This pain in my head right now is the most powerful thing I've ever experienced. It's like a fucking kidney stone in my mouth. If you've never experienced a kidney stone, they say it's the closest a man will ever come to the pain of child birth. Now imagine delivering a 9-pound baby through a hole in your fucking tooth.
It hurts like a sonufabitch.
Now imagine you've been in labor for eight hours - trying to push that little shit out of your mouth. I felt the first twinges of pain around ten. I took a 500mg Ibuprofen and put another in my pocket, just in case.
Then the pain flared up - and I'm talking wrath of god shit here - around noon and I took the second. Neither really helped; or else, god help me because I don't want to know what it would have felt like without them.
I managed to keep my wits about me. I didn't tell anyone to "fuck off" who needed it. I didn't punch anyone who really wanted punching.
There were a lot of people who really wanted me to punch them in their bitch faces today.
I got off work and came home, where I took a pill for nerve pain. I don't know what it was. It just says "nerve pain" on the side of the bottle, in hand-written letters, with "3xDay" and "No Alcohol" written below that.
Motherfucker, it didn't work. At all.
Since then, I've added another 1000mg of Ibuprofen and I just took my very last Oxycontin.
If I die of pain killer overdose it was most certainly not suicide. My life sucks the shit right now, but I know I can do better. Son of a bitch, I'm trying.
Still no improvement. I'm waiting for the Oxy to kick in, but it's taking so long...
I tried salt. Sea salt and black pepper, ground and mixed and applied to the site, often helps relieve tooth pain. I tried chewing gum. I tried Listerine (usually helps). I ran around the block to get my heart rate up. That helped a little. I did push-ups when the pain came back. I even tried stuffing some over-the-counter temporary filling repair stuffed into the offending hole. It just wouldn't stay put. Then there's the half-tube of Sever-Pain Orajel.
The only thing that helps so far is resting my head on a soft blanket in a sort of lazy "child's pose" from yoga, with my mouth open, drooling on the carpet. I don't know how important the drooling part is. Once I get up, though, it only lasts about a minute. Then I have to go back to the floor.
Okay, I'm back. Maybe it will stick this time. If I don't die from this, I promise: I'll go looking for a dentist who'll let me pay-over-time in the morning. That can be step two of my "make Dave a better person" list instead of whatever it is (down after "get medical & dental insurance").
On a slightly brighter note, I'm about 15-16,000 words into the book. I don't know exactly, because I'm writing it long-hand and then transferring it to the PC. I was meant to be writing now; but I'm preoccupied.
I just don't want to hurt.
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Friday, February 18, 2011
Gamma World: Los Augustine
The oldest continual settlement in the whole of Gamma Terra, the small town of Los Augustine sits on the East coast of Old Floridia, where its people make their living as fishermen and brewers of fine alcohol.
The village proper - surrounded by a high wall of cochina, stone and the ancient husks of pre-oops automobiles - sits in the center of an overgrown ruin of an old-world city, which itself once sat atop the ruin of an even older town, founded by the conquerors from the Ancient Worlde who devastated the inhabitants and took the land. Even they weren't the first to settle there, however, they took the land from-
Well, you get the idea. Los Augustine stands atop ages of history - mostly in the form of husked-out old buildings, an ancient aqueduct and flooded subterranean tunnels, which now serve as the town's sewer works.
The village (as it stands today) was built in the aftermath of the Spaniel-American War, when the Spaniels were driven south, and the former American settlers took over the land. The new wall was erected and refugees from the war were joined by immigrants from Jack's Beach and other, less hospitable areas to the north.
GOVERNMENT
Los Augustine is ruled over by a democratically elected Mayor-For-Life. The current "Lord Mayor" is Juan Marco Polo DeLeon, descendent of the DeLeon family of pizza makers who built Los Augustine and Saint Marco - the mythic ancient who built everything that stood on the land before the Spaniel invasion.
He lives and hold court in the Castle of his ancestor, the only keep in the history of Gamma Terra that has never fallen to an invading force (when the Spaniels first occupied the area, the castle is the only thing they couldn't conquor. The inhabitants, however, moved away after the first time they spied one of their neighbors licking himself out on the front lawn).
The Lord Mayor is assisted and advised by a council of business owners, guild-masters, and busybodies. Though the council has no true law-making power, per se, each councilman is eligible for election should the Lord Mayor be killed. Such an obvious invitation to foul play keeps the Lord Mayor honest, and amenable to the council's input.
The local constibulary consists entirely of militiamen from the Fisher's Guild, who share the responsibilities of town security and order on a rotating basis, with each militiaman serving one week in seven as a town guard or constable. The only permanent position is that of Chief Constable, appointed by the Lord Mayor and currently held by a one-armed Badder named Gatorbait.
Guilds
There are three guilds represented on the council. An unofficial fourth guild exists, technically, but calls itself "the Thieves' Guild," and is made up of 13-year old Bucky Crisp and his two friends Sammy and Slughorn. For obvious reasons, the Thieves' Guild remains unacknowledged by the council (and, for the most part, by Los Augustine as a whole).
The three official guilds are the Farmer's Guild, which helps member farms with staffing and security, runs the Farmer's Market on Hump Days - and sets the prices on all food items sold in Los Augustine; the Fisher's Guild, which maintains the Marina and the Lion's Fishing Pier, and helps its members maintain their boats and equipment, while running the Fish Market and the militia; and the Sewermonger's Guild, which maintains all public works (including the care and feeding of the Gigabunny), keeps the sewers from backing up, and sponsors occasional expeditions into the tunnels and ruins below the town. Almost all Alpha-Positives and other adventuring sorts end up with a charter from or membership in the Sewermonger's Guild.
The Town
Los Augustine is open to visitation and welcoming of new citizens wishing to settle in the area, but it also a very isolated community. With the exception of the occasional trade between the Cathedral Bassilica and Menarl Island, the village is almost completely independent from outside trade. Every so often, a wandering merchant or a traveling show will appear on the old highway, but that's about all the import/export Los Augustine does.
The Cathedral
One temple of worship still stands in Los Augustine, held over from the World Before. The Cathedral Bassilica of the Unconquerable Sun, was subverted from its original purpose to sun-worship shortly after the roof was stolen by the Bermuda Roc in Five Monkey Fist-Bump.
The Ordo Bassilica, or "the Dudes of the Temple," are an order of surfing monks who maintain the cathedral, conduct services (which often consist of surf reports, beach fashion tips, and Tales of Awesome in the Light of the Sun), and brew the Bassilica Mead so loved in the two local taverns (with the exception of Craek, Bassilica is the favored alcoholic beverage in Los Augustine).
The surfing monks are the only villagers who regularly travel unmolested across the intracoastal to Menarl Island. They go there to surf, and they often bring mead to buy passage.
Commerce
Two shops vie for the right to sell wares produced in Los Augustine. The Wooden Indian Store and Willmart sell almost everything produced in the small town. The exceptions to this are Metal Tony's - the metalsmith and electrician (Metal Tony designed and monitors the Gigabunny Hutch), and the various goods and services available in the Spaniel Quarter.
The only gunsmith in town, Lucky Dan, operates out of his home, but he don't like visitors.
The village proper - surrounded by a high wall of cochina, stone and the ancient husks of pre-oops automobiles - sits in the center of an overgrown ruin of an old-world city, which itself once sat atop the ruin of an even older town, founded by the conquerors from the Ancient Worlde who devastated the inhabitants and took the land. Even they weren't the first to settle there, however, they took the land from-
Well, you get the idea. Los Augustine stands atop ages of history - mostly in the form of husked-out old buildings, an ancient aqueduct and flooded subterranean tunnels, which now serve as the town's sewer works.
The village (as it stands today) was built in the aftermath of the Spaniel-American War, when the Spaniels were driven south, and the former American settlers took over the land. The new wall was erected and refugees from the war were joined by immigrants from Jack's Beach and other, less hospitable areas to the north.
GOVERNMENT
Los Augustine is ruled over by a democratically elected Mayor-For-Life. The current "Lord Mayor" is Juan Marco Polo DeLeon, descendent of the DeLeon family of pizza makers who built Los Augustine and Saint Marco - the mythic ancient who built everything that stood on the land before the Spaniel invasion.
He lives and hold court in the Castle of his ancestor, the only keep in the history of Gamma Terra that has never fallen to an invading force (when the Spaniels first occupied the area, the castle is the only thing they couldn't conquor. The inhabitants, however, moved away after the first time they spied one of their neighbors licking himself out on the front lawn).
The Lord Mayor is assisted and advised by a council of business owners, guild-masters, and busybodies. Though the council has no true law-making power, per se, each councilman is eligible for election should the Lord Mayor be killed. Such an obvious invitation to foul play keeps the Lord Mayor honest, and amenable to the council's input.
The local constibulary consists entirely of militiamen from the Fisher's Guild, who share the responsibilities of town security and order on a rotating basis, with each militiaman serving one week in seven as a town guard or constable. The only permanent position is that of Chief Constable, appointed by the Lord Mayor and currently held by a one-armed Badder named Gatorbait.
Guilds
There are three guilds represented on the council. An unofficial fourth guild exists, technically, but calls itself "the Thieves' Guild," and is made up of 13-year old Bucky Crisp and his two friends Sammy and Slughorn. For obvious reasons, the Thieves' Guild remains unacknowledged by the council (and, for the most part, by Los Augustine as a whole).
The three official guilds are the Farmer's Guild, which helps member farms with staffing and security, runs the Farmer's Market on Hump Days - and sets the prices on all food items sold in Los Augustine; the Fisher's Guild, which maintains the Marina and the Lion's Fishing Pier, and helps its members maintain their boats and equipment, while running the Fish Market and the militia; and the Sewermonger's Guild, which maintains all public works (including the care and feeding of the Gigabunny), keeps the sewers from backing up, and sponsors occasional expeditions into the tunnels and ruins below the town. Almost all Alpha-Positives and other adventuring sorts end up with a charter from or membership in the Sewermonger's Guild.
The Town
Los Augustine is open to visitation and welcoming of new citizens wishing to settle in the area, but it also a very isolated community. With the exception of the occasional trade between the Cathedral Bassilica and Menarl Island, the village is almost completely independent from outside trade. Every so often, a wandering merchant or a traveling show will appear on the old highway, but that's about all the import/export Los Augustine does.
The Cathedral
One temple of worship still stands in Los Augustine, held over from the World Before. The Cathedral Bassilica of the Unconquerable Sun, was subverted from its original purpose to sun-worship shortly after the roof was stolen by the Bermuda Roc in Five Monkey Fist-Bump.
The Ordo Bassilica, or "the Dudes of the Temple," are an order of surfing monks who maintain the cathedral, conduct services (which often consist of surf reports, beach fashion tips, and Tales of Awesome in the Light of the Sun), and brew the Bassilica Mead so loved in the two local taverns (with the exception of Craek, Bassilica is the favored alcoholic beverage in Los Augustine).
The surfing monks are the only villagers who regularly travel unmolested across the intracoastal to Menarl Island. They go there to surf, and they often bring mead to buy passage.
Commerce
Two shops vie for the right to sell wares produced in Los Augustine. The Wooden Indian Store and Willmart sell almost everything produced in the small town. The exceptions to this are Metal Tony's - the metalsmith and electrician (Metal Tony designed and monitors the Gigabunny Hutch), and the various goods and services available in the Spaniel Quarter.
The only gunsmith in town, Lucky Dan, operates out of his home, but he don't like visitors.
Saturday, January 1, 2011
What Is It?
GeoTagged, [N29.89810, E81.30031]
What the hell is this bright ball of Fire in the sky? Oh shit, we're all gonna die!
What?
Oh. Sun? Right. That's supposed to be there.
It's the first day of the new year. If the nutcases are to be believed, it's the last full year we're ever going to experience. Here's a hint: it's not. The Mayans or the Aztecs or whatever hadn't even worked out that dead virgins aren't the currency of the Universe. They sure as hell didn't know jack-shit about it's end (or our end in it).
But what if they were right? I don't want this to turn into one of those what if you only had a year to live things; but what if you only had a year to live? What if humanity only had a year to live?
This is the more important question, to me, because it begins to encroach into the realm of morality and accountability. Since I gave up my illusions about afterlife and the notion of judgement on a grand, divine cosmic scale, I've spent a lot of time thinking about morality, about meaning and purpose.
If I only had a year. If we only had a year (and you can extrapolate this out to 70 or a hundred, later), what would I want to do? What would I consider important? If there is nothing after that year, how should I conduct myself?
A great many of the Christians I talk at (I don't think they hear me), would have me believe that the only thing to do in this scenario is whatever the fuck I want. Pillage, rape, murder (they don't actually say "pillage," but how awesome would it be if they did?).
But the truth is this: my life has no meaning or purpose beyond what I give it. My morality comes into play only in what meaning and purpose I choose to ascribe to life (Curly's "one thing" from the movie City Slickers).
The only thing I can come up with, the only purpose I can fathom, is to make the lives of those around me as pleasant and enjoyable and HOLY-FUCKSHIT-AWESOME as I possibly can. There is no way to live on after this life, except in the memories of our fellow humans, and in the stories we tell and that are told about us.
I feel that I have been somewhat remiss in these duties, of late.
My friends and family might tell a story of me to their children after I'm gone. Perhaps stories of my own will outlive my all too short life. What will they say about me? What impact will I make on the next generation? The one after that? If any, it can only be a small one. There's already been a Santa Claus, I don't think my life story could reach such epic exaggeration and lasting influence.
So I (we) really can't rely on doing right by others in order to live on through them. Not overtly, at any rate. The only reason to be, then, that I can see, is to experience as much of life as possible. To do everything that there is to do and to share it with as many people as I can.
I don't murder or rape or even pillage. Not because there's some all-seeing sky daddy out there who's going to spank me, but because I recognize in those around me, in you, that same predicament. What right have I to take your stuff, your life? No more right than you have to mine.
It may be only our mutual agreement that this is a bad thing that keeps us from each other's throats, but so long as we can agree to it, we can share in the only thing there is to live for.
One another. The shared accumulation of fourteen billion lifetimes all crammed into the last year of humanity.
I guess it's a good thing we've got more than just a year left.
Friday, December 31, 2010
iBlogger
So, I'm sitting here in front of a blank screen (I write with a very basic text program called Q10) trying to drum up something to write about.
I couldn't think of anything. I was given an iPhone for Christmas, though, and I wondered if I could update my blog with an "app." It never occurred to me to stop and question whether I wanted to do so, I just wondered if I could.
I can. But I still don't know what to say.
I could write about writing, but the truth is, I haven't done very much of that lately. I could write about New Year's Resolutions, but I don't have any, and it's a little too much like the oft repetitive (and dull) self-help shut I used to spew out on the page every month or so (without ever actually doing anything), so I don't want to do that. I could (and probably should) write about gaming, but I haven't sat at a gaming table in months.
Now I'm wondering if having such ready access to my blog in the same device that also features a camera and gps locator is such a good idea.
This is just a ramble, I guess. I hope you'll forgive me for wasting your time. I think the best course of action here would be not to write; but since I'm not going to give that up, I suppose the next best alternative is to "stay the course."
I've a dozen or so story ideas I want to share, as well as the NANOWRIMO stuff I never finished. I have more thoughts on the process, and now that I've started with this, I've a burning desire to get back to it.
I think that, what you can expect in the weeks to come her is new short fiction, the long overdue continuation (and hopefully conclusion) of Reptile, and possibly an essay or two.
Plus (and let's be honest here) I've got a new iPhone and it's like the shiny new toy you just can't put down, so there'll likely be a few photos and "on the go" updates that will have been (once hindsight becomes a factor) better suited to 140 characters or less.
That's it. First bit should be up Saturday, unless I find somewhere to be after work tonight and find myself the subject of embarrassment at someone's New Year celebration.
I couldn't think of anything. I was given an iPhone for Christmas, though, and I wondered if I could update my blog with an "app." It never occurred to me to stop and question whether I wanted to do so, I just wondered if I could.
I can. But I still don't know what to say.
I could write about writing, but the truth is, I haven't done very much of that lately. I could write about New Year's Resolutions, but I don't have any, and it's a little too much like the oft repetitive (and dull) self-help shut I used to spew out on the page every month or so (without ever actually doing anything), so I don't want to do that. I could (and probably should) write about gaming, but I haven't sat at a gaming table in months.
Now I'm wondering if having such ready access to my blog in the same device that also features a camera and gps locator is such a good idea.
This is just a ramble, I guess. I hope you'll forgive me for wasting your time. I think the best course of action here would be not to write; but since I'm not going to give that up, I suppose the next best alternative is to "stay the course."
I've a dozen or so story ideas I want to share, as well as the NANOWRIMO stuff I never finished. I have more thoughts on the process, and now that I've started with this, I've a burning desire to get back to it.
I think that, what you can expect in the weeks to come her is new short fiction, the long overdue continuation (and hopefully conclusion) of Reptile, and possibly an essay or two.
Plus (and let's be honest here) I've got a new iPhone and it's like the shiny new toy you just can't put down, so there'll likely be a few photos and "on the go" updates that will have been (once hindsight becomes a factor) better suited to 140 characters or less.
That's it. First bit should be up Saturday, unless I find somewhere to be after work tonight and find myself the subject of embarrassment at someone's New Year celebration.
Monday, December 20, 2010
The Green Dragon
This is a response to the video "Religious Right on Dangers of Environmentalism" posted by RightWingWatch.org. As Right Wing Watch is a watchdog channel, and not proponents of the message (and because this response was too long for my YouTube channel), I decided to post it here. It is mostly and embrace of what it is "they" think an environmentalist is. There are moments when I kind of lost my composure. Moments when I switched gears without warning (mostly following the track of the video). At some points I stopped calling for action and went on the offensive, as though the idiots in the video would deign to read my words. I left it all in here. It seemed the best way to provoke dialog was to go ahead and voice my opinions and feelings - even if they're wrong.
I believe there is a dire need for radical environmentalism. Now I'm not talking about a turn to violence, at least not overtly. I believe that there is a call for some sort of guerrilla information campaign. A Shock & Awe distribution of truth and solution that could blanket the developed world and start opening some eyes. To this end, in the interest of sparking conversation and debate, I present the following points:
Targeting The Children.
It seems to me that the first priority of any "Green Dragon" MUST be to target the children. Those who are blinded by ignorance and religious indoctrination against worldly stewardship (that's right, I said it) are going to prove least likely to bend to the winds of truth.
Children however, are malleable, open, willing to learn. They can - and want to - be taught the truth. And it is not the world that environmentalists are trying to protect. The world will endure, regardless of whether or not it remains hospitable for human life. It is these very children, and the children to come that (now) we are fighting tooth and nail to save from these blind, greedy, ignorant fascists.
The Needs of the Many
The needs of the Earth, of Nature (more specifically, the needs of our ecosystem) must come before the needs of her inhabitants. It sounds contradictory, anti-human, or even sinister, but without a balance in Nature, Nature will turn on us. Nature will either lash out and destroy us all, or simply stop feeding us.
The poor, the hungry, the uneducated, even the self-deluding asshats who are fighting to yoke Nature like a dog and force it under heel, are all going to die.
We're going to die slow, miserable, agonizing deaths.
The environment must come first. This is not to say that we should ignore the needs of our fellow men. Far from it. I think any environmentalist in his right mind must understand that we have to form a part of that balance in Nature. All of us. But while the needs of every single human must be met, and met today; there are some desires that can and will be put on hold until we have come to terms with our planet.
Those who stand under the shadow of the Green Dragon, who take up arms in its name, must not fall prey to the deceptions of the undereducated, the deluded, and the outright deranged. We must look at the Universe with an open, reasoned mind, and we must ask questions of that Universe and seek answers within the methodologies of rationality. We, as a species, have found within Nature the means to destroy her. We can find - whether within Nature or within ourselves - the means to rescue her from that destruction.
And we must be radical in our actions, our speech, our steps toward confronting the lies and disinformation spread about the sustainability of our grotesquely overindulgent lifestyles. It is time to stop listening respectfully to the bullshit these people are trying to foist onto us - onto our own children and start calling them on it.
You cannot speak of "human prosperity" or "human freedom" without addressing humanity. And I'll be completely fucking honest here. I don't give a rat's ass if you get to keep your wealth and comfort in the face of this. So long as one person in the world doesn't have enough to eat; so long as one human being has to sleep on the ground or eat dirt, just to have something in her stomach, the Green Dragon doesn't give two shits about your comfort.
Until every human being can be said to be within reach of prosperity, until every human being can be said to be free, your "human prosperity," your "human freedom" is meaningless. It is a lie - a disease of the foulest sort that, yes, I am out to fucking eradicate.
So long as you or your organization or your corporation or your group or team or club or fucking religion stands against a future in which our children can walk in the same light and breath the same air and enjoy the same world that we take for granted, then yes, I am your enemy; and my goals include an end to your doctrines.
A Spritual Battle
This is more than a political battle. More than a matter of mere education. The enemies of the Green Dragon have personalized their enmity for the well-being and safety of their fellow man by calling it their spiritual right, the divinely inspired gifts of their god. We can have no choice but to stand against these lies, to dissect and dissolve them in the public forum - whenever and wherever we can.
Make no mistake. These enemies of humanity view this as a spiritual battle - a mandate from heaven that no one will save this planet from destruction, not so long as it involves making them change even a light bulb.
These mother fuckers hold in their deranged little hearts, the notion that their god will come one day and wipe away the world. For two-thousand years, they have believed it would happen tomorrow; and so long as they and their children are allowed to continue in this delusion, they cannot help but see the fight to protect our habitat as - not just frivolous - but evil. Evil that flies in the face of all that they have deemed good in the eyes of their imaginary god.
The Religion of Environmental Science
The heart of science is its ability to adapt to new information. So long as we can look at the Universe and learn from it, our knowledge will change, and Science - which is nothing more than the process by which we add to that knowledge - will always be the key to understanding the best methods of saving ourselves from extinction.
Science is the exploration of Truth. If we can be said to have any religion, than it must be the search for Truth. But our understanding of that Truth must be malleable, must be open to the possibility that there is more to understand than what is already known. This is Science. And we must embrace it.
No longer can we stand effectively against these nutjobs who want nothing less than for their way of life to go on undeterred - regardless of the cost to their fellow man or the detrimental impact that way of life is having on their own habitat. We must undertake to understand the science behind the grandstanding of politicians and celebrity. We must know the answers to challenges put before us by these, frankly, evil people.
But picketing and shouting slogans will not suffice. No longer can we rely on the regurgitated catch phrases of a few popular scientists. A deeper understanding of the science behind the pop culture must be understood. We must embrace the scientific study of our environment, in order to protect our niche within it.
The Poor
I am so fucking through with the poor. I'm through worrying about the poor. Fuck the poor. It's about 200, maybe 2,000 years past time we stopped letting these people live in squalor. It's past time we stuck out a hand and started picking these fuckers up and putting them on the path. There are buildings in the world that are nearly a half-mile tall. One, at least, that exceeds that height. It cost 1.5 Billion dollars to erect that one building alone. Starbucks made $700 Million dollars a year selling bad coffee to people who prefer their milkshakes warm. There are shoes that cost more money than some people make in a year.
Meanwhile, there are people who throw away edible food. People who own clothes they never wear, computers they never use, televisions they never watch, fucking refrigerators that sit in unused rooms and never have food put in them. There are men and women who eat the equivalent of four or more meals at one sitting.
When the fuck are we going to stop being such assholes?
There are people in America who call themselves poor and yet have roofs over their heads and food in their mouths. People who have access to the internet, who watch cable TV and are really more wealthy than the Pharaohs of Egypt; than the Kings of Babylon.
You're goddamn right I hate the poor. I'm so fucking sick of poverty it makes my teeth hurt. That's not an exaggeration, I'm in dire need of dental work. But environmentalists like me don't want to eradicate the people. We want to do away with the poverty. There's just no fucking reason for one person in the world to go hungry today if anyone in the world can be said to have compassion.
That Not-Quite Overt Call to Arms I Mentioned Earlier
I think that what you have to open your eyes and ears and hearts to is this: You have no right to the wealth you possess. You have no right to live a life of excess and waste while others die of exposure and malnutrition. No matter how hard you think you worked for it, but especially if you're a preacher, an athlete or some other kind of entertainer. As of right now, you only possess that wealth because we allow you to.
Only because we have not come to take it.
But if you don't start showing some compassion, you are in for a rude awakening. Someone will come to my aid, and we will steal you away in the dead of night and drop your ass overseas in the goddamn center of life-sucks and we will liquidate your fortune and start ending poverty our way.
There is no god granting you leave to ignore the suffering of others. Nothing has been entrusted to you that wasn't taken by force from someone else. It's high time you fucking gave something back.
And it's high time you took your head out of your ass and stopped trying to destroy the only planet that can support our species.
You can search far and wide.
You can drink the whole town dry.
But you'll never find a beer so brown,
as the one we drink in our home town.
You can drink your fancy ales.
You can drink 'em by the flagon.
But the only brew for the brave and true
comes from the Green Dragon. - J.R.R. Tolkien
I believe there is a dire need for radical environmentalism. Now I'm not talking about a turn to violence, at least not overtly. I believe that there is a call for some sort of guerrilla information campaign. A Shock & Awe distribution of truth and solution that could blanket the developed world and start opening some eyes. To this end, in the interest of sparking conversation and debate, I present the following points:
Targeting The Children.
It seems to me that the first priority of any "Green Dragon" MUST be to target the children. Those who are blinded by ignorance and religious indoctrination against worldly stewardship (that's right, I said it) are going to prove least likely to bend to the winds of truth.
Children however, are malleable, open, willing to learn. They can - and want to - be taught the truth. And it is not the world that environmentalists are trying to protect. The world will endure, regardless of whether or not it remains hospitable for human life. It is these very children, and the children to come that (now) we are fighting tooth and nail to save from these blind, greedy, ignorant fascists.
The Needs of the Many
The needs of the Earth, of Nature (more specifically, the needs of our ecosystem) must come before the needs of her inhabitants. It sounds contradictory, anti-human, or even sinister, but without a balance in Nature, Nature will turn on us. Nature will either lash out and destroy us all, or simply stop feeding us.
The poor, the hungry, the uneducated, even the self-deluding asshats who are fighting to yoke Nature like a dog and force it under heel, are all going to die.
We're going to die slow, miserable, agonizing deaths.
The environment must come first. This is not to say that we should ignore the needs of our fellow men. Far from it. I think any environmentalist in his right mind must understand that we have to form a part of that balance in Nature. All of us. But while the needs of every single human must be met, and met today; there are some desires that can and will be put on hold until we have come to terms with our planet.
Those who stand under the shadow of the Green Dragon, who take up arms in its name, must not fall prey to the deceptions of the undereducated, the deluded, and the outright deranged. We must look at the Universe with an open, reasoned mind, and we must ask questions of that Universe and seek answers within the methodologies of rationality. We, as a species, have found within Nature the means to destroy her. We can find - whether within Nature or within ourselves - the means to rescue her from that destruction.
And we must be radical in our actions, our speech, our steps toward confronting the lies and disinformation spread about the sustainability of our grotesquely overindulgent lifestyles. It is time to stop listening respectfully to the bullshit these people are trying to foist onto us - onto our own children and start calling them on it.
You cannot speak of "human prosperity" or "human freedom" without addressing humanity. And I'll be completely fucking honest here. I don't give a rat's ass if you get to keep your wealth and comfort in the face of this. So long as one person in the world doesn't have enough to eat; so long as one human being has to sleep on the ground or eat dirt, just to have something in her stomach, the Green Dragon doesn't give two shits about your comfort.
Until every human being can be said to be within reach of prosperity, until every human being can be said to be free, your "human prosperity," your "human freedom" is meaningless. It is a lie - a disease of the foulest sort that, yes, I am out to fucking eradicate.
So long as you or your organization or your corporation or your group or team or club or fucking religion stands against a future in which our children can walk in the same light and breath the same air and enjoy the same world that we take for granted, then yes, I am your enemy; and my goals include an end to your doctrines.
A Spritual Battle
This is more than a political battle. More than a matter of mere education. The enemies of the Green Dragon have personalized their enmity for the well-being and safety of their fellow man by calling it their spiritual right, the divinely inspired gifts of their god. We can have no choice but to stand against these lies, to dissect and dissolve them in the public forum - whenever and wherever we can.
Make no mistake. These enemies of humanity view this as a spiritual battle - a mandate from heaven that no one will save this planet from destruction, not so long as it involves making them change even a light bulb.
These mother fuckers hold in their deranged little hearts, the notion that their god will come one day and wipe away the world. For two-thousand years, they have believed it would happen tomorrow; and so long as they and their children are allowed to continue in this delusion, they cannot help but see the fight to protect our habitat as - not just frivolous - but evil. Evil that flies in the face of all that they have deemed good in the eyes of their imaginary god.
The Religion of Environmental Science
The heart of science is its ability to adapt to new information. So long as we can look at the Universe and learn from it, our knowledge will change, and Science - which is nothing more than the process by which we add to that knowledge - will always be the key to understanding the best methods of saving ourselves from extinction.
Science is the exploration of Truth. If we can be said to have any religion, than it must be the search for Truth. But our understanding of that Truth must be malleable, must be open to the possibility that there is more to understand than what is already known. This is Science. And we must embrace it.
No longer can we stand effectively against these nutjobs who want nothing less than for their way of life to go on undeterred - regardless of the cost to their fellow man or the detrimental impact that way of life is having on their own habitat. We must undertake to understand the science behind the grandstanding of politicians and celebrity. We must know the answers to challenges put before us by these, frankly, evil people.
But picketing and shouting slogans will not suffice. No longer can we rely on the regurgitated catch phrases of a few popular scientists. A deeper understanding of the science behind the pop culture must be understood. We must embrace the scientific study of our environment, in order to protect our niche within it.
The Poor
I am so fucking through with the poor. I'm through worrying about the poor. Fuck the poor. It's about 200, maybe 2,000 years past time we stopped letting these people live in squalor. It's past time we stuck out a hand and started picking these fuckers up and putting them on the path. There are buildings in the world that are nearly a half-mile tall. One, at least, that exceeds that height. It cost 1.5 Billion dollars to erect that one building alone. Starbucks made $700 Million dollars a year selling bad coffee to people who prefer their milkshakes warm. There are shoes that cost more money than some people make in a year.
Meanwhile, there are people who throw away edible food. People who own clothes they never wear, computers they never use, televisions they never watch, fucking refrigerators that sit in unused rooms and never have food put in them. There are men and women who eat the equivalent of four or more meals at one sitting.
When the fuck are we going to stop being such assholes?
There are people in America who call themselves poor and yet have roofs over their heads and food in their mouths. People who have access to the internet, who watch cable TV and are really more wealthy than the Pharaohs of Egypt; than the Kings of Babylon.
You're goddamn right I hate the poor. I'm so fucking sick of poverty it makes my teeth hurt. That's not an exaggeration, I'm in dire need of dental work. But environmentalists like me don't want to eradicate the people. We want to do away with the poverty. There's just no fucking reason for one person in the world to go hungry today if anyone in the world can be said to have compassion.
That Not-Quite Overt Call to Arms I Mentioned Earlier
I think that what you have to open your eyes and ears and hearts to is this: You have no right to the wealth you possess. You have no right to live a life of excess and waste while others die of exposure and malnutrition. No matter how hard you think you worked for it, but especially if you're a preacher, an athlete or some other kind of entertainer. As of right now, you only possess that wealth because we allow you to.
Only because we have not come to take it.
But if you don't start showing some compassion, you are in for a rude awakening. Someone will come to my aid, and we will steal you away in the dead of night and drop your ass overseas in the goddamn center of life-sucks and we will liquidate your fortune and start ending poverty our way.
There is no god granting you leave to ignore the suffering of others. Nothing has been entrusted to you that wasn't taken by force from someone else. It's high time you fucking gave something back.
And it's high time you took your head out of your ass and stopped trying to destroy the only planet that can support our species.
Friday, September 10, 2010
Heroes
I've been writing this story (it's taking a while). It's a hero's journey tale, which ought to have been a simple affair to put on paper. Alas, had I only taken the Hero's Journey myself.
Well, maybe I did, a little. Maybe I'm still on the Hero's Journey. Maybe this is the part where the hero - filled with despair - succumbs to the temptations of the world and grows fat and lazy, spending all of his time looking at the amazing lives of other people on the internet and wishing he was doing more.
No, wait. That's not in the Hero's Journey, exactly, is it?
But it got me thinking. Actually, I was thinking about who inspired the protagonist of the story I'm not writing right now, because I'm writing this. And that got me thinking about who my heroes are, have been. It's a crazy, stupid, incredibly long list, but here are a few in no particular order:
Luke Skywalker
Other kids wanted to be Firemen or Astronauts or even Jedi. I wanted to be Luke Skywalker. I figured it out later, but that's always kind of lurked in the background, even today.
Stephen King
Say whatever the hell you want (you book snob) about the so-called "pedestrian" nature of Stephen King's work. The man can spin a tale. I can't think of one King story I've read that let me down. Silver Bullet, maybe (I read the script). Stephen King's On Writing was the book that made me think I could be a writer, after a smattering of praise from a 11th-grade English teacher. I wish now I'd abandoned everything else right then (maybe not drama) and only written until there were no words left in me. I wish I could do that now.
Richard Harris
Richard Harris was a drunk and a scalawag who quite possibly funded the IRA; but he was in a movie called "Triumph of a Man Called Horse," which was the first movie I saw that made me think I wanted to be an actor.
You may not know that I wanted to be an actor. I gave up on that dream. Fuck I don't like admitting that.
Richard Harris led an amazing life too. He told the best stories, he drank a lot, he went were he wanted to go, said what he wanted to say, and did whatever the hell he wanted to do. I always wanted to have balls like that. Sometimes I think Peter O'Toole is the man who was my hero here. Holy crap I'd loved to have gone drinking with those two. No. Richard Harris was Arthur, and John Mills, and so much more.
Carl Sagan
Carl Sagan made me want to go to space even more than Luke Skywalker did, almost as much as Neil deGrasse Tyson does. More than that, Sagan makes me want to keep learning. keep studying. Be smarter. Better. More.
Neil deGrasse Tyson
Tyson seems to have picked up where Sagan, regrettably, left off - he practically studied at the man's feet. He is so infectious when he talks about science, about his own field of astrophysics, specifically. I can't help but wanting to know more. I hope for two things for Mr. Tyson. First, that he doesn't have to face any of the negativity from other scientists that Sagan is rumored to have had to face. Second, that he has the time and inclination to take the reigns of some modern incarnation of Cosmos.
Kurt Vonnegut
I came to Vonnegut kind of late in the game. I already knew I wanted to write, I already knew I wanted to speak my mind (though I haven't quite learned that trick yet). But Vonnegut gave voice to the wretched little demon under my talent and tried to kick me in the butt and make me do something. I love reading Vonnegut. Even the stuff I already read. Even when I disagree with the man, I fucking loved him.
Mel Brooks
I've always kind of secretly wished I was just half as funny as Mel Brooks.
Paul Varjak
I wanted to BE Paul Varjak because he was a) a writer, almost living the life he wanted to live - writing; and b) he was a kept man. I've wanted to be a kept man since I was a teenage boy. It's a dream, leave me alone.
I almost wanted to be Paul Varjak as much as I wanted to be "Fred." I wanted to be Fred because he got the girl. And what a girl (Audrey Hepburn in this case), crazy, psychotic, drunken (man-hating) fool with great legs and a smile that'd melt you. Wait a minute. I might've actually done that part. I hope it ended better for Fred, I mean Paul.
Charlie Chaplain
I didn't really see any Charlie Chaplain films until I was in high school, during my senior year. My Drama teacher showed us a few of them and then we improved our way through a couple of ideas brought up by the films. Watching the old silent movies, though - for the first time - in 1990, was like seeing something completely new. Actors in movies we watch now, don't do the things Chaplain did. The don't do them the way Chaplain did. I don't know if one is necessarily better than the other (if you discount the differences of medium); but Chaplain got me fired up.
Bruce Campbell
Bruce Campbell said once that he just wanted to act. He didn't care what the movie was, didn't care how bad it seemed or anything like that. He just wanted to act, man. True or not (I never bothered to look into its veracity), I've been impressed by that sentiment ever since. Plus, the man was Ash AND he was Elvis in Bubba Hotep. He can do no wrong as far as I'm concerned.
Daniel Day Lewis
If Richard Harris made me want to act, Daniel Day Lewis made me want to act well. He also instilled in me this incredible fear (which I never quite got over), that I would never be good enough.
It was Lewis's earlier stuff that effected me most, though lately, I've viewed his work with this sinking sensation in the back of my soul telling me I should be on stage, or at least in front of a camera (there's that fear again, though).
Christopher Hitchens
Hitch is a writer who doesn't back down when his subject is likely to offend. He's a different kind of writer than I am, but he's an inspiration no matter what. He's also the man who presented about half the arguments that allowed me to let go of my belief in god(s).
There's more. More Heroes. More reasons why. But I can't for the life of me think of why I'm writing this. Who are your heroes? I left some out (because there are no videos of them); but who are the people that make you who you are, or make you want to be better.
Who inspires you to be more than you were yesterday? This is kind of important to think about every once in a while. Like realizing when you're happy.
Well, maybe I did, a little. Maybe I'm still on the Hero's Journey. Maybe this is the part where the hero - filled with despair - succumbs to the temptations of the world and grows fat and lazy, spending all of his time looking at the amazing lives of other people on the internet and wishing he was doing more.
No, wait. That's not in the Hero's Journey, exactly, is it?
But it got me thinking. Actually, I was thinking about who inspired the protagonist of the story I'm not writing right now, because I'm writing this. And that got me thinking about who my heroes are, have been. It's a crazy, stupid, incredibly long list, but here are a few in no particular order:
Luke Skywalker
Other kids wanted to be Firemen or Astronauts or even Jedi. I wanted to be Luke Skywalker. I figured it out later, but that's always kind of lurked in the background, even today.
Stephen King
Say whatever the hell you want (you book snob) about the so-called "pedestrian" nature of Stephen King's work. The man can spin a tale. I can't think of one King story I've read that let me down. Silver Bullet, maybe (I read the script). Stephen King's On Writing was the book that made me think I could be a writer, after a smattering of praise from a 11th-grade English teacher. I wish now I'd abandoned everything else right then (maybe not drama) and only written until there were no words left in me. I wish I could do that now.
Richard Harris
Richard Harris was a drunk and a scalawag who quite possibly funded the IRA; but he was in a movie called "Triumph of a Man Called Horse," which was the first movie I saw that made me think I wanted to be an actor.
You may not know that I wanted to be an actor. I gave up on that dream. Fuck I don't like admitting that.
Richard Harris led an amazing life too. He told the best stories, he drank a lot, he went were he wanted to go, said what he wanted to say, and did whatever the hell he wanted to do. I always wanted to have balls like that. Sometimes I think Peter O'Toole is the man who was my hero here. Holy crap I'd loved to have gone drinking with those two. No. Richard Harris was Arthur, and John Mills, and so much more.
Carl Sagan
Carl Sagan made me want to go to space even more than Luke Skywalker did, almost as much as Neil deGrasse Tyson does. More than that, Sagan makes me want to keep learning. keep studying. Be smarter. Better. More.
Neil deGrasse Tyson
Tyson seems to have picked up where Sagan, regrettably, left off - he practically studied at the man's feet. He is so infectious when he talks about science, about his own field of astrophysics, specifically. I can't help but wanting to know more. I hope for two things for Mr. Tyson. First, that he doesn't have to face any of the negativity from other scientists that Sagan is rumored to have had to face. Second, that he has the time and inclination to take the reigns of some modern incarnation of Cosmos.
Kurt Vonnegut
I came to Vonnegut kind of late in the game. I already knew I wanted to write, I already knew I wanted to speak my mind (though I haven't quite learned that trick yet). But Vonnegut gave voice to the wretched little demon under my talent and tried to kick me in the butt and make me do something. I love reading Vonnegut. Even the stuff I already read. Even when I disagree with the man, I fucking loved him.
Mel Brooks
I've always kind of secretly wished I was just half as funny as Mel Brooks.
Paul Varjak
I wanted to BE Paul Varjak because he was a) a writer, almost living the life he wanted to live - writing; and b) he was a kept man. I've wanted to be a kept man since I was a teenage boy. It's a dream, leave me alone.
I almost wanted to be Paul Varjak as much as I wanted to be "Fred." I wanted to be Fred because he got the girl. And what a girl (Audrey Hepburn in this case), crazy, psychotic, drunken (man-hating) fool with great legs and a smile that'd melt you. Wait a minute. I might've actually done that part. I hope it ended better for Fred, I mean Paul.
Charlie Chaplain
I didn't really see any Charlie Chaplain films until I was in high school, during my senior year. My Drama teacher showed us a few of them and then we improved our way through a couple of ideas brought up by the films. Watching the old silent movies, though - for the first time - in 1990, was like seeing something completely new. Actors in movies we watch now, don't do the things Chaplain did. The don't do them the way Chaplain did. I don't know if one is necessarily better than the other (if you discount the differences of medium); but Chaplain got me fired up.
Bruce Campbell
Bruce Campbell said once that he just wanted to act. He didn't care what the movie was, didn't care how bad it seemed or anything like that. He just wanted to act, man. True or not (I never bothered to look into its veracity), I've been impressed by that sentiment ever since. Plus, the man was Ash AND he was Elvis in Bubba Hotep. He can do no wrong as far as I'm concerned.
Daniel Day Lewis
If Richard Harris made me want to act, Daniel Day Lewis made me want to act well. He also instilled in me this incredible fear (which I never quite got over), that I would never be good enough.
It was Lewis's earlier stuff that effected me most, though lately, I've viewed his work with this sinking sensation in the back of my soul telling me I should be on stage, or at least in front of a camera (there's that fear again, though).
Christopher Hitchens
Hitch is a writer who doesn't back down when his subject is likely to offend. He's a different kind of writer than I am, but he's an inspiration no matter what. He's also the man who presented about half the arguments that allowed me to let go of my belief in god(s).
There's more. More Heroes. More reasons why. But I can't for the life of me think of why I'm writing this. Who are your heroes? I left some out (because there are no videos of them); but who are the people that make you who you are, or make you want to be better.
Who inspires you to be more than you were yesterday? This is kind of important to think about every once in a while. Like realizing when you're happy.
Saturday, September 4, 2010
Good Dream or Best Dream
I had one of those awesome dreams that makes you (me) reach for one of the dozen or more spiral notebooks strewn around my room and try to get it all down before nothing remains but a faint smile and ephemera.
I have this recurring dream about fighting vampires around this tiny old Gothic church in the middle of some city. When I say fighting vampires, I mean there are about 30 of us against what can only be described as the vampire apocalypse. Think: "every zombie movie you've ever seen" except that the zombies are smart, can turn into wolves (or bats), have psychic powers and are so much faster than you or I will ever be. It almost always sucks. Ha ha. No.
The dream (I can't adequately explain why it's not a nightmare - well, tonight I can) usually consists of anticipation. Me and the other survivors trying to scrounge weapons, secure the children, board up windows and prep ourselves for the death we all know we can only postpone a few minutes. Maybe a few hours. I often wake just as the horde of vampires come into view, striding out of the night and filling the streets like only a horde of evil bent on your utter destruction and damnation can.
This time, I was helping the preacher, I think his name was Jon. We were filling water balloons with holy water (he was blessing them as we went) and some chick said, "can I help? I don't want to just stand around."
It was Summer Glau. If you don't know who that is, I'm sorry. Father Jon (that was it for sure) and a bunch of others and I got over being star-struck, trying to figure out why she was in Chicago. I never knew the church was in Chicago before.
I think it gave us all a kind of hope - her being there. Our families weren't there, our friends and neighbors, but here was someone we almost knew. Here was someone alive. "We can do this," I said.
Later, I was trying to show her how to fire a crossbow and she said, "dude, I was a fucking terminator."
I laughed. "Okay."
We went through all the motions we usually go through. I think I've dreamt one variation of this dream or another at least a dozen times. But I felt like a schoolboy. I was arming children with sharpened stakes and locking them in a church basement and smiling at this chick who (at least in my dream) was as smart and strong and - you get the idea. Stupid.
So someone shouts, "they're here!"
We all run up to the giant, Tolkienesque doors (I can't think of any other way to describe the church's doors - like something off a church in Arda). And we're standing there. And I look over at Summer and she gives me this smirk, like she does onscreen. Kind of a cocky, "don't be stupid, we got this all day" thing. And then the horde comes into sight and the fighting starts and I lose track of her and I wake up trying to fight my way through the horde to find where the fuck she went.
Part of me wanted to save the movie star - the idea of her gave us all so much hope, part of me just wanted to be the hero, part of me wanted to be in love (I realized for the briefest moment that I was dreaming when I told myself what a dumb idea that was - falling in love with a made-up construct of my own subconscious), and part of me wanted to get laid - I might've been fully back in the dream by then, but I did fleetingly hope it would happen before I woke up. I didn't get to her.
I woke up.
There's a school of thought among the Lucid Dreamer / Out of Body Experience people that teaches Dreams are real. When you dream, your consciousness slips the bonds of this world and sojourns (however briefly) in another actual physical reality. It seems ephemeral and disconnected only because it isn't your reality. You shouldn't be able to be there. Sometimes you interact with other dreamers, sometimes with total strangers - natives of those other worlds. Often you see these as people you know just because your subconscious (sic) knows to trust them (or not to) and assigns them these appearances in your mind so that you'll associate with them more readily. I don't buy it, but hearing the theory in its entirety lends a gravity to most dreams. There are some fucked-up other realities out there. Even worse if they are really just inner realities.
I felt a distinct sense of loss when I realized I was awake. Like I blew it. Usually when I wake up from this thing, I feel bad because I know they were going to die, but I feel good that I helped give them hope. I stretched their dream-lives a few moments longer than I might have.
But I couldn't save the girl this time; and she was new. Different. Whoever she was, I hope she made it. Anyway. I wrote it all down and decided to share. Now that it's done, I still have no idea why I don't think it was a nightmare.
It had all the elements: danger, fear, sacrifice, dark and scary imagery, that disjointed feeling you get when you know something bad is about to happen. Like I said, 30 some-odd people are about to die.
But even when I wake up with my heart pounding, sweating and - sometimes - wishing I could get back to sleep and back to the fight just to die with those good people still out there fighting, somewhere in the universe, it's not a nightmare. I don't know why.
I wish I knew better how to interpret dreams (other than, "man Dave, you're fucking crazy"). Or maybe I could actually practice Lucid Dreaming so that one night, when I dream it again, I can actually fight. Make a difference. Kill a shit-ton of vampires and save the girl. Save the Day. Save the whole damn world.
Even if it isn't mine.
Maybe it isn't a nightmare because it gives me hope. I can do better. Just let me back in there.
I have this recurring dream about fighting vampires around this tiny old Gothic church in the middle of some city. When I say fighting vampires, I mean there are about 30 of us against what can only be described as the vampire apocalypse. Think: "every zombie movie you've ever seen" except that the zombies are smart, can turn into wolves (or bats), have psychic powers and are so much faster than you or I will ever be. It almost always sucks. Ha ha. No.
The dream (I can't adequately explain why it's not a nightmare - well, tonight I can) usually consists of anticipation. Me and the other survivors trying to scrounge weapons, secure the children, board up windows and prep ourselves for the death we all know we can only postpone a few minutes. Maybe a few hours. I often wake just as the horde of vampires come into view, striding out of the night and filling the streets like only a horde of evil bent on your utter destruction and damnation can.
This time, I was helping the preacher, I think his name was Jon. We were filling water balloons with holy water (he was blessing them as we went) and some chick said, "can I help? I don't want to just stand around."
It was Summer Glau. If you don't know who that is, I'm sorry. Father Jon (that was it for sure) and a bunch of others and I got over being star-struck, trying to figure out why she was in Chicago. I never knew the church was in Chicago before.
I think it gave us all a kind of hope - her being there. Our families weren't there, our friends and neighbors, but here was someone we almost knew. Here was someone alive. "We can do this," I said.
Later, I was trying to show her how to fire a crossbow and she said, "dude, I was a fucking terminator."
I laughed. "Okay."
We went through all the motions we usually go through. I think I've dreamt one variation of this dream or another at least a dozen times. But I felt like a schoolboy. I was arming children with sharpened stakes and locking them in a church basement and smiling at this chick who (at least in my dream) was as smart and strong and - you get the idea. Stupid.
So someone shouts, "they're here!"
We all run up to the giant, Tolkienesque doors (I can't think of any other way to describe the church's doors - like something off a church in Arda). And we're standing there. And I look over at Summer and she gives me this smirk, like she does onscreen. Kind of a cocky, "don't be stupid, we got this all day" thing. And then the horde comes into sight and the fighting starts and I lose track of her and I wake up trying to fight my way through the horde to find where the fuck she went.
Part of me wanted to save the movie star - the idea of her gave us all so much hope, part of me just wanted to be the hero, part of me wanted to be in love (I realized for the briefest moment that I was dreaming when I told myself what a dumb idea that was - falling in love with a made-up construct of my own subconscious), and part of me wanted to get laid - I might've been fully back in the dream by then, but I did fleetingly hope it would happen before I woke up. I didn't get to her.
I woke up.
There's a school of thought among the Lucid Dreamer / Out of Body Experience people that teaches Dreams are real. When you dream, your consciousness slips the bonds of this world and sojourns (however briefly) in another actual physical reality. It seems ephemeral and disconnected only because it isn't your reality. You shouldn't be able to be there. Sometimes you interact with other dreamers, sometimes with total strangers - natives of those other worlds. Often you see these as people you know just because your subconscious (sic) knows to trust them (or not to) and assigns them these appearances in your mind so that you'll associate with them more readily. I don't buy it, but hearing the theory in its entirety lends a gravity to most dreams. There are some fucked-up other realities out there. Even worse if they are really just inner realities.
I felt a distinct sense of loss when I realized I was awake. Like I blew it. Usually when I wake up from this thing, I feel bad because I know they were going to die, but I feel good that I helped give them hope. I stretched their dream-lives a few moments longer than I might have.
But I couldn't save the girl this time; and she was new. Different. Whoever she was, I hope she made it. Anyway. I wrote it all down and decided to share. Now that it's done, I still have no idea why I don't think it was a nightmare.
It had all the elements: danger, fear, sacrifice, dark and scary imagery, that disjointed feeling you get when you know something bad is about to happen. Like I said, 30 some-odd people are about to die.
But even when I wake up with my heart pounding, sweating and - sometimes - wishing I could get back to sleep and back to the fight just to die with those good people still out there fighting, somewhere in the universe, it's not a nightmare. I don't know why.
I wish I knew better how to interpret dreams (other than, "man Dave, you're fucking crazy"). Or maybe I could actually practice Lucid Dreaming so that one night, when I dream it again, I can actually fight. Make a difference. Kill a shit-ton of vampires and save the girl. Save the Day. Save the whole damn world.
Even if it isn't mine.
Maybe it isn't a nightmare because it gives me hope. I can do better. Just let me back in there.
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