Wednesday, February 23, 2011
It fucking happened again last niiiight! This time I was talking to my husband on the phone until the phone battery died. So I put it on the charger. I genuinely can't remember if he called me back or not. It seems like maybe he called me back on the house phone, which I had beside me in the bed, and maybe he didn't. But that's how things were when I went to sleep. I wake up this morning, and the cell phone is in the bed with me turned off and the house phone is sitting on the vanity where the cell phone was. I turned the cell phone on: fully charged. This isn't like me! If I got up to turn off an alarm, I would remember it. I've always remembered it. This is getting too weird!
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
It should be made to note that my husband called me after midnight on schedule. At about 02:30 hours I went upstairs to talk to him in the bedroom. I left the kitchen light on. I was already feeling creeped out by that point because the house had that "they're here" feeling. I never feel safe when that happens. This is why I consciously made a decision to leave the kitchen light on; as a night light. While talking to him in the bedroom I decided I wanted to go back downstairs for something. I opened the bedroom door to leave, and stopped. All of the lights were turned off. Stardrops was sleeping. I was the only one up. And I got creeped out even more. And maybe even a little frightened. When I hung up with him after 4 in the morning, I put the phone with the earbud still in it on the dresser. When I woke up in the morning, I felt nauseous and acid-mouthed. As I stood up to get moving for the day I noticed one of my cell phone charms was stuck to my nightgown. The phone was missing on the dresser. I had been sleeping on it. This is the 2nd time in the past 2 weeks I've woke up with my cell phone not in the way I put it when I went to sleep. I had a dream about a high electric fence, a place I'd been to before. Driving a car to leave something; some area where there were lots of people. And a crawldaddy. And clear water in a creek by the fence: perfectly clear water. And a shrine to "steffie" that looked very Hindu. At first I was going to rescue the dolls on the shrine because I thought they were abandoned until I noticed the shrine, so I began straightening it out as it was obviously a mess from a recent rain storm. The Indian family that owned it came walking up to help me. The crawldaddy I let go in the creek which was full of giant minnows. I bade it to live a full and happy life. Somehow there was another fish involved: a big ugly one in the tank I had the crawldaddy in. If I had decided to keep the crawldaddy the fish would have ate it, and that's one reason why I chose the creek. The crawldaddy wasn't mud colored because it had not been raised in muddy water. It was a light pale brown, almost flesh colored. I remember noticing that and how odd it was to me.
Sunday, February 20, 2011
I have another sinus infection, and I guess I overdosed a little bit on medicine. I was so desperate to make the burning go away and get some sleep. I finally fell asleep at about 6 in the morning. I walked the house of my mind. I know it's the inner house of my mind now, where I never knew it before. It was just as grey and empty as ever. And dark, because there is no lighting aside from what filters in from the day. I think it was Saraen that was with me, and some guy she had. I told them not to go to the second floor. Always if I go to the second floor, I experience terror even though I've never been attacked or seen anything there. It's just that's where the feelings of fear lurk. Next thing I knew creatures came down from the second floor. They were reaper type creatures made of grey old-fashioned funeral cloth. They didn't make any noise, but they came around anyway. I said to Saraen, "I TOLD you not to go to the second floor, but you did anyway." Her response was the usual noncommittal thing she gives, because she's going to do what she wants and to hell with who pays the consequences if it's not her. I wasn't afraid of them oddly enough. At this point Saraen and company disappeared from the dream. It was me and the reapers. One would come at me, and I'd use a sentence of power and put out my right palm to touch it. This would send it fleeing away. The sentences of power were ordinary sounding, like "Wash the dishes" only they weren't sentences you'd use in everyday conversation normally. I can't remember them now, but through this I know that deep down I know my own sentences of power. At one point I flipped up a reaper's skirting to see if there was anything inside. It was completely hollow. And it didn't like the invasion of privacy, I suspect. I used a sentence of power on it, too, and off it went. When I drove off the last reaper, I noticed there was a small white fox running laps around my feet. Maybe she was an arctic fox. She was beautiful, with small pointed ears and not the large ones like on a red fox. I saw her and knew I'd seen her two nights ago, and I knew she was a shapeshifting fox. I thought of her like a werewolf, but I guess the proper term is kitsune. Then I grabbed her by the scruff of her neck. I said to her,"Oh, how I wish I had your power. I'd let you bite me, if I thought it would give your power to me." Or maybe I said that first and then grabbed her. I can't remember. I held her thus, and my grip loosened a few times but I managed to get it back each time. AT one point I remember she had her teeth on me, but she didn't bite down. And she shapeshifted into human form. She was about the size of a Barbie with light brown hair and a White person's face. I began asking her questions. "What music do you like? Where do you come from? Are you from outside or is it me? Who was here first?" But she refused to answer and stayed quiet aside from a voiced noise of pain as my fingers continued to grip her hair and it pulled. I said, "You know, if you'd strike up a conversation with me I might be convinced to let you go." Nevermind the real reason why I'd clung so long to begin with was because I was afraid she'd bite and hurt me. She got that mischievous grin I get, and she said in my voice, "What kind of music?" And erupted in song. I mean she erupted like a radio. It was an old intro song to Saturday morning cartoons back when Kid Video was the song of the hour. Only the lyrics were all wrong. It said, "It's time for Sunday morning. It's time for Sunday morning." And all these weird voodoo poppet doll things erupted through the air in an arc like a puppet rainbow or some crazy shit. I saw them coming and watched. They were all shades of brown, no color at all. And I thought how silly, because the music didn't effect me the way it does everyone else in my head. I looked back down at the kitsune but I wasn't holding her anymore. She'd used the distraction to switch herself with one of the dolls. It was a burlap looking thing with heavy stitched seams and funny yarn hair. I noticed her lips were sewn shut with a very fine copper wire. And boom. I was out of the dream. Only I was somewhere else, thinking, and plotting time travel and coming up and out the way I do.
Friday, February 18, 2011
At the turn of the century when my black princess programming was first getting awoken, I was living with a would-be cult and the 2nd in command (who was really more like a leader). If you Saw him with his glamours off, he was large and full of tendrils. I couldn't handle the pressure of being so near this being while having him mess with my mind at the same time, so I started to fall apart. And the merging process was happening too quickly. I don't think he knew what he had in his house, to be honest, that he'd decided to tamper with. Which would explain why he broke into real tears once, looking into my head at my small childhood, or would get confused when one of my altars would take over his body and speak through him. He knew a lot, but was also very ignorant. One day I was washing dishes in my part of the house when he came home from work. In that merging state all twelve of your sense are raw and wide open, so when he walked in I didn't see the dumpy human. I was startled by the bright tendril monster. What happened next was like in a Hollywood movie. By trained instinct, I turned and shot a volley of light darts in his direction. About six came out of my right hand (the hand of power) and hit him in a scattered array. I stood there with my back against the sink and watched them soak into his body while he looked down calmly. Then I was hit with, "Omigosh! I remembered how to do __-!" and the following conversation was more me bouncing on my toes in joy that I'd managed to do something and him claiming that they'd bounced off his "armor'. When he'd made that claim I didn't say anything, but they did NOT bounce off. Shortly after that he spent a lot of time sick in bed.
Monday, February 14, 2011
My husband is deployed to Afghanistan. I have been enduring a lot of emotional abuse from one of my current handlers, an inexperienced little prick of a boy. It's very distressing. He hates me and I can sense it. I'm in an airport, with my "husband". He had no name; he was just my husband and that was all I needed to loyally wait as he was redeployed or shipped out or whatever scenario it was to emotionally deride me. I was taking it in stride, though, and actually now that I think about it was not that upset. Just kind of there. He walked away, perhaps to board the plane. I'm not sure. I remember barely that it was communicated to me that he was leaving for whatever, so I guess that was the trigger moment well times. And as he walked out of my line of sight, another man walked by it. This man had an extra layer of clothing, as if a pulled up robe, and a flash or red or yellow-orange underneath as if on a vest or something like that. He was my target. My mind zeroed in on this person, who was now my focus, as he walked through the scanners and down into the terminal areas of the airport. Yes, there were a lot of other people there but they were just a background hum. And then, when my target was gone, I returned to my waiting status. Suddenly without pause I'm in a hall and there's a map on the wall; one of the maps where the countries are in various colors. Like the one on my wall except it was much bigger. When I noticed it, I thought I was looking at my own map at first but then noticed I was in a back hall somewhere in the airport. I automatically zeroed into where Tim, my real husband, is right now: the Afghanistan area. But that was wrong, it was not where my eyes wanted to be. So they went south, and then skipped over when I hit water, and then south until I came upon a tiny country somewhere in Africa. By Kenya. I calculated it. I read the country's name. I knew this country, and I triangulated back to AFghanistan thinking to myself, "It's south of him." And then I pointed with my right hand even though no one was there and said, "The man is going there." In my mind it was wrong that the map didn't have a pin to mark the place. So I focused harder. And while my "husband" reappeared from the right and affirmed with me that this was the place a pin appeared there. Maybe because of my imagination. Maybe because it was placed. There was a white box on the wall; it held a phone. My husband picked up the receiver, dialed a coujple of numbers, and said, "Is ____ there? Yes. Tell her Tim is on the phone for her." He paused a second because the person on the end of the line apparently didn't quite get it. "No," he said, "Tell her Code Tim. Code Tim! Yes. Yes. Tell her Tim wants to talk to her." And I thought to myself, "So this person is screening her calls." Then my husband looked back at me with a pleased expression. He didn't have a malicious look in his eye, not really. He's just a young kid that was given me to deal with. And he had said my husband's real name. So while he was talking, I was looking at one of my handlers and seeing his true face for the first time. A young kid, maybe 22. Maybe 25. Short brown hair in a tight cut. Not blue eyes. I would have noticed if they were blue. Very thin, angular face. And not a bad soul, either. A quiet soul and a voice he made very sweet because he was pleased with me and wanted me to think Tim was there to love me. And although he continued to play the part, I stood there assessing everything about him and studying even his tiny blue jeans and the white shirt he wore. Because he was not Tim, and it was important I knew who this person was that put himself in the place of my husband. After a mission with the military, be it MILAB or not, you brief the situation to a superior. My brief came a foggy bit later as I stood in front of a big wooden desk. There was a woman behind the desk that I was ... ooh I get it... the woman was probably the person my handler called on the phone... but anyway, I was standing in front of the desk and I thought she was Eve Lorgen. So I told it to her with phrasing such as, "I had this dream, and in the dream my husband wasn't my husband..." etc. And proceeded to tell her about the man in the airport and where he was going. One of these days they're going to do that and I'm going to hit the rant, "I love my work, you know? I love doing these things. I just don't want to do them like this anymore. I'll happily use my gifts for my country. But I want my days and memories, and I want to know what I'm doing and what the situation is. And a small stipend would help out a lot."
Thursday, February 10, 2011
I was somewhere for a 4th of the July celebration. Somewhere the sun would never set, because it was night yet it was light out. And I knew it wasn't 4th of July, being as it's February, but I was going along with it. It was a small dock like area with a large creek going out into the water like in Florida. There were little bleachers there and a white gravel parking area of some kind. I can't remember all that happened. I just remember that i got into Barry's truck to leave, and I was on my cell phone talking to someone. I don't know who. Choshu, my husband, or Silverkat. And the people in the little boats (they were like Dixie boats, the kinds used in the old days down south) lit fircrackers all over the boats. I remember looking at how pretty they were and then I noticed the people weren't on the boat anymore. They were on the bleachers. And then suddenly, as if it were in the Bermuda Triangle, the boat went plunk! Straight down into the water. "OMIGOD THEY SUNK THE BOAT!" I told the person I was talking to. I kept going over and over it like a person does when they're dumbfounded. They just sunk the boat! Just like that! For a celebration! I was shocked at what I had seen! Then Barry got into the truck on the driver's side and handed me a purple flyer. I could read what the flyer said, but I don't remember it now. He said to me that in the summer this magazine the flyer was for was starting up and he wanted my work in it. There was a date on the upper right hand corner. And the theme of the magazine seemed to be horror or something like that out of my field. I wasn't sure of putting my work in it. Then we started to drive away.
Tonight, fake nails are of note. While laying in bed with a stupid tummy ache, I started to put two and two together the way I do. And I thought: well I have to tell someone. That way when I'm dead no one can say I kept it to myself. And it's a fluff matter. It's small. It's inconsequential. An ICAR researcher just blew me off the other day over it. And yet. There it is, not as silly and small as it sounds. I... never do my nails. This is important to note. It isn't that I don't like trying to be pretty. They get in my way. So I keep them reasonably short, and sometimes I'll paint them, and overall they're clean unless I'm handling an archeology dig in the field which I'll never get to do again. But last week the "urge" came through. You know the one: the one where it's a command and handling it is going to supersede all of your thoughts, and all you'll do is talk about it. So for the past several days, everyone I know has had to deal with me talking constantly about fake nails. Because I had to do my nails in a hurry. So I chose French pearl medium length ones, put them one and made sure they looked like real nails, and proceeded to clean house for the special company that was coming to pick me up. (I ended up only cleaning around point of entry, my bedroom, and doing some laundry.) During this time I tried to figure out why on earth I had to worry about my nails in this way. I'd been told to clean up before, but this was a little extreme. I half-joked: Oh. I must be going to handle another ambassadorial meeting. Hooray! This means I'll be getting to go back into outerspace for a bit! And the some Saturday, Sunday, yesterday and today the fatigue hit full force: complete with not really remembering the day and sleeping a lot. And of course, not getting ANY work done. Monday morning, the nails began to come off. I'd only had them on for 4 days, but they were affixed to last more than a week. But they didn't. I remember wondering if I'd been gone for more than a few hours on my last pickup because of how the nails appeared to fall off early. Then I took them off, decided I liked wearing fake nails but wanted shorter ones that were stylish, and here I am with good looking hands. I find out today that over the weekend (Superbowl weekend and a fine time to distract people with football fluff) ALL of the U.S. Ambassadors were called back home to the states for a closed meeting. Funny coincidence. So UFO people should pay attention to fake nails!