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The Taste of Soil
Aug. 10th, 2010 11:36 amWoke up this morning chased from an oddly tactile dream. I was in my old apartment in my parent's basement.
All of the furniture was gone and replaced by a few metric tons of the sort of dark, damp, musky soil you'll find under a latticed porch. Thick black, rich in nutrients, ripe with nourishment.
I found myself just there, as we usually do in our dreams. I was calm and relaxed, maybe even comfortable, finding myself half buried in that soil.
The issue is, I cannot tell if I was digging myself up from within, or attempting to bury myself alive.
This shocking thought woke me up, and weirdly, I could still taste the dirt in my mouth. However, what was echoing in my head was not the pallid E.A.Poe sensibilities of this dream, but math. My head swam with complex mathematical formulae, where cubic units of measure equated to resource units. Weight became crafting measures. Richness of soil became percentages of fidelity and the negatives and bonuses associated with it.
Yes, in the twilight haze of half-awakening, the subtle horror of a nightmare mutated into the crafting of a game.
I once read a short story where it was discovered that the entire brain and central nervous system of man was a cancerous parasite run rampant. Some days I really *get it*.
All of the furniture was gone and replaced by a few metric tons of the sort of dark, damp, musky soil you'll find under a latticed porch. Thick black, rich in nutrients, ripe with nourishment.
I found myself just there, as we usually do in our dreams. I was calm and relaxed, maybe even comfortable, finding myself half buried in that soil.
The issue is, I cannot tell if I was digging myself up from within, or attempting to bury myself alive.
This shocking thought woke me up, and weirdly, I could still taste the dirt in my mouth. However, what was echoing in my head was not the pallid E.A.Poe sensibilities of this dream, but math. My head swam with complex mathematical formulae, where cubic units of measure equated to resource units. Weight became crafting measures. Richness of soil became percentages of fidelity and the negatives and bonuses associated with it.
Yes, in the twilight haze of half-awakening, the subtle horror of a nightmare mutated into the crafting of a game.
I once read a short story where it was discovered that the entire brain and central nervous system of man was a cancerous parasite run rampant. Some days I really *get it*.
