The brown silkie's feathers were obscuring her vision—her feathers like thick hair to the look and touch. She kept getting hassled by the others and I figured it was 'cos they could sneak up on her. I've never given a chicken a haircut before; it's not a bucket list thing—it's just a thing. But still, not something you usually do. I'm Just Cuts for hens—plus I then sold her a ridonk amount of product at 40 per cent above retail.Stupid chicken.
It was a clear mid-afternoon when I set out and I came back in the hour before dusk where all is in stark relief, shadows stretching. The sky held a waxing moon and though the first chemtrail wasn't headed in the direction it felt for a moment I was in the twenty-first century the twentieth envisioned with rockets to the moon—a moon where you could see the shadow of the full sphere.
I saw a 15 second ad for the Cadbury Twirl. It featured an attractive woman in a subway car peeling the plastic away to reveal the Twirl's sexy sides, pulling out one or both of the bars up and then taking a bite. Then she's suddenly transported via chocolate-infused extreme hallucinogens to sitting on the back of a carousel horse as the carousel goes around.Also she's now wearing a beautiful yellow dress and the Twirl is still in her hand.I call bullshit.
I got a result off the delve and was not expecting it. I got lost in an immediate return to the horror and my brain erupted on the quiet. I started crying, not big sobs, just tears running down my face. I've been steeped in it for so long that to get a result has made me happy and deepy wretched. It's an insane reaction to have.
The dream was a cacophony of horror involving work, childhood and trying to meet a deadline without having started the project. It was as if yesterday's active thinking and reflection was put into a blender then poured into my subconscious.I woke in a state of anxiety, immediately sorted out a business hours issue and only then processed what happened.
In every attempt to delve into the horrors of Cthulhu mythos there's likely someone you missed the first time round. You may have to do a re-read; make another roll to research it right. Then take a whack to your Sanity percentage.
This morning I held my hand up and watched to see what it do. Within seconds it happened, my index finger twitched. It kicked up just enough that if I was holding something but not gripping with intent then I would have dropped it. I waited to see if it would happen again and there was another after thirty seconds.Close up observed finger betrayal.
I was reading about the alt-right, a bubble of white who think they are a race by dint of the presence of all colours, and decided to plough through Elliot Rodger's "manifesto". ER was a 22-year-old who shot some people and ran them down with a car in 2014 because of his feelings about the world and what it owed to him.It was a dense read and took a few hours but there were some take-aways from it.First sorry to his victims and all the hurt for my reading his tome.
All I had to do to leave for the night was to lock the shed door. I picked up the key, walked three steps then my fingers opened and the key dropped.I spent the next 20 minutes looking for it, crying as I did because my injury stole my hands from me.
I have a day calendar in the shed that is A6 in size, about that of a hand.A mental health nurse friend told me one of their diagnostics was the paper test where you drape a sheet of paper over a hand and watch it to determine if the person has hand tremours. I put yesterday's calendar page on my right hand and willed my hand to still.I could not. Though it didn't fall the page lightly danced atop my quivering hand.It's fucked having your body betray you.