Monday, July 20, 2009

Hairy situation

I understand that sometimes, dreams are just dreams. Every now and them dreams become so weird for me that they are either acidic regurgitation that my mind feels can throw at me or some obscure language I have yet to decrypt and I'm left thinking "Whiskey. Tango. Foxtrot?!" Can't recall most of it, so I tend to write them to myself via email once I get to work, because as I commute they keep distracting me and my mood for the day is tarnished. This was dated back in March 20th (quite old) but it's one I can't decipher. Perhaps a call to my grandmother might give some clues.

It begins with vagueness. A girl, which I semi-knew somehow-somewhere, comes up to me and puts her hand over my stomach and tells me "You have... hair."

Confused, she takes me to a hospital, where her "mom" will help me. Not even sure if she's really a nurse, as she isn't wearing the usual attire. They begin take x-rays as I am laid on a gurney, and eventually open up my stomach - lifting skin and muscle tissue revealing my internal organs - which are covered in thick black hair. It's wrapping itself over organs. The thickest is going over my stomach. X-rays showed strands of hair going all over my body as far up to my arms. However they don't know if they should tug at them or start cutting, as they don't know where the "root" of the hair comes from. I woke up after that.



Hermes, draw near, and to my pray'r incline, angel of Jove, and Maia's son divine; Studious of contests, ruler of mankind, with heart almighty, and a prudent mind. Celestial messenger, of various skill, whose pow'rful arts could watchful Argus kill: With winged feet, 'tis thine thro' air to course, O friend of man, and prophet of discourse: Great life-supporter, to rejoice is thine, in arts gymnastic, and in fraud divine: With pow'r endu'd all language to explain, of

care the loos'ner, and the source of gain. Whose hand contains of blameless peace the rod, Kerukeion, blessed, profitable God; Of various speech, whose aid in works we find, and in necessities to mortals kind: Dire weapon of the tongue, which men revere, be present, Hermes, and thy suppliant hear; Assist my works, conclude my life with peace, give graceful speech, and me memory's increase.

[banner source]

  © Blogger template 'Darken' by 2008

Back to TOP