Strawberry Dreams

She haunts my waking dreams

Her strawberry scent is everywhere

I see the bright red of her hair

Against the dark of my eye lids.

I wish to hold her tight

Chasing the demons away



Idols and Dreams

I was hanging out with a friend ,Kit, and he was talking about this movie coming out about the Dark Tower series. I remember growing up that my Dad talked about it a lot and that he liked the characterization in the stories. I made disparaging comments thinking that something from the 80’s couldn’t be so great. Kit made a valid point stating that if the book was horrible why would they make a movie out of it. I shot back stating that Twilight was an example of a terrible book made into a terrible movie. Not wanting to back down he hands me Gunslinger and I read the letter Stephen King wrote back in 2003. As I am reading this I see so much of how I see writing and even how I write myself. I had to swallow a major dose of pride and finally admit the truth after 20 some odd years.

So what Kit unintentionally stumbled on (and I am not sure he knows it) is that Stephen King is my hero. I have never read a word past the first chapter of the stand and maybe Misery but I have always idolized Stephen King. He became my hero after he had his accident. Sure he was a drunken asshole at the time, sometimes he still is, and he fell hard. He couldn’t use his hands right, he couldn’t walk, one article claimed that the accident left him blind. But still he continued to write. When he couldn’t write the words down he would dictate them but still he was writing. It astounded me that this man who horrifies and disgusts me has so much will to continue letting the words out. At the time I hated him for it because I couldn’t muster the will to expand past story ideas in order to please my father. My father ironically enough also idolized Stephen King, only his was pure fandom idolization for the words he wrote not the effort he took to write them or the pain that they may have caused him. I hated him because he was fulfilling my dream and my father loved him for it while he told me I could never make it as a writer not matter how good the story ideas. And I idolized him because of what he was willing to endure to get the words out on paper. I wanted a will like that of my own. I’ve even got my own modern typewriter in the form of a laptop. I carry my words around with me every where just like he did when he first started out. So now I am starting out on a journey to learn about my idol Stephen King and I’m not starting with The Stand as so many people keep suggesting. I am going to start with the Dark Tower series starting with The Gunslinger.

Dreams: Norse Messes

Dreams are weird in their construction. You can dream of past moments, or you can dream of what you wish, there are even dreams that give you a solution to a problem. Dreams aren’t normally stories far from your reality.

The ballroom glitters with all of the guests spinning on the dance floor. Thor’s Queen sits upon the dais overseeing the dancers. This is the largest Gathering since the birth of Thor.  I’m just lucky to even be here. Witches like me aren’t normally invited but I was able to get in as Thor’s servant. The Council told me to keep an eye on things to make sure nothing went wrong the The Crowning of the Queen. It’s not often a mortal becomes a Queen.

Everything had gone so smooth it’s boring watching all the Norse Gods enjoying themselves. Thor himself has checked in with me twice already before disappearing back into the crowds. He is the only God I know who can still look intimidating with a boyish grin on his face. The one I am supposed to look out for hasn’t even shown up yet. It all goes wrong moments after a servant talks to the Queen. She rushes out of the ballroom so I follow her.

For some reason the servant has led the Queen to a bathroom. One that is carved straight from the mountaine Asgaurd sits on. It takes me seconds to see the Gate opening. The Queen saw it mere moments later and does the most ridiculous thing ever. The stupid fluff tries to close it. No human can close a Gate, not by herself anyway.

“Fuck, Your Majesty!” I shout running to step between her and the Gate. I place one hand on the Gate itself and one extended out towards the Queen. I am then pulled into the consciousness of the Gate.

“Who dares to Close Me?” Thunders around me causing my bones to crack.

“I do!” I shout back fighting to stay alert.

“You? You have no Master. You Can’t  Close Me!”

“Yes I can! Loki is my Master!”


The consciousness recedes and the Gate closes. Thor is cradling his Queen a look of concern and anger on his face. I wave half heartedly before collapsing onto the floor. Black boots step next to me and I look up into the angry eyes of Loki. “You stupid girl,” he sneers. Fuck I’m in trouble.