Thick as Thieves With Dreams and Dogs
I'm alive. Maybe.
I wrote something to help cope with my recent move. I hope you find it interesting.
1:48 AM.
I sit in somber silence. My heart is beating. My whole body is vibrating like a tuning fork.
I'm thirsty as hell.
Georgette the Poodle is staring me in the face, grinning. "Girl, we've got work to do."
A salacious Sally Acorn is feeling up her butt and giving a thumbs up. Her PDA partner, Nicole, is absent.
Amidst these two, is the third figure. A Ninetales-woman dressed like a prostitute. Topless, golden-furred, feeling up her clit with sleek red gloves.
It's all this trio and I can do, not to do something untoward, noisy, violent, and self-destructive. We've tried 'love', and we've tried 'awakening'--we can scarcely sleep, let alone awaken, right now.
"But the impetus is on us to do 'something', child." Georgette says.
"Of course we have to do something, though I just don't feel like fucking." is the squirrel-girl, Sally Acorn's reply.
"..."
The Ninetales is silent. As she usually is. Because she is me, and I am she, and we are not of one mind, but many.
"Tamamo-no-Sachi." I whisper inwardly. "Sachi, my wish."
"Hey, I'm here you mopey mess." she replies. It's a pained female voice, but a reassuring one. Warm.
It means, I still love 'me'.
It's really all I can do for my sanity, to put on this sort of mental puppet show. It's hard to say for certain, why, exactly, this started.
"Maybe it was just that you didn't trust others, one bit." is Georgette's suggestion.
It's 1:59 AM, and I am trapped in a world between nightmares and dreams.
The 'real' world. A place I face with greater hesitance and trepidation, than any nightmare. Because unlike a nightmare... it keeps coming back, at such a slow pace. Confining like a maze of brambles. No superpowers to be had to get me out of this mess.
"Just your dreams and your waking mind." Georgette grins.
It's not like I wanted it to be a bad place, 'reality'. Funny thing is, everyone here has a dream to share... even if it's just their formula for how they think everyone ought to act, to make everyone as happy as possible. I can scarcely hate them for that.
"It's just, when you're craving to climb up trees with squirrel girls, you're short on humans to run to who'll put out an eager ear or helping hand, right?" Sally nods, winking.
"You keep coming back to our dream, every day." Sachi whispers.
2:06 AM. Maybe I am getting a feel for what I can do with this... stir craziness. I can try and tell my life story in an exciting, instead of mopey way. Sure. Alright, alright.
So the story so far is that I'm suffering severe insomnia, possibly dehydration, and definitely I've been feeling some aggression toward my roommate. But that's not going to end in tragedy--no. I've made a vow, that I'm not going to let reality ruin my dream-time, until it comes and sicks the Reaper on me, and maybe not even then. I'm not going to do anything terribly untoward that ruins this latest opportunity in life.
But how I would ache for your nine tails right now, fox. Or even just the one--why? ...to keep me warm. To have a distraction, anything, from mundane human-ness that I've dreaded living with. To know I'm not dead inside.
"You've been clinging to our light, because you think it makes you, you." is Sachi's reply.
Myths and magic, and animation and games. Yeah. Given, these things have been my distraction from 'real life', as much as they are a part of it... like alcohol is a part of real life... or crack.
I guess I'm a nerd in withdrawal from unreal reality. I need my fix, and it involves colorful talking animals, and magic... and shape-changing.
2:13 AM. Why can't the minutes just stop? Why can't I be the one in control of space and time? Am I God? I'm the god of my own reality, right?
I've mulled it over a bit in my head. It seems like I'm just... so cold. One long movie filled with flashbacks, that doesn't come with a rewind. Do I even come with a happy ending? I've crusaded for the fulfillment of this one wild fantasy, since I was a little kid...
"Suddenly, fur is puffing up all over you, and black, elongated canine nails are ripping socks and sleeves." Georgette suggests, as if she's reciting a line from one of those old Choose Your Own Adventure stories.
Yeah, given, it's what I want to feel, in one sense or another. There's usually a glow of full-body sexual euphoria that comes with the fantasy, when it's still fresh. Me as a were-animal. It's a lovely contrast with the recent sensation of feeling like love and sexual attentions are obligated to be given. A feeling that has ridden along with the advent of my latest real-life partner.
"I just don't give a crap about ordinary sex, or human bodies." I say.
"Course, you like human, as long as it's buried deep within a nice thick layer of anthropomorphic animal!" Georgette proclaims somewhat sadistically. My own me, divested onto a furry character, knows me all too well.
"You can scarcely blame her for not getting it up." Sally whispers. I've allocated her responsibility over my sexual playfulness. Is that a strange thing to do? She was one of the first figures I felt 'in the way' about. after all.
Schediaphilia, they call it. Attraction to virtual, visual partners. Cartoon fetish. In my case, almost an exclusive attraction.
"You really ought not take yourself apart much further." Sachi suggests.
2:27 AM.
I let out a weary sigh. I am 'so' tired. I just want these moments of lycanthropy fantasy, coupled to the sight of attractive wildlife-alien drawings, to last forever. No, even forever is maybe an overreach. I just want them to be my 'reality', and not the dream. I want them and me to have the appropriate bodies--not be separated by a boundary of viewer and art.
Before something happens, that takes away my memory, of having enjoyed such things, I really want to 'live' them. Sprout a tail. Grow some claws and run up a tree, or dig into a den. Sniff some other critter's ass and get really turned on about it. Maybe lick my own junk. Feel up some other fluffy monsters. Be simultaneously a complete savage, and a sexy lady-thing. Or fuck, even a man-thing, if I have to compromise. What if I could be both in one? Pretty lady, with some manly 'additions' downstairs... flick my tail, drop a crap on wild earth, be lewd and raunchy and inviting... sounds nice.
2:32 AM
...reality is such a merciless bitch, sometimes, it seems like. And the more I focus on trying to awaken, the more I feel like what I'm chasing is a non-existent thing, reality dangled in front of me, to keep me prisoner here. "Awaken to a superpower that makes every day feel sustainable--to a deliverance from suffering!" Right. Great sell, Gautama.
...
What if 'dying' simply meant dreams, eternal? What if I just keel over, and then decide to live the dream, forever?
But then... it seems like it's mostly the waking dreams that have furries, and lycanthropy, and sex. Asleep, I feel like I typically inhabit a human body... and meet mostly non-furry entities.
It's really kind of a pisser. The most painfully unforgiving part of the dream, is the part of the dream with all the delicious sex bait. The part you're anticipated to let go of, one way or another, apparently. The waking 'real' bit, where the dream slows down so much, it feels like there can ever be a lasting harmful consequence, or a forever loss. When you realize you are in both Heaven and Hell, in waking life... that Nirvana is a forever dream--what do you do, really?
The only animal body to experience here, presently, is this human one. And I know what happens to bad humans who run wild... it's not the stuff of my pretty werewoman fantasies. There won't be any feasting on bugs and berries and lesser beasts, in a firelit grove, out in the sacred woods, with my retinue of nagas and pooka. There won't be, 'being a Queen of bestial, shape-shifting furry animal people', if I up and rob a convenience store and walk off into the cold night, in my dirty clothes. Maybe if life is merciful, that's what I go to 'next', for awhile...
"This placid, faux-serene apartment life... it's a disgusting parody, on what life should be. I should have 'that' life, not this one," a part inside of me, tells me, as it stuffs silverware and cutlery in a dishwasher, rather than in flesh.
This version of reality should just relegate itself to my nightmares, in the future.