DOCUMENT:
Chronicles of Project 25:365
I, Too, Have Been Chased by Monsters in My Dreams
Until I turn around and kill them.
(Digital)
I have all the other standard nightmare fare: the slow motion running, the pervasive darkness, the crumbling teeth, and the feeling of hopelessness. Weirdly, the worst nightmare I’ve ever had, from an affective standpoint, prominently featured one of those 1980s, orange, plastic Halloween candy pumpkins.
The worst dreams I have now involve my dog not listening when I call him and disappearing into warrens and mazes of apocalyptic wastelands. Sometimes, in these dreams, someone has stolen him. So I kill them. Usually in unspeakably brutal ways. There is some dream-analysis truth buried in the fact that when they come for me alone, I sometimes can’t fight them. But every time they take the Bert, I don’t just kill the monsters, I dismantle them.
At an Angle
I had to prop up the head of my bed today because I am middle-aged and broken and can no longer trust my fragile body to operate properly if I sleep like my ancestors once did, i.e. parallel to the earth.
I have… anxieties about this state of affairs:
(Digital)
Tiptoe
Over the Precipice
(Digital)
I’ve been sick today. Whatever the devil-designed winter ick is that’s going around, it finally took me down. If you picture the least graceful moose, drunk and careening through the underbrush, making frothing noises and worse, that was me a few hours ago. My brain is spongy from sleep and sustenance deprivation. Hence, this slightly digitally altered picture I took of my Wacom while I was busy tracing the artwork from the Rider-Waite deck. Proudest artistic moment? No. Task complete? Fuck yes.
