A fine summer day, people are laying out, enjoying the sun...we sit at our picnic, enjoying sandwiches... talking about theweather, about places to go. Your eyes are half closed, as youlaugh at a quip in the conversation. I lean back, chewing on mysalad sandwich, other couples sitting just out of earshot. I thinkyou're making a jest as you turn your face skyward, a look of horroron your face... and then I'm immersed. a rubbery slime, somehow moving,surrounds me. I jump up, roll, and spin around, flinging the stuff offof me. Jello with huge white worms, or so it looks. I shudder, and scrapemore of it off, and look at you. You're horrified, and I can't see anythingbut that in your face. The mess is slowly digesting the ground behind me,and because we're far enough away and you've made no sound, noone elseseems to be aware. Looking up at the sky... something is wrong. Bright,sunny, peaceful... but somehow it looks less real, a fascade. I squint atthe sky ... and I can see that a portion of it looks ... stained somehow.Not something in the sky, but an actual faint difference in colour in thetotal sky there itself. A distortion, suddenly I see it. It looks likethe air itself is drooping, perhaps it's not the sky at all, nothing sodistant. Twenty? One Hundred? It's hard to tell... above us, we can seethat it is as if the air is bearing some weight... the sky above it issimply more distant. You have no idea, but I shudder, I know what's goingon. I pat your arm, tell you to run, and pull from my self a device that'sbeen unused for millenia. Yes, sometimes nature is strange. I knew they'dbe back, and I've claimed this place as mine, for my wards. You have tastedtoo many worlds, have closed too many eyes. Not here.
That basically is a narration of a theme in a dream I commonly have.I'm reminded of it by something funny I found here.
Here's an interesting analysis on Rumsfeld's comments.For some reason, I almost find myself beginning to respect the guy, in someaspect. Unlike BushJr, and contrary to the tone of the article, it's clearthe guy has some doubts, and some brains. So he's quite distinct from BushJr,who I wouldn't trust to sell me a stamp.. instead, my lack of trust forRumsfeld is in a completely orthoganal direction -- I wouldn't trust any stampsfrom him not to have cyanide on the side one licks.
Random music lyrics, to complete the night, and serenade the moon..I'm in the same state, quoth Abdul the great, twas foolish of we two to fightMy favorite is Beef Jerky... I'm vagabond.. I'm vagabondYou're sleepin' underneath yesterday's paper, pretending the tsunami hasn't hit..
It seems to me that, if this is tetris, I've stepped up to the next level again.Tightropes are tougher, but more fun, when one is only allowed one foot at atime.