A Random Image

Archive for October, 2001

|| October 9, 2001 || 1:03 pm || Comments (0) ||

Oh middly-MY.

A new show. *faints, rather rapturously*

|| October 9, 2001 || 9:23 am || Comments (0) ||

Gawdamighthy, the dreams are back and they are in full swing. I knew this would happen, I just KNEW it would.

Now, before you go all, “You psyched yourself into this” on me, I can tell you that I most assuredly did not. I feel the slightest hiccup somewhere inside me, a subtle tectonic shifting of the psychological plates, and off we go to the races.

And my mind–my mind is the best boogeyman in the wholentireWORLD, let me tell ya.

Last night’s dreams contained a returning element, but with an extree-speshull funky new twist or two. There’s this guy, and I call him The Watching Man (and he was around long before X-Files, so who stole what from whom?) and this Watching Guy never lets me see his face (he was around before Home Improvement, as well); I always see him slightly in profile, turned toward me enough for me to get the vaguest sense of his jaw line, the bit of his face I can see just a blurry mess of shadow and light, telling me nothing. The Watching Man always lets me know of his presence in some creepy way….a goofy cut-and-paste riddle, a matter-of-fact telegram. He tells me and then he recedes to a corner somewhere to take in the goings-on.

Lately he has been hanging right with me. If the dream has me perched on a sofa next to a picture window, then he is parked on the street, constantly in my field of vision. If I am hiking through the woods, then he is leaned up against a tree some fifty yards away. I never see him moving into position, yet somehow he is always there. He doesn’t leave clever rhymes or send succinct telegrams anymore.

He calls me. He calls me quite often throughout the course of a dream. It’s as if there is some urgency to what he is doing, but for the life of me I have not a clue as to what it is. He only tells me that he’s watching me, he knows what’s going on. It’s not always so basic….sometimes he has a very dramatic flair coated with a wicked glee, other times his voice is rather flat and menacing, but I know for sure that he has never, ever said or written the same thing twice. Style, tone and verbiage always varies.

The Watching Man makes me want to piss myself, and that is a major feat, as I am pretty fearless. I forgot to tell you: he is now sporting a very large metal spike horizontally through his head. Like he doesn’t even know it’s there. Or if he does, he only views it as a minor annoyance. The man is driven (*snortsnort* No pun intended, but damn was it a funny one) and not prone to distraction.

So, The Watching Man, (I’ve tried like hell to come up with a clever, cutesy little nick for him, but to no avail…he defies fluff) who has been gaining speed in my nighttime ramblings as of late, now sports a cell phone and a stunning (there again, no pun intended) spike through his cranium. What shall I make of all this?

I’m beginning to think that he is not the menace that I’ve made him out to be all these years. Maybe he’s my connection to ‘The Real’ and utilizes his methods and presence in a menacing fashion in order for me to take notice of him, to acknowledge that he is indeed there. I’m thinking that his more frequent and active involvement, coupled with his new head adornment means that he may not be around for much longer. That in and of itself is a truly creepy supposition, because The Something that steps in to take his place may well be the ultra-terrifying real deal.

The boogey-est of the boogeymen, so to speak. Fuuuuuuck.

One of last night’s dreams had a sense of impending invasion, of being ‘found out’. I was with two friends from several years back, a married couple that I would bet on surviving when no one else did. My own family was nowhere to be found, I walked with a slight limp, and I was faced with the difficulty of culling my whole life down into one bag that was easily transported. Thinking in the long-term, trying to decide what might be necessary some months down the road, but also utilized in the now. I had no opportunity to decipher where my family might be, why I was limping, what brought on the circumstance of hooking up with Dave and his wife. That was the most frustrating part. In my dreams, no matter what the trauma, I am usually afforded the opportunity to walk through the puzzle and piece it together. This dream had a frantic, hurried feel to it, underscored by TWM’s calls, which kept coming with a greater frequency as the dream wore on and I attempted to pack.

People kept floating in and out of Dave and company’s condo, and though they were friends of my friends, I kept an uneasy and distrustful watch on all newcomers, as if something may explode at any minute. I had a knife taped to my thigh and another stuck in my boot and Dave kept subtlely gesturing to them, as if to tell me to be ready, he trusted no one either.

Whew. So all of this smacks of what is going down right now, I know….but The Watching Man element is the odd one, and I can’t help but to wonder how it will pan out in my waking world. I have this unabsolved sense of things swirling to a fruition that will effect all of humanity (and I do mean ALL of it) and it resides sickly in the pit of my stomach, in the marrow of my bones.

|| October 4, 2001 || 12:46 am || Comments (0) ||

Hiya, My Little Snookums, ya miss me? Lemme see, let’s play catch-up:
–beer and sausages
Mountain Dew (proudly manufactured and distributed by PepsiCo)
–off-kilter moody rambling.

There. That about puts us up to speed. Some observations:
–Merciful Heavens, I’ve just been enlightened. George W. Bush is indeed the Antichrist and we have been been indoctrinated by virtue of our internet usage. Think about it….dubya-dubya-dubya-dot….a massive conspiracy masterminded (no doubt) by Big Daddy Gee.
–It sort of frightens me that Matt hangs out at elementary schools. Or that he is allowed to, for that matter. Especially in light of his dad’s analogies.
–Thanks to the Shanklin’s Pony Pair for this link. Hoho, heehee.
Oh, for joy…stumbled across Christine again and was insanely pleased. Perched her back in links column. Not that she’d care, but I do. Whee!

border=”0″ width=”366″ height=”305″>

I am feeling faint and all aquiver (that a freakin’ word, chum?) because orders are now being taken for THE BOOK. For those of you not beholden to follow that link, the above-pictured 152-paged-and-frightfully-deliciously-illustrated piece of yumminess is the special edition of Mark Ryden’s new book. This means that it comes in a limited edition of 500 copies (which is bound to sell out shortly, as his canvas edition of “Clear Hearts, Grey Flowers” scooted off the website in less than a frickin’ DAY *side note* The latter maketh me not sorrowful, as I framed a copy of the paper edition with silk, blackcore mats and it turned out quite scrumptious…..as well as a full 6″ bigger on each side (not counting matting and framing) than his canvas release. /side note ) that are signed and numbered by the lovely Mr. Ryden. IT ALSO MEANS that it comes with a 10″x10″ giclee print (the one you see pictured, folks) nestled alongside it in a sexy fabric box. And oh yeah, a bookmark. *wheedle* All that’s left is for you, my spankalicious readers, to bravely face the ickiness beneath your couch cushions in order to retrieve the spare change that you will tape to cheap greeting cards and mail to me.

Please, I mean? PUHLEEEEEEEEEZE???