warriors, come out to play

first dream of the night, the second recorded below. Woke up and wrote this down before going back to sleep.

A nomadic warrior culture that sweeps ever onward across the desert. We meet and fight other factions now and again, forever going "there." Fantastic beasts of burden and war carry us, in one fantastic fight a girraffic camel, my friend sweeps by and I am caught up by centrifugal forces, swinging wildly around. We hide beneath a giant willow tree with only a few enormous branches & massive, trailing fountains of leaves. The view for much of this is often from above, as if I watch toys carry out these actions. We are rag tag, dusty, tattered, but fierce and cruel. Clothes seem to be mishmashes of patchwork and hemp cord and straps and beads. We are barbarians.

We venture underground, always looking for something to exploit or steal or discover for use. It is a vast, level place, the earth just above our heads. It is very very black, illuminated by a dim, bluish light. We are confronted by the warriors of the peope that live down here. They are muscular, charcoal-grey men, wearing nothing but oily knee-length breeches. Miners. Their right hands have grown as huge as their torsos, and they strange are almost laughable, if we were not trapped in their world, in the dark, and if they were not so many. My vision flashes between a wide view of their numbers, to a very close view of the face of their leader. He bellows incomprehensible commands, they surge toward us, they are massive, stomping giants, each footfall crashes, the earth is shaking all around us. We are lost, trapped, no way out.

I am wedged in a crack in the earth, face up or face down it is hard to say. One hand is up by my face, the other is pinned down by my waist. I test at scratching into the dirt and the smooth surface crumbles, threatens to cover my face and suffocate me. The miner soldiers are crashing and stomping above my earth crevice tomb. I can feel them scooping up great handfulls of earth and rock, cleanly scooping as if their giant hands are metal tools through the oily mud. I will be burried. I can feel it, as if I am, myself, the earth and they tickle me. I scratch again, more earth crumbles up against my face. I will surely die here.

They pass me, I get out somehow, back to the aboveground. It is chaos, we are fleeing the things we stirred up from below.

The camel again, my friends again, the tree again.

[I awoke to a lightning storm and torrential rains.]