New Post!

Okay, I've been struggling with life, depression, etc. And I really want a place to write again, and post creative stuff. I'm trying to consolidate my internet schizm'd personalities. I don't want to abandon that side of me which creates and shelve it away while I finish grad school. To that end, I am using this (I hope) as my blog space and not worrying about the rest. I can have links, and the rest can be archived for posterity. Or to check up on. I'd like to return from my internet hiatus. Too much internet soul-vacuum time.

To put it bluntly "Get up off your ass and create something." It's sound advice. I'm not at the Make Something Cool Everyday level, but it's something to work towards.

The Man Who Was Fireproof

A dream last night.

"Hawaii," 1960s or 1970s.

I was someone else. Civilian working on a military base. The only reason I can think its the late 60s or 70s is the facial hair and clothes. Big mustaches, big glasses and sunglasses.

Emergency. Volcanic eruption. I or rather this man that I was, in the midst of chaos of evacuees walks towards the heat. Fires that I touch go out, and I remember it being very peaceful. People rush past me, some covered in ashes as I move towards the nascent volcano on the coast. Burning cloth and straw thatch wink out, the fires not so much extinguished as just gone.

As I approach the cone I feel afraid. Firefighters are hosing the landward side trying to harden the 'a'a flow and direct it out towards the ocean. I walk up the side of the mounding cone. My shoes melt, and I try to keep myself from sinking in the hot, hot rock as the sun is setting. That would be the end of me. The rock cools where I stand, still hot enough to burn, hot enough to turn the rubber of my shoes to goo, but cool enough to walk on. The sun is just about gone as I reach the summit, and the stars shine overhead. My heart is shaking, but the fires cool as I stand on the mount. The firetrucks have left now.

The next day I wander back to the base. People are celebrating. The firefighters and some of the military command are getting the accolades. I'm ash covered and tired, and I see some of my friends at the base, also scientists and civilians rushing over. They are surprised to see me alive since I had disappeared yesterday. One guy has me around the shoulders and asks someone to take a picture of us, saying that this could be 30 years from now. Bewildered I ask what he's talking about and he leads me to a mirror. My hair is streaked with grey and not from the ash, it has actually turned grey in many places from its normal dark brown.

(this is also where I can see that its not me in the dream, as I don't look like this guy, nor could I sport a mustache so full.)

Last part of the dream I stalk into the mess hall and make my way to the kitchen and I brush past indignant brass that's getting all the praise for their heroism. I pour myself a stiff drink.

Filmed On Location in Archetypal Cities

Once again,

The insider, the rebel. Oppressive totalitarian government. A city on the coast, built upon the ruins of former civilizations. Part of the city has become a prison. I am inside this prison with my family. In appearance, it is part Providence, part Mykonos, Greece... only there's technology enough to support Giant Robots. (too much anime)

The themes have been played before... resist the oppressive authority, secretly aid resistance groups, stealthily escape from the city, dramatically escape from the city.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Thirty-Six_Dramatic_Situations

So, what is the meaning in my dreams? I haven't kept a dream journal since I filled my last one. I'm thinking I should remedy that.

A Walk

Good morning internets. Pics & work habits.

Sometimes I forget about this here internet thing. What with real life and all. My social networking skills (read: obsession) are falling by the wayside. But I still have awesome dreams and I still take great digital photos... If I can ever remember to post it on the internet that would be swell. I only seem to remember at the beginning of the month when my flickr account has been refreshed, and I realized I just lost a month's worth of potential storage. Then I don't upload anything out of frustration and the cycle continues. Now I stare at a multi-GB backload of photos and procrastinate uploading them in favor of work.

Which I also don't want to do. I was speaking with M. last night, and told her of my terrible habit. When I'm overloaded with stress, instead of doing something for myself that would relax me or be fun, I say "oh, I have work to do, I cannot possibly take time away to have fun." But then I don't end up doing the work anyway, and I feel I've wasted the day or evening. I could have at least enjoyed myself and not done the work. I'd have ended up in the same place but feeling better.

garlic, my love

Soup: 2 cups chicken stock 2 cups water 1/2 mediumm onion 3 cloves garlic 4 crimini mushrooms 1 small sweet potato 2 harvest gold local farmers market potatoes 1 parsnip 1 carrot 1 1/2 cups lentils 3 leaves kale shredded mozzarella sage rosemary cumin salt pepper The Cars Greatest Hits High Note 2008 'elevated' Malbec Sourdough loaf = so good.

In the Mountains

Dreamed I was in the mountains, snow snow everywhere. Not like here in Rhode Island. There's just wind and rain. Winter settles-in in my dreams even though I haven't lived in Vermont for almost three years.

And such wind. Its a Rhode Island commodity. We could export it. On the plus side it's good for sailing if its not too fierce.

I realized in the small hours of this morning that I haven't been writing to the void because I haven't been alone in a while. I used to write more when I was lonely. I suppose its not a bad thing, to not be lonely. I had grown so used to it. In some ways I enjoyed my solitude, but I am discovering that you don't always have to do things on your own, despite the American value of self-reliance. Its a value that I adhered fiercely to, and I'm trying to give it up.