Dream Log: Ectobee & Past and Future Selves
The dream log to follow really isn’t all that suprising to me. I’ve been re-reading The Dark Tower series (Stephen King, I’m on The Waste Lands) and quite frankly I’m probably crazy. The majority is unfortunately already disappearing into the fog of the waking world. A lot of what I do remember is NSFW in nature. That said, a handy cut tag will be employed for those more sensative of my gentle readers.
There was a cabin. It was dark out the whole time.
There was a young me being toted around by a younger man. The current me and the older version of that man encountered them and puzzled in utter amazement at this apparent time paradox. (I think the man may have been King himself. Again, unsurprising given my current reading material.) The younger me ran away into the woods, and a search party was formed to locate my youthful self. The fear was very real as I charged through the dark woods, calling my own name and wondering what damage this would do to my existance. (There was so much more to this portion, but I think the cat woke me up at the end of the dream and the distraction makes it difficult to remember.)
Something about this generated a monster. A vaporous, white glowing thing of teeth and shadowy eye sockets. I knew on some level that I was alone in this confrontation. I also knew that I had some control over the form. The misty form full of teeth and malice. It wanted nothing more than to hurt me. I tried to focus on some form, any other form, in the hopes of protecting myself. It metamorphosed into some kind of eldritch form of the Ectobee. (See upper left image here.) More like a real cephalopod than the adorable image I’m accustomed to, and still possessed of the vile teeth of the misty monster. It’s skin shone darkly, now it was far more solid than the whispy haunt it originated as and yet somehow less terrifying. I attempted to exert more control, to change this form further, to protect myself from this menace but it was too late. Tentacles lashed out at me, enveloping me. As I was thrown to my back and magically disrobed, I realized too late what my alternative to being devoured was. One of the tentacles squirmed into me and then back up to the creature’s maw. Again and again it dipped, as though I was a bowl of honey and it the sneaky child surreptitiously snacking before dinner. It was oddly arousing, I have to admit.
I woke up either during or shortly after that. I blame the cat. He’s developed a habit of waking me up starting around 5:30am and when that fails he’ll try off and on for the rest of the morning. My most potent dream cycles tend to occur during those morning hours of sleep. I’ve tried a variety of things to keep him from doing all the foul acts of destruction which rouse me from my sleep, but nothing seems to be working. If anyone has any suggestions, do let me know. Less cat interference means more exciting dream logs!
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