ed_rex: (Default)

The pitch was bright, all hard sun baking wilting astro-turn, the mid crowded with bodies of the enemy. I punted a cautious pass towards my downstream team-mate, calling out his name as the ball left the toe of my shoe and floated over the defenders' heads. He turned, but mis-calculated and the ball bounced, then dribbled toward the enemy.

I pinched, fast and hard, reaching the ball only milliseconds before my opponent. Kicked out, hard and ...

... and hurled myself right off my bed and into the wall, down which I slid to the floor.

From above, I heard Raven cry out, "Honey, what happened? Are you all right?" She burst into laughter when I explained what had happened, and I did too, as I got to my knees, checked for damages (slight scrape on the inside of one thigh), and clambered back onto the bed.

Soccer dreams are all well and good, but somebody's gonna get hurt if this keeps up. A rude awakening indeed.

ed_rex: (Default)

Re: That dream

Look, I know you mean well. At least, I presume you mean well, but for crissakes use the good sense that god gave you!

Dreams about a public, on-stage grope-fest with a 70-something Mick Jagger and a 50-something Madonna might be your idea of an erotic idyll, but it sure as hell isn't mine.

No love,


Young Geoffrey

ed_rex: (Tardis)

Can we say "anxiety dream", boys and girls?

For reasons lost in the mists of dream logic now nearly a half-dozen hours old, I was house-sitting for an old friend, and had also borrowed a thousand bucks from a cousin, and a classic car from another friend. The friend for whom I was house-sitting had a pet turtle and a dog.

Somehow I managed to lose the dog, kill the turtle through neglect, wreck the car in a spectacular and spectacularly destructive joy-ride through a long and narrow (make of that what you will) mall and find myself unable to pay back my cousin.

To top it all off, I lied to Raven about everything — and got caught doing it, what with the newspapers being full of reports of my joy-ride and other rather obvious clues.

And then he woke up!

And thank god for that, even if it did take me a few minutes to realize that, yes, it was all a dream. Even the dead turtle.

ed_rex: (Tardis)


I know you like our day-job. I mostly like it too.

That said, I have to raise a complaint about the pattern in the dreams you've been sending me lately. Do I have to spend almost all of my time sitting behind the wheel of a van?

How about letting me travel by bus tonight? Or bicycle?

How about sending me into space or racing through the night in the Batmobile again? Or even just walking somewhere?

You know I love you, but enough is enough!

Thanks in advance,


Young Geoffrey


ed_rex: (Default)

The Ballad of Saddam Hussein (and me)
      — Sung to the tune of Joe Hill

Sigmund Freud
Siggy says: "I give up. Vut do you zink it means?"

I dreamed I shot Saddam Hussein,
Left a flechettte in his eye.
But that arrow only slowed him down,
Saddam he didn't die.
Saddam he didn't die.

It started when he walked by
With his ageing Labrador.
That vicious mutt leaped for my throat,
But I blocked him with my arm.
I blocked him with my arm.

The humiliation of his dog,
Angered Saddam, you see.
Right then and there, like Daffy Duck,
He swore revenge on me.
He swore revenge on me.

So I shot him in the head,
The bullet pierced his brain.
Though he collapsed upon the floor,
The wound only made him mad,
It only made him mad.

When I saw that he was coming to,
I kicked him in the side.
He rolled away and called his dog —
The chase was on again.
The chase was on again.

While making plans to kill me off,
He rubbed his hands with glee.
'Twas not only me he wanted dead,
He had a list of enemies.
A list of enemies.

The last I saw, he stood in a line,
Protected by robots.
He was going to torch my house,
And things seemed pretty dire.
Things seemed pretty dire.

Heart-breakingly, I then woke up,
With no resolution found.
For all I know, Saddam's still there,
Plotting my demise.
Plotting my demise.

But that isn't why I will never be president (of anything).

ed_rex: (Default)

"There's men, underground who have never seen the sun, but they really know how to party! Little men from underground who have never seen the sun but they really know how to party!

I am extremely susceptible to ear-worms. It's rare when more than two or three consecutive hours elapse during which I don't have one damned song or another running through my head.

Usually, though, my night-time hours — my dreams! — are blissfully free from such distractions.

But this morning, I awoke to realize that, as in life, in dreams, I had been attempting to sing the snippet quoted above.

Dangerous ear-worm below the cut. Metal haters and vegans especially beware! )

September 2017

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