Friday, February 24, 2012


Adj. 1. deeply involved especially in something complicated
Adj. 2. twisted together in a tangled mass
Adj. 3. involved in difficulties

Monday, February 13, 2012

the owls are not what they seem

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Yet there are those who open many eyes. Eyes are the mirror of the soul, someone has said. So we look closely at the eyes to see the nature of the soul. Sometimes when we see the eyes - those horrible times when we see the eyes, eyes that ... that have no soul - then we know a darkness, then we wonder: where is the beauty? There is none if the eyes are soulless.

Thursday, February 09, 2012

Dream Journal: Toe

This is a recurring dream. I've had it maybe 5-6 times over the course of several years.

I mockingly call this dream ‘Satan’s Little Helper’ because of the transparent Hell-motive. Transcribed above is what happened the first time I had this dream. I’ve had it several times since and always remembered I had been in this situation before, so I adapted. I only adapted in making the ‘job’ easier for myself, not by refusing the ‘job’ or going off course in any way. Somehow, that seems impossible. I cannot describe enough in words how absolutely terrifying this dream is, to the degree that I’m happy I don’t believe in Hell. The worst part is being alone; there is no explanation as to where I am or why am I there. In the dream I’m also not freaking out by all of this, I’m just acting like it’s a job that needs to be done…maybe that is the most terrifying aspect of all.

I’m in a slaughterhouse. It’s a large hangar with white tiles on the floor and walls. There’s blood everywhere. The air is dirty with flies and there’s a nauseating smell. All around me are dead bodies, stacked on top of each other in grotesque piles of naked people. Some are hanging on hooks and occasionally a new body comes crashing on the floor through some sort of chute. I’m the only living person there. I’m dressed as a butcher, with a leather apron. I’m wearing a mask like an executioner. Over a loudspeaker I hear a harsh metallic voice. I don’t understand the words but I know it’s shouting commands at me. My job is to drag the bodies on top of metallic stairs that are in the middle of the hangar. Once there I can throw them into a giant furnace. I drag a man’s dead body to the foot of the stairs, but he’s too heavy to lift on my shoulders and carry. The metallic voice on the intercom is getting more angry. I look around the hangar and I find a hatchet and a large sack. I take off my mask and start hacking at the dead bodies, removing their limbs, chopping off their heads and splitting their torsos. I put parts of them, randomly, in the sack making sure it’s not too heavy to drag up the stairs. I’m completely covered in blood now and I’m wiping off pieces of flesh on my apron. I carry the sack up the stairs and once up there is a small platform. I look down and watch the greedy flames of the furnace which is the biggest I have ever seen. I toss limb by limb into the fire, my eyes transfixed on the flames. When my sack is empty I go down again and repeat the process. Somehow I know this is my job for the rest of my existence.

Wednesday, February 08, 2012

Dream Journal: Won

Location: home (slept alone)
Time: between 1 AM & 7:30 AM

The world is some post-apocalyptic wasteland and a few people (like me) are running from something. There is some unknown enemy, I just know they're human and they have guns. We are literally running in the dark streets, and know we could get killed any minute.

So I’m running and being chased by something, scared for my life. There’s a tent, but just before I can reach it, I fall on the floor and I hide my face in my hands, thinking; ‘maybe in the dark they won’t see me lying on the floor in the mud’. There’s a noise behind me and I’m sure I will get shot. But the person behind me is not evil, it’s a little boy. A little skinny boy dressed in rags. He drags me into the tent and we sit there for a while, looking at each other. There might be other people in the tent, but I can't see them. We managed to lit some sort of gaslight and in the shadows and on the surface of the tent I see my shadow and I realise I’m much bigger & stronger then the little boy. I should be protecting him.

Suddenly a man opens the tent, a soldier armed with a gun. He demands us to come out. I argue with him but say that if he’s alone, I’ll come fight him. The soldier says his name is Peter and he’s there with another soldier, also called Peter. Me and the little boy get out of the tent, but the little boy transformed into a man, roughly of my size. We both face a Peter, but suddenly we’re armed with swords, each one of us a different kind. My sword is long & white, with a very thin & small handle. I have trouble wielding it. The little boy, who is now a man, has somehow convinced one of the Peters that he should help us, so the three of us attack the Peter that is left.

Peter is an excellent fighter and we can’t seem to win. No matter how many times I cut him with my sword, he keeps fighting. Nothing even a scratch on him. I try to cut off his head, but my sword doesn’t even scratch his skin. I consider giving up, dropping the sword and letting him kill me but seeing the other two fight gives me courage. The Peter we’re fighting got fatter and fatter during the fight as well.

…I can’t remember what happened next…