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Dream Diary

I have not dreamed very much recently.

There was one a few days where an old woman stepped out and reassured me that someone was going to turn up, a man with whom I had a sort of almost-but-not-quite romantic association. In the dream, I think I was expecting the arrival in a white car and that made interpretation easy. Decades ago a completely crackers Chinese fortune teller warned me that I should never get into a white car, nor should I ever, in any car, sit in the seat behind the driver, because Death waited for me in a white car. He also told me that I had rich ears and that money would follow me into the house, but I could not control it so I should marry a man who was good with money, that I should make peace with my father and that the devil was all around me. If you want a lark, never mind this tinkly phone-a-psychic mularky; get a full on Chinese fortune teller, preferably one that's about a hundred and four, with the incense and the bronze figurines and the total indifference to appropriate information. That'll shiver your timbers. Anyway, he gave me a colourful piece of imagery for my dream catalogue; a white car means death. The rest can be deduced.

The night before last I had a very odd dream. There was a box full of memorabilia and I bought it because it seemed dedicated to a band I liked. The number 10 came up; either the band was 10CC or I bought the box for 10 pounds. Anyway, there was an old LP in it, but everything else was junk except for this peculiar painting. It was of a group of people looking out at the viewer. They all looked normal except for one, a big bulky square woman with brown hair and brown eyes and a pentagram on her forehead. First I noticed one, then another, then another, some in the background, some in the foreground, some to the side...endless repetitions of this woman staring at me out of the crowd. It was like the artist had to draw other people but was obsessed with trying to sneak visions of her in everywhere. Sometimes there were tiny variations, but even when she wasn't in the crowd, she was reflected on the backs of spoons, on biscuit tins, everywhere. I also dreamed of two Wiccan chums who were not pleased to see me. Guess this is a snapshot of my general ambivalence about the craft.

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