19 March 19
I really should keep a dream journal, again. I should write in it as soon as I wake.
The only thing I remember from my dream last night was to remember the word asphobel or ashphobel or… something like that..? Ashphodel? I don’t even know if these are real words.
It was the first on a list of 10. The second word started with an M and the third word on the list began with either L or J.
It is nice to dream again, though. For the longest time my nights were black and empty.
Wake up, wake up, oh sleeper and rise from the dead.
I am straddling two realms and both are real to me.
On the one hand I have Echo and Storm. Shadow and Spirit. They feel like my only friends I have left in this realm.
And on the other I have Hades and Bender. Hades, my husband. Bender, my brother. We are a trio not to be trifled with, for the serpentine sucker will soon find out.
I remember putting this image up with a question to see if anyone could guess who I was from here.
The answer? Pippin. The tiny, annoying, fool of a took who is constantly tagging along and fucking shit up, while complaining of being hungry.
If I still had friends from high school, I’m sure they’d back me up on that one. I may have grown up and realised I was Gandalf all along, but I wanted to be Legolas or Arwen.
But deep down I’ll always be a damned halfling.
And this halfling will not be blowing any horns of Gondor, Boromir. Unless Aragorn asks me. And there’s no use anyone else pretending to be him. I know my Strider, and he’s at work at the moment.
Ah fuck sake. I can’t even follow a single stream of thought without it getting all tangled up with all my other thoughts and memories.
Dreams, shadow realm jumping, Lord of the rings… may as well throw Polyester Girl, by Regurgitator, on the radio. Change the words to personality girl (shine, shine) and be done with it.
My transformation is now complete. My synthesis climate reveals my synthetic synopsis is syncryptic si-new-insinuations.
Friday is Freya’s day, settle into my Venus cup, legs up and over the lip of the rim. Take a sip of this trip I dripped from the dream where you held me once and we weren’t so lonely.
Distill my bleating heart. I take after my father, daddy’s little girl all grown up. He was a centaur, Sagittarius. Sergeant Atreus of the cold North beyond north.
Are you my mother’s boy? The capricornucopia of Janus is held on by 2 little hinges. 1 for the day & 1 for the month. The year was 55 and she was from the east.
Tear the castle down brick by boring brick. My father was a brick layer on earth, just like he built heaven. I am his legacy line, the last of his line. This demigod surges under panic.