A shell of a game

This is the calm place that doesn't change but just sways lightly in the current; growing scales, barnacles, pearls... transforming shipwrecks into coral.  Making a bit of a whale sound, but whooshier.  

“That is just what life is when it is beautiful and happy – a game! Naturally, one can also do all kinds of other things with it, make a duty, or a battleground, or a prison of it, but that does not make it any prettier.”
Hermann Hesse, The Journey to the East

I'm back!

Hmmm... the layout needs work. Stay tuned...

double vision, paralysis. no naked dreams, though.

"the boat? it's not a boat, it's the room. it's not a fish open your eyes but what's outside? it's water and it's black and there's a reflection rippling in the boat that's actually your bedroom. wake up. film over eyes, fishies biting rocket launcher is only a lamp. wake up. I can't I'm stuck the music is drowning me"

I've been finding lately a fun game in trying to adequately rope together (in words) the strangeness of a lingering dream, right after waking up. It's really does feel like I'm in some sort of poet's rodeo (not that I'm a poet, maybe I'm the clown?). This isn't the most nightmary of the nightmares, or the best-written thing ever, but it's the one you get to see, k?

Note the BMO (I believe) making a happily congruent appearance, happy considering I grabbed the nearest pen and paper I had around and it, uh... worked.