THE THREE COMETS

had a sort of waking reverie right after arising from a nap this afternoon. It involved 3 Comets.

The first kept changing colors and shape and would appear and then disappear and then reappear elsewhere.

The second would change into different things, appearing as a comet, then a meteor shower, then what might have been a huge asteroid, then it looked like a stationary planet, then perhaps something artificial and then finally into a comet again. But more diffuse. More like a large, mobile gas cloud.

The third at first appeared to move in one direction, West to East, then it turned back upon itself and ate itself. But it did so in a large loop so it looked like an astronomical ouroboros.

These “comets” appeared one after another, though there was some overlap between the second and last as the third seemed to “come out of or erupt out of the second” as the second scattered and disappeared.

Immediately I wondered if it were some type of omen, but to be honest I couldn’t tell as usually an omen makes some type of impression or feeling upon me, usually in my gut or my chest area. Leaves an uncanny or ominous feeling or impression upon me. This was more like almost disinterested “observation from a distance.” (Whether that distance was one of space or time, or both, I don’t know.)

Anyway, after recording it I decided it/they should go into my high fantasy novels The Kithariad. Though I am also not at all opposed to using the same or a similar thing in my scifi novels…

THE COLD PILLOW

Upon the cold pillow lies the restless head of man, whose disgraced dreams, which would, or should, be all of the Visions of God’s own making, are instead bent to petty aims and empty theologies of belief whose only achievement is the eternal and endless fracturing of themselves into ever smaller shards of doubt and despair (dispair, disrepair)

The cold pillow which should support the soul of man in his wandring sleep to countless other worlds and others times records no hope of all it sees or hears behind the slumbring eyes which cannot speak of all they know except in cryptic slivers neath the silvered moon.

(fragments of two stanzas of verse from a dream I awoke from… this also gave me an idea for a Theurgical pillow I intend to design and have embroidered with scriptures, images, Ikons, etc. to inspire New Dreams and Visions while I sleep… I intend to do the same for an Ancient headrest.)

BOGEY ON YOUR SIX

My very first remembered dream, from when I was a young child was of a giant, bright-red, fire-breathing dragon raging from the sky down upon my grandfather’s house (my paternal father’s father) and burning and razing his house to the ground. At the time we lived underneath my grandfather’s house. I was very, very young at the time, barely past being a babe and probably still in diapers (though I was walking) and I do not at that time recall ever even having heard tale of a dragon. Yet I have recalled that dream for my entire life. The dragon both terrified me (at first) and infuriated me (after I saw what it had done). Though in the dream I was very young and had no way to combat it.

 

“FAIRY TALES, then, are not responsible for producing in children fear, or any of the shapes of fear; fairy tales do not give the child the idea of the evil or the ugly; that is in the child already, because it is in the world already. Fairy tales do not give the child his first idea of bogey. What fairy tales give the child is his first clear idea of the possible defeat of bogey. The baby has known the dragon intimately ever since he had an imagination. What the fairy tale provides for him is a St. George to kill the dragon.

“Exactly what the fairy tale does is this: it accustoms him for a series of clear pictures to the idea that these limitless terrors had a limit, that these shapeless enemies have enemies in the knights of God, that there is something in the universe more mystical than darkness, and stronger than strong fear.”

~G.K. Chesterton: “The Red Angel.”
http://bit.ly/1d5pVS2

G.K. Chesterton: The Red Angel

GKCDAILY.BLOGSPOT.COM

LET’S BLOW THIS ROCK

Well, they might very well convince me anyway. Since I was a kid I’ve wanted to be an astronaut and I’m more than ready to blow this rock. Too many damned backwards, insane, and evil people populating Earth at the moment.

Of course I reckon to some extent it’s always been that way, and maybe we’d just take our twisted bullshit with us. But at least it’d be a chance at a fresh start…

 

NASA’s Mars Recruitment Posters Will Convince You to Go Die in Space

Ria Misra

Yesterday 2:55pm

Filed to: MARS

80.3K

11129

Okay, poster. You make a compelling argument—sign us up!

True, there will be obstacles: For one, the Martian corps that these recruitment posters from Kennedy Space Center are attempting to enlist us in does not exist. Also, as of yet, no human has ever stepped foot on the surface of the red planet, much less worked some kind of shadowy night-watch position, that (rather terrifyingly) appears to require the constant use of a space harpoon.

But, no matter! The can-do spirit of these WWI- and WWII-influenced posters has already inspired us. We will be teachers, and welders, and farmers, and satellite technicians, and guards against the Martian night-octopuses that presumably overrun its lunar plains. Just let us know when those enlistment rolls open up.

Full resolutions, suitable for printing on your own, are also publicly availableright here.

All images via Kennedy Space Center

SORROW AND PAIN, SORROW AND SHAME

SORROW AND PAIN, SORROW AND SHAME

I had a weird and kinda sad dream right before waking this morning. In it I was attending a military event in which at the end a group of soldiers were singing as part of the event.

There were two guys standing on a platform above most of the others and these two guys were carrying the song. Suddenly the taller guy stepped down and a much shorter and far younger guy (Audie Murphy type guy but with jet back hair and dark eyes) started singing alone. His voice was, well, let me be honest, incredible. Far deeper than you would expect from such a little guy and clear and resonant and so loud he almost shook the building. It started softly but it became a truly rousing extremely powerful song.

But it was not just how he was singing, but what he sang. He was singing an “autobiographical song” about his short life (he was probably only in his early twenties but had seen a lot, and I mean alot) and the lyrics were astounding. Truly astounding. I have tried to remember them all morning (although I remember the music clearly as will compose it later today), to no avail except for a few snippets. If I could only recall them it would be the best song I’ve ever written.

As he sang by the way you could actually see the scenes he was describing hovering in the air about him. He had truly suffered a lot.

Two lines I do recall clearly, from the chorus, were: Sorrow and Shame, Sorrow and Pain.

He repeated them often.