Wednesday, August 26, 2015

A Journal By Some Guy 70

Dear Journ

Apologies. I didn't mean to be away for so long but, you know, work. One of the guys quit like I knew he would and so....well work.

Allow me to keep this entry simple. It's theme is fairly straightforward. I'll be going over what has been on my my mind these last few days by connecting to an object. They'll be in small bites so you won't choke on my narcissism.


I choose the light bulb as it represents the notion of an idea succinctly. It happens like that Journ. Suddenly there is a click and everything is illuminated as if you only then realize that you were in the dark.

I have ideas all the time Journ. Most of them are bad like, a man with a clock for a heart. How do I even make that cool? If the clock runs out does he die? I don't know Journ. I just put clock and heart together and got Clockheart which got me all excited for nothing. This is how my mind works. I'm just throwing shit against the wall and wondering what will stick.

Lately, I've been thinking about a fighting game and oh boy Journ, the shit actually stuck. That gives me life you know, when an idea is actually not crap. The Clone said something to the effect of I want a fighting game but it can't be like Street Fighter or anything because, you know, they're milking that cow to death. This is how the duo works Journ. I'm given a prompt and told to work with it like I can randomly crank out notion after notion automatically.

Fortunately, he's right.

It didn't come to me all at once Journ because a fighting game has to have mechanics in order to work and for it not to be in a 2D plane made it harder to get inspired.

I sat on it for weeks until recently someone mentioned on Facebook the music from Streets of Rage 2.  As you surely don't know Journ, I listen to video game and anime music more than anything else and Streets has some pretty baddass tracks. So after Under Logic, Go Straight, Slow Moon, and Dreamer, I got my mojo going for this idea. It took me some struggle but I'm fairly certain that an in depth system for a fighting game in a 3D plane.

And yes I would tell you how it works Journ but the Clone always give me that Don't tell nobody because they might steal it thing and I typically honor that request. I'll say this though, he probably won't like some of my character ideas. Two are openly gay and one trans I'm thinking. I can't see the game without them in it but the Clone is more conservative than I am.

If you ever catch me mumbling Journ, I'm not crazy, I'm creating. I'm a little mad doctor at times. Pardon my eccentricity won't you?


At my job, I have to where this bright orange shirt. How bright is it you ask?

Sooooooo bright Journ. If I'm next to something white, it turns orange. If it had a volume, it would be all the way up and the nob thrown into the abyss.

I mention this shirt because of the slew of odd things that happen to me for wearing it.

It's early in the morning a week or so back. The Clone is driving me to work. Car trouble and all that Journ. You know.

So we're at this light. There's a guy walking his dog at six-ish in the morning. He says "Hello" to me as the Clone drives off. We're both quiet for a breath when I say Who says 'hi' to random people in cars? The Clone is like Umm yeah. That was kinda strange.

The exact thing happened recently. It's after work. I'm tired and driving through the parking lot. I am not in the mood for shit Journ. My face always shows that.

As I pass this couple, while I'm in a car, driving, looking ahead, mug as mean as a pissed off rattlesnake, this guys says Hello.

I ignore it because what would be the point of saying 'hi' to someone that's driving? They must be talking to someone else otherwise...

Guess who's waving in my rearview? Like really Journ?

I hate that shirt Journ. I do. I always get unwanted attention and besides it being a bright eyesore, I can't see any other reason I would. I don't like talking to random people. I'm an introvert. Exchanges with other humans drains me like you wouldn't believe.

And this shirt by correlation drains me as well.


I have this bottle of cologne that I always use. It happens to be a gift from my ex.

I don't know where she got it from or what the name of it is exactly. The lettering on the bottle is too faded for me to make out anything. All I know is that she would put it on me to make sure I smelled good.

It's almost gone Journ. There's maybe an eighth left.

When I first noticed this, I tried not to feel anything because of it. We're done Journ. It's all in the past. There's no building that bridge again.

And yet, I've been hesitant to keep using it.

When I ask myself why Journ, I don't get an answer. I can't make sense of why I should care about some cologne just because it came from her. It should mean nothing only I'm fairly certainly it can't.

The Clone, Lo, my mother, I don't think anyone liked her. I was always told I could do better but inside I knew I couldn't.

I roll the bottle in my palm, wondering if I'm enamoured with the melancholy of my nostalgia. Were things really that good or am I coloring gray memories? I'm not sure.

The only thing I do know Journ is that I truly loved her and that our parting was my fault. At the time, I'd have painted a different picture. I'd have blamed her immaturity and accused her of dragging me down into her mediocrity.

I know Journ, I was a complete asshole for thinking that way. Let the reprimands come and the male bashing be welcomed. I deserve that because it wasn't that she wasn't good enough for me, I was never good enough for her. That's quite clear to me now. I wasn't man enough to stick out with her when things went south. I was all talk. She wanted to cash in my promises and found out they were counterfeit.

Terrible Journ. I was a terrible boyfriend when it really counted. A coward to be blunt. She believed in the lie that I was.

The worse part for me Journ was not being able to say I'm sorry. Not I'm sorry for running out on you when shit hit the fan but I'm a sorry human being and I should have let you know that before you put your faith in me. That is my ultimate regret Journ because being who I was at the time, I could never have kept her but the least I could do is let her know why and give her some closure. No one should cry or suffer because of my foolishness and she did just that because she loved me.

I don't know Journ, about this bottle of cologne. Now I'm thinking I don't even deserve to put it on my skin.

Tuesday, August 18, 2015

A Journal By Some Guy 69

Dear Journ,

Since the number of this one is sixty nine I'm just going to talk about eating pussy.

I remember in high school when my friends used to swap stories about sex. Yes Journ most of them were lies but they were still interesting. We'd talk about who and what happened and how it transpired. Some facts didn't go together even back then. I suppose this was because we didn't know any better and hoped no one else in our clique did.

This isn't the part where I say I was the only one genuinely sexually active. Mind you my first sexual experience was in middle school but that didn't mean I was having sex every week or what have you during my adolescence. Perish the thought.

What I will say is this; I was the only one who openly admitted to cunnilingus. I didn't see what the big deal was and I was convinced that if a guy wasn't doing it, he was either lying or disappointing a great many women.

Being teased for doing it did not make me ashamed for it. If anything, it was the opposite. For you see Journ, I can't imagine sex without it nor do I think sex should be without it if possible. Fair exchange is no robbery; how can you expect fellatio without giving cunnilingus? It's unfair and the argument that it's somehow nastier than a blowjob is laughable. To me such attitudes revealed poor practice with copulation.

Seeing as I love getting women off, the act of pussy eating is...well Journ there are many enjoyable layers for me. There's taste and...I'm not turning this triple X. I'm just saying that it's the bee's knees and a sixty-nine position(Ha!)is ideal. A dinner for two that's more five star restaurant than Mickey D's.

Yes Journ. It should be slow and deliberate. Not focused on just the clitoris and not bereft of fingers. It should versatile and creative. Eating pussy is something I strive to better at it as I don't get to practice as often as I should.

You can't just go down on anyone. Especially in Florida. Reports of new HIV cases are through the roof. As you can imagine my emoticon for this isn't the best. Now I've got to be doubly selective of anyone I have sex with which means a fish taco is more like desert than a meal.

A few tips for yourself Journ on pussy eating. You know, if you ever do it.

1. Just do what she says. This is self explanatory. Their her genitals. She knows how they work. Just let her tell you how. Uh uh! Fuck your pride. Fuck the porno. That's performance. This is real life.

2. There's more to the vagina than the clitoris. I know! It's so odd but there are two pair of labia and spaces between them. Explore alright? Don't be one of those people that thinks she is twitching because you're going to work on her button like a badass. She might be overly sensitive which means you're doing more harm than good. Give the little man in the boat a break. Rock the boat not him.

3. Eating out should not involve actual chewing. It's a figure of speech. Kissing, sucking, licking, slurping; these things are good. This is what we mean by "eating". Actual biting is something you'd better ask about beforehand. Personally, I've never had a woman ask me to bite her down there but there might be an exception. Pretty slim chance though.

4. Don't blow down there. Just don't. Save yourself some embarassment.

5. Fingers. Use them. Not just for penetration. Stimulate things. Explore. Wet an index finger and use it as a "second" tongue. Don't be scared to experiment and cut your finger nails!

6. Tease beforehand. This is my own personal rule. Sex begins in the mind and ends up in your privy parts. A sext. Flirting. Heavy petting. Nipple twisting. Nuzzling. Whatever gets her in the mood. You're doing this before getting to the "main course". I know, you think it's a waste of time and that eating carpet is more than enough. It's not. Warm that engine up before you drive. Foreplay is all day. Commit.

7. Eat at the table differently. On her back is good. Face down, ass up is better.Under the table at her best friend's wedding is ideal. During a movie...

And with that....I wish I had some pussy to eat...

Saturday, August 15, 2015

A Journal By Some Guy 68

Dear Journ,

You know how your phone slows down if you've got a shit load of apps open Journ?

No. Of course you don't. That's a stupid question on my part but the metaphor holds true if you understand that your phone starts to slow down. That's how I've been. Too many apps open.

It puts my past into perspective. All this time I did not know what was wrong with me. My mom knew though. She hoped there wasn't going to be any trauma afterwards. There was she admitted.

And Journ, that's how multiple apps are opened.

It's too late for my anger. Much too late. That's reality. See Journ, I could be pitchin' a bitch right now and get super wasted or something. I could. I think I've a right to do it. This is some fucked up shit to happen to a three year old. Twice.

But we've got to be logical here Journ. I've got shit to do. I mean, yeah this is super awful and maybe I need therapy or something. But horrible shit happens. I've not changed so much since piecing things together. My goals are unchanged.

Like fat chicks. They are still amazing. I've been thinking more about nasty, mutual, passionate sex with a fluffy woman since I learned this thing. It was like Holy shit! This is a startling realization about how I view the world now!....I need to eat a fat girl's pussy and I hope she skeet. I'm sorry Journ if my language offends you but that's just the realest example I could throw out there. I could've gone with the That game is still getting made though it's inception might've been due to me dealing with early trauma route but that seemed a little preachy. I still don't like people. I just know why now so I'm like double cool with that. The BDSM interest makes more sense. By and by, things are on schedule.

Now don't misunderstand me Journ, I'm still coping by degrees. This isn't a sitcom. Twenty three minutes and a few commercials later, I didn't suddenly become alright.

We're all coping. That's the human experience. We're wronged everyday by someone. We share pain before comfort. That's the wrong way to go I believe. Introvert though I am, if someone is truly in need, I would like to think I'd help. I say like because I'm a douche from time to time Journ. Just being honest.

And if I don't help, I at least don't harm. Everybody is struggling with something. No one has it all together. We all are fighting unseen battles. Most of us are losing.

We're all coping. Hurting others is never the way to do it. We're just swapping pain that way.

I'm not saying you have to go out of your way to be kind Journ. That's asking too much. I'm just saying at least don't be an asshole. Don't wipe your ass with someone's day just because there is a skidmark on yours. Think about that Journ. Things are never peaches and cream and unicorns with me but do I piss on someone's day just because? No. That's horseshit. I can't fuck up an experience with another human being because I can't deal with my emotions. It's not justified.

I don't like people but I don't like harming them or pretty much anything. I learned early what it was like to be prey. Perhaps my empathy stems from that. Maybe not. Still, I learned not to fuck with things because I have the power to do so. If someone or thing intends you harm, go fucking nuts. Survival of the fittest. Live. But casually bullying someone(anyone in customer service understands this)is pretty low. Take it down a notch for humanity's sake.

Hopefully, I can get this next Bushes started Journ. Maybe I write some amateur smut in between? I need to diversify my content if I wanna make some money off of this thing. Not to say that I'm about money...but I need money. I'll take suggestions...

Now off to Tumblr. Fat girl porn awaits.

Wednesday, August 12, 2015

A Journal By Some Guy 67

Dear Journ

I remember a time when I used to cry every night.

It wasn't sobbing. It was not soft. I was screaming at the top of my lungs. Tears rolling down my cheeks. Always before bed.

One night I suppose my mother got tired of it. She turned off the lights. She closed the door. She ignored me until I cried myself to sleep. That was that I guess, from her perspective.

I can't tell you how many times that happened Journ, only that it happened a great deal.

I also couldn't tell you exactly why it happened, that is, until yesterday.

There was always a great trauma in me. A darkness that I couldn't quite put my finger. I knew it was there buried deep within. A mound of dirt with no tombstone and maybe, on some subconscious level, I was satisfied with that. Relieved by it.

Then yesterday, it got dug up.

I cannot tell you how it meandered down this shadowy place Journ, this conversation between my mother and I. What I can say is that I almost wish I didn't hear it.

We were held hostage by as she put it a murdering rapist for six hours. He stalked us beforehand, even breaking in while we were home but not engaging us until no one was around some time before. He literally walked over our sleeping forms the first time he broke in. The second, he jumped through the window of our front door. I remember this part with distinct clarity.

She held my brother in her arms. I was clinging to her side looking up at this man as he menaced my mother knowing I couldn't do anything about it. I remember sitting on the side of the bed. I remember the dogs barking next door. I remember my mother's hands shaking.

I cannot say I recalled these details before she said anything to me yesterday.

Then, a little after that, another person broke in our house with almost the same scenario. He wanted to kidnap my mother to presumably rape and kill her. This too I remember. She resisted of course, this armed psychopath. We were there, my other brother and me, seeing this until she told us to get into the room.

That door. Closing. Me. Not knowing what to do. Screaming. Someone banging at the door.

She's telling me this so casually. Like, this was a normal thing. So nonchalant about this thing I've buried in me. Inside, I'm freaking out, crying inside. Outside, I'm just as cool as her.

No one spoke of it. That's what I keep saying in my head. No one. They swept it under the rug. We pretended to forget hoping that by doing so it wouldn't effect us. But I knew. I did. The nightmares. They made sense. The screaming and crying. Not being able to go to bed. Being so paranoid so young.

I never forgot. I might have spilled turpentine on that painting but the colors still bled.

Angry Journ. I felt so angry. At everything right then. I wanted to scream at her that she knew. She knew where my social anxiety came from. She knew why I was the way I was growing up.

And yet I cried alone in the dark. The door was shut on me.

The rest of the day, I was on auto-pilot. I went to the gym. To the store. Paid to have my lawn cut. Made dinner. All the time, the shadows began to have faces. The dreams weren't made up. Memories were being colored in.

Do they remember? I thought. My brothers. I know they do but I hope they don't. I hope it stays buried for them but it won't if ever it did.

I want to be so angry at her. I want to rail at her for not-for not sharing this pain with me. With us. Why did you have to mention it like this? You don't just remind your son that some thirty years ago he was held hostage by murderer/rapist with you and-and just go about your day like Well, that was a nice conversation. Glad everything is cleared up. All I could do was sleep yesterday. My mind Journ, it was, I was, it was the only way I could deal with this. Writing is the only way I can. Putting my brains on a blog. Yelling into the vortex that is the Internet, hoping that my voice is snatched away.

The darkness. It makes sense now. The loneliness. It fits.

We were all alone, together, all those years. We were wrestling with our shared demon apart even though two of us were keenly aware of it.

Does it hurt Journ? I don't really know. The numbness helped all this time but knowing the source of your harm makes that pointless.

All this time, I knew I was broken and I was fooling myself into thinking I didn't know why. This is why I attract damaged people because it's clear that I'm one of them. They can see it Journ. They can see what I tried to be blind to. It's so obvious now. If I wasn't so confused and hurt right now, perhaps I'd laugh. I'd laugh at all those times where I didn't fit in. I'd laugh at all those times people failed to understand me. I'd laugh at every time I was crying in the dark and didn't know why.

But I can't.

Sunday, August 9, 2015

A Journal By Some Guy 66

Dear Journ

I'll save my bitching for the latter half of this thing. I'm not gonna sour the lesson I learned today.

I don't have kids for a reason. I don't want the responsibility. Not so much is a thing for freedom or just a refusal to grow up. I feel if it's not in my heart to be a parent that I shouldn't. Having a child isn't like having a puppy. That's a human being whose worldview is being influenced by the the things you say and the way you act. It's not a thing that should be taken lightly.

Today my niece came to visit. My cousin across the street came over to play with her. My mom was tired already and I just got off of work but I watched them and what have you.

The differences are slight but you could tell the difference in parenting. Not that I'm an expert obviously but some things you couldn't deny. It wasn't a matter of being more behaved or one being bad as compared to the other. I just recognized that they responded differently to things. Keep in my that my cousin is older than my niece.

You'd think Journ that the older one would influence the younger in some ways. I'll admit, she tried by teasing or otherwise pointing out the difference in age spitefully or complaining about how bored she was as she played with her toys.

Even so, humans are humans and humans are often cruel to each other Journ, especially in their youth. It wasn't until she said that they, meaning her uncles, treated her differently. I had to say, that burned me up a bit.

Again, I don't know anything about parenting but I never think a good thing Journ when humans make distinctions about people in order to separate themselves. Rather it's the color of your skin, religion, or who you copulate with, human beings find asinine reasons to discriminate against each other.

Then to add insult to injury, she points that we got her, my niece, a Christmas present but not her. I wanted to say, Listen hun, lay off the whine. Adults have to work jobs to get money to buy things. Everybody can't get what they want. Sorry not sorry. Probably not gonna get anything this year with that crappy attitude. I didn't actually say it but honestly, who does that? Who is on the hustle for a gift four months ahead? It just seemed a bit rude to me. That, and constantly asking for food(Do you a ziploc bag?)or just pouting for the sake of it.

And she's not get anything. Not from anyway. Sorry not sorry.

At the same time my aunt is coming over my cousin's house. My mom is going to see her though she's worn out. The kids want cake. My mom tells them to go over her mother's house ahead of her.

They don't go directly to the house. They go where her mother is. She's talking with some adults about whatever. I remark to my mother where they are. She tells me to bring my niece back. I feel it's good call and do just that.

It wasn't until my mother talked to my niece that I understood where she was coming from. I'm paraphrasing but it went something like I know you're mad at me but Grammy is looking out for you. Those are adults around there. You shouldn't be around them. I don't know them and they don't know you. Now where did I tell you to go? That's right but you didn't go did you? Now what would happen if I was looking for you and you weren't where you told me you were going to be?  You know your mommy don't play that. That's how you build trust, by doing what you promised to do. Now give me a hug.

I can't speak for my cousin and how she's being raised. That's not my place. But I do know this; my brother is a fuck up but he didn't fuck that up. My niece's mother(because babymama is just a disservice)really don't play that. I know she's a decent parent. I know she's firm but that's good. Children need some kind of structure. Some foundation to build themselves on. Sure parents are going to screw up. You can't get everything right but it seems at least, that you can start off with what works. Because yes, my niece was mad, but you could tell she didn't really want to be over there. She was just being lead by an older relative.

Human beings always want to be better than other human beings. Why? It makes us feel good when someone is inferior to you. It's easy validation you can attach any fiction you want to it. It's scary to look within and maybe risk not liking what you find there. If you do, you might be forced to deal with it Journ and no one likes facing the truth.

The truth is, many of us fail at being parents, probably because we were never meant to be. We don't know the profundity of the commitment offspring presents. You can't be expected to know how a child will change your life or how you'll shape theirs. I personally Journ, am still ambivalent about having children. Statistically, a child is born every four seconds. I don't know if my four seconds are worth eighteen years.

Friday, August 7, 2015

A Journal By Some Guy 65

Dear Journ,

Today was a blunt day.

It was not a bowl day. Nor a joint day. It was definitely a blunt day.

Perfect storm of shit. I wish I had something profound to say about it but the randomness of being caught in a storm of shit doesn't allow time for reflection.

We all have our bad days Journ. They are what they are. Not all of them will be that way though.

Thursday, August 6, 2015

Mundane Magic: Bushes and Cat Ladies 9

When the elf vanished, whatever spell he weaved went with him. The Occam was soaked within seconds, plastering his already sodden clothes. The wind would have snatched his hat away if his hand wasn't already in place to catch it.

An elf had appeared to him to give him a task that he would be compelled to complete of his own free will knowing that he would regardless of not being aware of what to do. That in and of itself set his mind afire.

He was mumbling in the dark, the Occam was, casting about his mind's eye and "squaring" its potency to find the homunculus in question. With the weather being horrible, seeing a chubby older man in a suit rocking back and forth gibbering to himself might cause someone to call the police to get him. If it were anyone but the Occam you would be right to do it.

His magic with numbers was far superior to Cricket's by his own admission. It was so advanced that the Occam taught his alternate selves the same dogma which they in turn taught to others. Soon, all of his selves began to communicate with each other across dimensions, the result of which comes as incomprehensible mutterings when all of them spoke at once through each other.

If the elves of the Summer and Winter courts had not banned together in time(or what passed for it)no one knows what calamity the Occam might have brought to the multiverse. It was do to the Tower of Babel they placed in his mind that the wizard was limited to how many of his selves he could reach as it scrambled his language the more he tried. It took many rituals to maintain these connections as his multiple versions had to repeat the same ones across time lines.

The Occam risked much pushing against the Tower. All of his selves had to use it at the same time. Those that didn't could be weakened by not being present to draw from the others.

His educated baritone had degraded into garble. The other Occam had said variations of the same thing; Where would Matilda be? At her farm of course. Cricket had spoken of it being in Osteen. If the young wizard had taken his advice, he was sure that's where he would be now. With her tree magic, it should be feasible for her to find the demesne where the Ogre was. As to exactly how, he could only guess unfortunately.

His mind's eye had picked it up easily enough, it was in the shadows of an alleyway watching this artificial construct was. In the form of a svelte, black cat, it hardly would be out of place save for the fact that in this torrential downpour, it did not seek shelter. More statue than flesh, it's only movement was the swish of it's tail. Its eyes glittered like jewels.

If Cricket hadn't been so moved by this thing's construction, the Occam might simply be inclined to tell it to go to the farm and have done. His horror was so vehement that the older wizard couldn't hide  his curiosity. As long as he didn't destroy it, he should have at least have a peek at it.

He blinked into the alley. The creature's form blurred into a humanoid shape instantly even as he appeared directly behind it. It spun into a kick, it's heel would have perfectly connected with his temple had it been there. He blinked again, barely missing a fist in his gut and yet again as it punched a hole into a wall.

"How fascinating!" It's programming was superb. It was rigged to sense temporal flux with an addition of precognitive defense routines. No matter where he blinked, it was merely a half second behind him. And it was stitched together of two humans and a familiar! The clash of personality and species alone should have made it clunky mind wise. "You are a fine piece of work indeed! But let's take a look under your hood shall we?"

When he reappeared this time, the homunculus made to pounce on him. He was somewhat alarmed that it would have been successful if not for the gossamer tendrils of a binding spell holding it in mid-air. He wheezed despite his pride, feeling his four hundred plus years all at once. Using two spells concurrently was not wise even for him.

"Look at you." He made a bit of mage light at the end of his cane. Her yellow-gold eyes were defiant, the sneer on her face would have cowered more sensible men. "I wonder what formula keeps you together?

It was a split second but he saw it plain as day; it was afraid. The Occam giggled.

Holding his hand in front of the homunculus, the binding spell began to ravel about his fingers one by one. The creature made to scream but the enchantment stopped her from making noise even as her limbs began to jerk against her restraints.

The Occam pulled the remnants of the beings apart somewhat causing three shadows to appear on the ground beneath it. Only one corpse seemed not to be desiccated out of the three. The Japanese girl and the cat seemed to be complimentary to the black woman who was its main template. Looking at the strands about his digits, he began to puzzle out the programming language it had; Buddhist sutras along with some Hebrew, and just a touch alchemy to connect it. There were elements of math magic as well but it wasn't quality. The calculations weren't in depth enough. The Japanese magicians were usually more polished than this.

Young, he thought, and arrogant. Cricket had a right to offended by rushed work. Looking into it's face, he saw it mouth that it wanted to die. Tears ran down it's cheeks.

The Occam smiled. "Oh you retched thing! You can't die yet! You've got tell Hurley where to get her prize at yes?" It's silent scream broke into body shaking sobs. "Of course you do. And don't you worry your pretty little head. Once I unbind you, all of your parts are linked again and the consciousness of what you are disappears at least for a time. Shoddy programming I know. You're probably suffering under that but who knows? I may have to destroy you later on. There's that to look forward to." The thought of it possibly being killed calmed it. There were just tears now. "Good, good. Cricket's apprentice has a farm in Osteen. I don't know where exactly but that will hardly stop your mistress from finding it. There is where Cricket will come back with her prize. Make sure she has the clippers with her."

The Occam blinked away just far enough to observe the tragic creature. The wires of his spell gone, it dropped into a puddle of filth, it's scream not quite human or feline. It thrashed around for all of ten seconds before lapsing into silence and lethargy.

Sloppy, thought the Occam. That should have been a three second mental reboot at best.


It was common knowledge that time in dreams moves faster in waking life. As to the precise ratio, it is hinted in Inception that for every five minutes in real time, an hour passes. This is debatable though, as every magic user knows. This is why traveling through dreams is a perilous thing. One could live years in a dream and be gone but for minutes or be minutes in a dreams yet be in a coma for years.

In Matilda's case it was somewhat more predictable being directly connected to the Yggdrisil. Quantum entanglement was and would always be an issue for her but Rusty, the elves, and other interested parties had taken measures to prepare for it.

Through their dreams versions of Matilda could keep their individuality for each of their dreams were theirs and theirs alone. This rule applies to all alternate versions of sentient beings.

The only difference in Matilda Mae's situation was that she was connected across time lines through a constant means which also meant that this would  constantly happen. This time was no different save for the fact that this Matilda in real time had not touched her staff just yet.

In her dream, Matilda was sitting under her orange tree, cross legged, and breathing deeply as she had been doing in the waking world. Her tree sat upon a hill.

At the foot of that hill were two other Matildas making conversation in the misty dusk of her subconscious. One was dressed in a leather jacket and matching pants with the hair shaved on the sides of her Mohawk. The other was dressed in a cloak and Celtic chain mail with a braid down to her back.

Mohawk Matilda was explaining that she had been to two of these reboots already and that there should be a third version of them to stand guard over the Matilda on the hill if she wasn't mistaken. Cu Matilda(and she stressed the Cu with no little arrogance)said that she was not here to watch anything. A battle was to be had for she had come to claim something to defeat the dragon-in-man who terrorized her people.

"Don't know about all that mate." Mohawk was pulling on a cigarette. "Never heard of anyone having a tumble at one of these things. I mean, why would we fight ourselves?"

"That I can't speak to but I know what the Morrigan promised me and Briec is as much her foe as mine." She scanned the area from beneath her bronze helmet. There was nothing distinct for her to focus on. All was fog and shadow. "Briec's eye was stolen. As long as both are open, he shan't die. I was lead here to find it."

Mohawk Matilda blew a cloud of smoke. It disappeared before she took another pull. "Hate to disappoint but this here's a dream, yeah? You're not like to find your magical doodad in an insubstantial-"

A bolt flame shot out of the gloom, smashing into Mohawk. Her body spun into the air before crumpling to the ground. Cu brought up her leather shield just in time to block another fiery missile.

"Out of my way! I am late!" Cu saw a yellow light bob through the mist. The same sickly yellow of Briec's eye. Another fireball rolled through the dark. Cu rolled out of the way, the flame burning the end of her red cloak.

"We...don't...use fire...." Mohawk rolled on her back. It was the third Matilda. Her hair was streaked with white, her eyes as green as emeralds. She barely spared her a glance before she was locked staff to staff with Cu. This other Matilda was not half the fighter Cu was, being backhanded to the ground as the more physical Matilda advanced on her.

"I shall not be denied witch!" She lunged at her only to be hit with more flame. Cu went flying as the newest Matilda scrabbled up the hill.

"The fuck are you doing!?" Mohawk asked even as she summoned Sylph to gather wind. "You can't fuck with her tree! You bloody nutter!" The other older Matilda paid her no heed so fierce her need to get to her goal. "Sylph! Vacuum!" The ball of wind began to spin in reverse. The old woman planted her staff into the ground to hold herself steady as she touched the bark of the orange tree.

It was harder than the old Matilda had anticipated. She had prepared for this day right up to this moment. When she saw her reflection in the Gate, she had known what must be done.

What she had learned from that elf had not been enough however. As she could unravel a tree like yarn, this older Matilda could barely make a split in it's bark. The math was too involving not to get lost in it. If she could just get the eye in it-

Her head was slammed into the tree. Stars blossomed behind her vision. "Give it here damn you!" Cu had plunged her hand into the trunk trying to pull the gem-eye free. She screamed out in pain as roots sunk into her arm.

"You fool!" The older Matilda was trying to yank Cu free even as she flailed against her. "You'll ruin everything!"

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" Mohawk had joined Older. The roots threatened the three of them now, winding about them, pulling them in. "Bugger! Look what you did you old bitch!"

"Let go of the eye!" Older bellowed.

"Never!" Cu gritted her teeth and with a great yell tore herself free, turning and socking the Older in the face before screaming again.

"No, no, no!" The Older Matilda saw the shards of the eye in the grass. Bit by bit they lost their glow, cooling like the embers of a forgotten fire. She picked them up only to have them turn to ash in her hands. "That was our chance! Our rebellion! My rebellion..."

"Briec!" Cu Matilda yelled. "I come for you!" Her bellows turned to laughter. Turning to the Older Matilda, she spat at her feet. "I know not what you intended witch but I am victorious!"

"Victory?" The Older Matilda sneered. "Even as the elves use us to do their dirty work? Even as we die over and over again with not so much as a thank you?" She began to laugh. It was empty. Brittle. "I could have saved us. I could have broken the cycle."

Cu Matilda shrugged. "All what you say means nothing to me and my mission. When I am returned home, I shall see my foe vanquished."

Mohawk Matilda did not join the conversation though. The sun was coming out, spilling like golden water across the murky landscape. This Matilda would be wake soon with a bump of what was left of Briec's eye in her tree.