What is this world? This odd, ever-changing post apocalyptic dreamscape that it would seem I visit so often. Are we headed, hurdling in unconscious creation towards some version of these estranged, deranged realities that I craft in my sleep, or is it only the fear/hope of such things, tucked deep and safe inside the underbelly of my subconscious that projects such horror and beauty on the darkness of my inner eyelids when the lights go out.
I keep a candle burning always by my side, in hopes that if the darkness in my mind becomes too thick to escape, it’s light will pull me to my surface and help me to awake.
This last night I was a warrior. My sex, I am unsure. Sometimes, gender is not defined in my dreams, where often I am not myself. Not the body and programming I know as "me" in this carnation, anyhow. Perhaps I was a renegade angel. I heard through the vine that they’re androgynous.
In this world, the gravity was not so strong as it is here, but not so weak as film of puffy fitted men on the moon might suggest. So every movement and fight had the slight impression of slow motion.
It makes it difficult to battle an evil force when you can only move so fast. Luckily, he seemed restrained by the same disadvantage, unlike many dreams where enemies move very swiftly and I seem stuck in muddy resistance, like trying to race through water.
I recall “running”. The amazing thing was that instead of being slowed by the weight of gravity as I usually am, terrified and trapped in pause as my pursuer advances fast and furious, I used the lull, turning around, shoving myself up of the ground in my steel toed combat boots, pushing myself backwards into the air, flipping and twisting over my shoulder and landing to push off again, so that I was covering even bigger areas of space than if I had been able to run at full speed. “Running”.
"Running" in search of a certain weapon, which seemed to be the only one we could defeat each other with. There were only a few left in this strange land and one that I had found and arduously prepared for battle, had already been stolen by my adversary. I could only pray that I could find another in time.
The weapons looked pretty much identical in form to a C02 tank. But in order to use damn thing, you had to saw the rounded end off, sand the sharp, distressed metal edge smooth and tie it shut with some kind of red adhesive cord. It was a labor-intensive process to say the least.
I didn’t get to use the bitch before I awoke, but I assume to do so, one would squeeze the lever at the lip of the tank and blast the motherfucker with some such invisible magic it contained.
As for who I was fighting and other specifics of plot, I can’t seem to grasp too much of it now, as the bright light of lalaland floods my dingy windows, igniting my perception. But I can tell you it was what it often is in those post apoc wars of my night life. A battle between good and evil, where I fight the one who threatens to pull my fellow light warriors down into the depths, and often wake with little resolution.
I write to you strangers now, my fellow dreamers and light warriors in hopes that by doing so, I will be able to remember more details of these mad adventures as time “progresses.”
All my love and I bid you safe passage between this world and the next,
~ Araylia
Safe Passage
