felt the soft whooshing sound as the demon casually attempted to Hoover my soul from its moorings, stab my very anima with the rusty ice pick of lethargy and small cash prizes, lower the collective social vibration to that of a small tree fungus atrophying somewhere in the rain forests of Peru. -- Mark Morford