Trompé Setsuled (setsuled) wrote,
Trompé Setsuled

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Going places statically.

ah . . . my aunt brought me some espresso brownies from Starbucks and they are so . . . so . . . so good. Good. They're going very well with the coffee I just made.

There's a big, strange cut on my cheek--it's been there a few days now, and I've no idea whatsoever where it came from. It's a mystery!

Last night I dreamt that trisa and I went to see a movie staring Leonardo DiCaprio (it wasn't Gangs of New York which I very badly want to see).

trisa was sitting to my right, and a couple was sitting to my left. The girl was talking in very loud conversational tones. I asked them to be quiet, which they became. But then trisa, to my embarrassment, began talking very loudly, proclaiming that the movie wasn't very good, and that she was leaving. And she left.

After a few minutes, I left too. I went to my car and began to drive away, when I remembered that trisa and I had not taken separate cars, and I realised I'd prolly just left her stranded. I thought it'd be best to take my car back to where it had been parked before so she'd know where to look for it.

I turned around a few blocks down, taking a different street that I thought would take me back to the same spot, only faster. But the street took me to what appeared to be a monastery, constructed of pale stone and covered with vibrant green vines. There was a tunnel through the monastery, but its large wooden gates were shut. A monk told me he would open the gates for me, but that it was a very dangerous tunnel and I might not make it to the other side.

I told him I was willing to take the risk. I said this despite the fact that I was beginning to feel trisa had already gotten home by alternate means.

So the monk opened the gate. I drove carefully through the very slender tunnel. It was surprisingly well illuminated by sunlight that was evidently well conducted between its openings. Its rusty walls dripped with slimy moisture.

There was a gate on the other end, and I got out of my car to open it. It had a skinny, insubstantial looking metal bolt drawn, and I had to yank it a few times to pull it loose of the rust.

After I'd driven my car through, I got back out to shut the gate behind me, which I felt politeness called for. But I didn't know how I'd draw the bolt from the other side.

Fortunately, an eight-foot tall grey bearded man with wild eyes and a threadbare blue robe emerged from the tunnel and said, "Don't worry, I'll shut it,"

And he did.

Then I woke up.


I was petting Lucky the Cat earlier and I began thinking about whether or not it's possible to really bond with a cat.

I concluded that it was not. The joy of cat-love is in fulfilling each other's needs.

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