So back on tumblr for the first time in a million years, and posting something that isn't archiving my older music from soundcloud, and is both a MUOT and not a MUOT, As I made it on the spot, but rather this spot was in my mind as I slept (a real account of a dream I had sleeping last night), rather than right here inside the body of a tumblr post. For all those that still follow me, precious old high school and college friends and loved ones and any random person I may not know, enjoy. A Dream 28/04/2017 I had a dream last night, after being woken up at 3am by my dad coming home very late from work. It was a strange dream. It was a wild one in some sense. I fell to sleep after being awakened, and quickly went into this dreamscape. My eyes were open. I was with buddies whose faces I could not make out, they were wearing uniforms, military ones. I presume (post-dream) that I was too. We landed somewhere, again, the details very fuzzy, yet it seemed like a zone of conflict. I could not make out any weapons being used. I could not make out any enemies necessarily being fought against. All I could remember was that in the heat of this battle, I was stabbed exactly an inch above my belly button. I did not feel pain, but rather anguish, anguish for the things I would miss about the world, anguishing about my scarred body littering a battle field that should have been a farm field instead, anguishing about the people that loved me, cared for me, and that would now mourn for me. I stood there, where I was stabbed, looking at my wound, my mind blank of all thoughts other than that it was bleeding, yet not bleeding. Before I knew it, the stab wound was an old battle scar, and I lay in that field, foggy, damp, probably cold, next to a piece of raw fencing wood dividing me from another comrade in arms who had yelled for me when I had fallen. He too was soon felled, shot in the torso, lying on the opposite side of that raw fencing wood, looking over to me, then lying back, seemingly accepting the same fate as I, that our last breathes were soon to be drawn. My eyes would slowly close, looking at my body from a 3rd person's perspective, losing its last morsels of life next to that piece of wood, next to that fallen comrade, shrouded in this foggy and wet environment. Then my eyes opened again. This comrade's wound seemed to be non-fatal, as I noticed him trying to patch up mine, me grasping for life as if I hung onto a ledge staring down an abyss that seemed bottomless. It gets blurry again from there, as my comrade disappears, and I still see my tattered, heavily scarred torso being taken care of by some one in some place that felt inviting and comforting, although this ambience, a welcoming, warm meillieu, was all I could feel. The hands of this person were healing touches, medical, precise, but obviously homebrewed, wiping these medicinal pastes. A witch doctor, maybe? I could not tell who this healer was, but my curiosity was peaked. The Me in this dream had this insatiable lust to find out who this person was. Were they a man? A woman? Beautiful? Kind? Was their hair long? Brown coloured? These questions and more ran through both my mind, and the mind of the Me in this dreamscape. I saw all my faceless, unidentifiable compatriots again, me continually being frantic, in an obvious search for this mysterious person. Their eyes, their face, their demeanor. It was ever so slowly coming to focus. I looked at my scarred body, at that battle wound exactly 1 inch from my belly button, how it was shaped like a nearly closed eyelid, reminiscing of the healing touch this person gave me, a renewal of life where I had so recently been but a lifeless body. The face was coming in focus. It was a woman. Close to my age by appearance. Medium length brown hair, curly, her eyes hazel, her smile shining, her complexion fair but not blindingly. What was her name? How did she help me? How could I ever repay this person? Why did I seem so willing to devote myself to her? I wouldn't know. In this search for answers to my endless questions, I woke up. 5:45am. Hit the snooze on my smartphone to sleep a few extra mins, then time to get dressed, eat breakfast, and go to work, like the dream had never happened, and the routine would just continue.
theartofmadeline
baratheonpilled
turnnoffyourmind
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