downunderrob

OOOkay, where to start with this one. For the record, I'm three months unemployed, stressed out and moody. And add to that it Winter, here in Australia so I tend to get more emotional. The smallest thing will have me tearing up. But I digress. This morning in the realm of REM sleep, I had a weird dream, that I can't make sense of. It did wake me up at a certain emotional climax so....there must have been something going on.                                                                                                                                                                                                            It started with a sweeping overhead view of a battlefield. A village or town on the edge of a forest. Troops in camouflaged uniforms were using Flame Throwers and other small arms to clear the area of enemy combatants. As my view point moved from left to right, as though I was a drone watching overhead, friendly troops on the left just inside the treeline started taking enemy Artillery fire and many casualties resulted. Then I found myself on the ground amongst some buildings, I was wearing Blue/Grey chip pattern camouflage reminiscent of RAN/USN personnel, the men leading the assault, Dark Blue Class A uniforms with White peaked caps, not Australian, but more like Royal Marines. Their accent didn't give them away. Ordered to clear a building, I entered. Armed with a simple Flame Thrower that did not match anything in film, television or weapons catalogue.                                                                                                                                                                 On entering I was faced with a dirty white walled room, perhaps ten metres long and half wide. There were smaller rooms on my right side and at the far end, accessible through simple doorways. In the room were a dozen, perhaps twenty elderly people in Hospital gowns. You know, the ones that tie up at the back. They were dirty and hadn't been changed for, apparently some time. The people were dirty and appeared to have bedsores, as though they had not been cared for in some time. They did speak to me, or at least two did. A tall gaunt man on my right and a disheveled woman just to my left. I don't recall what they were saying, was it a plea for help? I don't know. I do know I was filled with trepidation and.... not loathing, but dread. Dread of what they might do, to me or others. And dread at what I would have to do to stop them.                                                                                                                                                                                                But I didn't want to "torch" them with my flamethrower, that was too much. I reached vainly for a sidearm so that I could shoot them, even some grenades to clear the room with. That's a usual tactic in Urban warfare, throw a grenade into any room the enemy may be in, then you clear it with rifle and bayonet. But I had neither, only my flamethrower and I didn't want to do it. Not to the elderly. But some of them moved into the small room at the back. The old man lead people into the room on my right, the Lady to the left was imploring me to do something.... what, I have no idea. But in the dream, I knew something very bad was about to happen. Someone or something was in those rooms and was going to suffer. To die a horrible death unless I stopped it.                                                                                                                             But I hesitated, I couldn't burn these people alive. I called for help, for another weapon. None came. So I did raise my weapon, my Flame thrower, to stop them But after the first short blast of flame, the damn thing died out. Was it empty, did it jam? Then the Lady approached me, I was going to die like the people in the little rooms. And then I woke up.                                                                                                        Well shit. How's that for a wake up. I've had nightmares and other disturbing dreams that I have woke from when my life was in danger. Just not like this. I was filled with so much dread at what was going to happen, what I had to, but couldn't do. And who were these people? They weren't Zombies or Walkers, per se. But the sequence of events in that room, their appearance, my fear of what they were capable of? The other problem I had was working out what happened to prompt this? I hadn't watched Walking Dead or any Zombie genre flick on TV, I hadn't even been watching a war movie. So where the Hell had this come from? And fuck me for wondering, what was it all about?

Yes, sorry to say, my computer died on me a couple of months ago. No money to fix it or buy a new one. I'm in a public library at the moment and running out of my allotted time. Be well to everyone and I'll be back as soon as I can! I Love and Respect you all. Bye.

Okay then, nothing self serving. I haven't had the best of years, but I certainly wasn't alone in that. At least I haven't had to worry about typhoons,tornadoes,floods,bushfires or anything else serious. Except for depression and those bloody voices. But hey, I'll finish the year with most of my marbles,most of my health and the friendship of a Fine Lady. Sincerest Best Wishes to all the denizens of Deviant Art. Have a great 2014.

I opened the door to some Dark,stupid,selfish thoughts today. The 'Black Dog' was straining to enter my mind....and in one less than stellar moment's, I greeted Him. I can't say that anyone I've known has taken their own Life. Several have tried for one reason or another. Narcotics,Depression or a general lack of self-worth have all been factors. I will say, that unless you are giving up your Life in a moment of self-sacrifice, to save the Life of Others. Or if it is the Only Thing that can stop the pain, or the ravages of time on our Mind. Then at least I might find some solace in understanding of peoples plans or impulse.But other than that, I think it's one of the most stupid and selfish things a human being can do. The sad thing, is the realization that the reasons you have for not going through with it. Are sadder even still. Not good. I was on the train today, struggling with this shit.Hating myself for it and then hating myself even more for not being able to do it. When the phone rings. It's an unfamiliar number, so I answer and guess who? It was some guy from a Funeral Insurance company with a big spiel about how much money I could save if I took him up on the offer he had. I really didn't know whether to laugh or cry. And he seemed a little perturbed by my story and my tone as I told him what had been going through my head previously. Life is too fucking weird sometimes.

I've encountered it before, both here and in 'Real' Life, the problem with appraising someone or something that we Love,Adore,Cherish and Respect....and not sounding like a suck-up. For better or worse, I am an emotional man. It get's the better of me sometimes. Whether manifested in anger at injustice or being so touched in my Heart that can't help but cry. Music, a photo, an favourite film or television moment or even the thought of any of them and the Waterworks start. But to counter that, I can adopt an air of calm,concise,analytical objectivity. Most of the time,anyway! In the months that I have been here, I have offered several critiques and certainly a lot of comments, regarding other peoples work. If I think I can't say anything good, or I've violently disagreed with someone else's comment. I haven't said a word, after all it's not You Tube. But when you see someones work and it pulls at your Heartstrings or grabs you in the guts, we feel a desire. A profound need to have our say. Now I have had a critique rejected...and I actually felt hurt. So much so, I messaged the Artist in question and asked why? Short answer? Too much praise, not enough objective criticism. Well it's difficult to offer criticism if you don't see anything wrong with something. A couple of times here, I've been struck with an unpleasant emotional response, by work from a favoured artist. And I was able to convey that response objectively to them. Either in a comment or a critique. In their response, I at least got the impression they appreciated my Honesty about their work. Lately the problem of 'how much praise is too much ' has raised it's head again....I've actually hesitated about typing something, because I knew my response was in danger of being seen that way. That troubles me. Mostly because I believe in gut reactions and that speaking from the Heart is a good thing. Often the Right thing. And that's something we should all strive to do. Seriously, if anyone can offer an insight to this, I would be grateful. Have a Good one.