A fine summer day, people are laying out, enjoying the sun... we sit at our picnic, enjoying sandwiches... talking about the weather, about places to go. Your eyes are half closed, as you laugh at a quip in the conversation. I lean back, chewing on my salad sandwich, other couples sitting just out of earshot. I think you're making a jest as you turn your face skyward, a look of horror on your face... and then I'm immersed. a rubbery slime, somehow moving, surrounds me. I jump up, roll, and spin around, flinging the stuff off of me. Jello with huge white worms, or so it looks. I shudder, and scrape more of it off, and look at you. You're horrified, and I can't see anything but that in your face. The mess is slowly digesting the ground behind me, and because we're far enough away and you've made no sound, noone else seems to be aware. Looking up at the sky... something is wrong. Bright, sunny, peaceful... but somehow it looks less real, a fascade. I squint at the sky ... and I can see that a portion of it looks ... stained somehow. Not something in the sky, but an actual faint difference in colour in the total sky there itself. A distortion, suddenly I see it. It looks like the air itself is drooping, perhaps it's not the sky at all, nothing so distant. Twenty? One Hundred? It's hard to tell... above us, we can see that it is as if the air is bearing some weight... the sky above it is simply more distant. You have no idea, but I shudder, I know what's going on. I pat your arm, tell you to run, and pull from my self a device that's been unused for millenia. Yes, sometimes nature is strange. I knew they'd be back, and I've claimed this place as mine, for my wards. You have tasted too many worlds, have closed too many eyes. Not here.

That basically is a narration of a theme in a dream I commonly have. I'm reminded of it by something funny I found here.

An interesting reflection on this. I again will tell you -- I'm a Stallmanist, with some reservations.

Here's an interesting analysis on Rumsfeld's comments. For some reason, I almost find myself beginning to respect the guy, in some aspect. Unlike BushJr, and contrary to the tone of the article, it's clear the guy has some doubts, and some brains. So he's quite distinct from BushJr, who I wouldn't trust to sell me a stamp.. instead, my lack of trust for Rumsfeld is in a completely orthoganal direction -- I wouldn't trust any stamps from him not to have cyanide on the side one licks.

Random music lyrics, to complete the night, and serenade the moon.. I'm in the same state, quoth Abdul the great, twas foolish of we two to fight My favorite is Beef Jerky... I'm vagabond.. I'm vagabond You're sleepin' underneath yesterday's paper, pretending the tsunami hasn't hit..

It seems to me that, if this is tetris, I've stepped up to the next level again. Tightropes are tougher, but more fun, when one is only allowed one foot at a time.