It's Saturday and a Mahler symphony leads the way. Fitting, I suppose, but I can't articulate why. And why would I need to articulate anything in a blog? The mind is sluggish and still meditates upon the dream I awoke from earlier this morning.
It was rich in symbolism and, don't fret, I won't go into depth about it (No one likes to hear about other people's dreams, which have meaning only for the dreamer - in most cases - and no matter how thrilling or sexy or comical, they don't often translate well). I will, however, provide a brief, and I use that word loosely, summation because there was a cool part (yes, you'll find it cool,too - I swear on a stack of kittens) I want to share.
Once upon a time....
There was a lot of activity in the house; people in and out, furniture being rearranged. Also, it was my birthday. Foley and a few of his friends entered the house and entered my room. He said hello to the woman-who's-identity-is-unclear that laid beside me in the bed. He didn't say much to me (old wounds?). I went downstairs and Matt was there. He was expected (as he is today for similar reasons); bill money was to be handed over and other odds and ends needed to be attended to. He had a posse with him, too - the house was quickly becoming crowded. I went back upstairs and Foley and his crew had moved aside a shelf and here, laid bare and freshly exposed, was a large dark patch, a festering fly-ridden wound, in the wall. Foley covered it and the space around it with sheets of his handwritten poetry.
I thought that last bit was pretty powerful. Not much more happened: Amanda had come by earlier while I was at work and replaced my closet door with one from a refrigerator; I thumb wrestled Evangeline (her thumb was so lighting quick it was barely perceptible); Foley, as he and his crew (all in academic overcoats) descended the stairs to leave, let me know he had sent me a letter that expressed some anger, hurt feelings,etc. I grumbled something about wanting people to leave me alone, noticed a hedgehog clinging to one of the railings on the stairs, and woke up. The end.
Okay, the summation wasn't brief, but you have to admit you appreciated the added details. I'll venture to say you were thrilled. Thrilled! Admit it. Just admit it. I bet you're secretly wishing I create a dream blog. Hmmmm....
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The Walking Dead. The show was airing its second season when I came around to giving it a chance. I've never been a big fan of zombie movies. Zombies are stupid, slow, and easy to evade. Of course, when they appear in large numbers, evasion becomes trickier, but overall they've never frightened me much. There's a hefty subculture of zombie fans that would tell me I'm missing the point. Perhaps I am. I think much of the fascination has to do with people enjoying watching other people be blown away, dismembered, impaled, etc. but without the moral guilt of them being current people. The Walking Dead caters to this fascination sometimes ("Here you go, fanatics! This one is just for you, our bread and butter") I recall an episode from this past season in which the first twenty minutes or so were spent wiping out a mass of zombies video game style with barely contained glee. After a while, I wanted them to get on with it, but I understood they were catering to the purists and supported the action (bread and butter). The following day fans were online blasting OMG's!!!! and spraying gallons of hot jizz all over their ceilings, laps, and walls. All those zombie take downs got them all aflutter and randy. Easy, geeks. Go gentle on the breeze.
Whoops, running out of time and need to go. I'll have to part two this post.
See ya, younglings!
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