Stardate 2023.287: Rusty Cage
https://dunebat.com/blog/rusty-cage/

General journal entry and status update for Sabbath day, 2023.287 (14 October 2023). Frustration and self-loathing abound.

Seen via the New York Post's Instagram feed.
*insert crazed Alex Jones noises*

Every time I think I'm out, they PULL ME BACK IN!!!

I've got more at my website - www.dunebat.com - but I'm most proud of these.

I have more at my DeviantArt page: https://www.deviantart.com/txdunebat

Latest creation (and no, I don't know why I made this):

True story:

Thirteen years ago, around Halloween, my mother passed away.
Almost a year to the day, my grandmother followed suit.

That following year, 2010, was pockmarked with tragedies. Lost my car in a wreck (one of several). Lost the place I was living in to a fire. Lost my wife in a divorce. The year 2010 just wasn't kind to me, and I desperately needed some kind of mental relief.

One night at the end of Summer, I had a dream. I was a child again, and I was at my mother's house. My mother sat in an old recliner, held me, and sang just like she used to. She comforted me and told me that everything would be alright. The feeling of peace and tranquility was palpable.

Then she looked down at me with a malicious grin that radiated evil and said, "You know I'm not really your mother, right?"

BAM! Instantly awake. Feeling of tranquility: completely fucking gone.

I've had similar dreams off and on since 2010. I no longer believe they're just dreams anymore.

Last night, I dreamed of my grandmother. Similar situation: relatively peaceful dream. (Grandmother's house was always peaceful. Even guests and friends always said they felt like napping as soon as they got there, like their cares and worries melted away as soon as they entered the living room.) Grandmother was there, her typically patient, quiet, matronly self, radiating that quiet strength we all knew so well. In the dream, I was still living with my grandmother, and everything was fine. The peace in the house was almost suffocating.

Yeah, I knew this trap by now, and I wasn't falling in.

I went up and hugged her, then said, "I miss you." (Who says that to someone they live with and see on a regular basis?)

"Yeah, I miss her, too," said the thing pretending to be my grandmother, a trace of smug satisfaction in its voice, all peace and tranquility replaced with an aura of malevolence and mischief. "I've enjoyed pretending to be her, bringing you comfort. She was one of a kind. So was your mother."

If words could only describe how hideous the thing became when I called it the demon I knew it to be.

Then I finally woke up.

I'm really sick of these damn "nightmares".

The SyFy version of "Dune" is better than the David Lynch film.

Fight me.

I am constantly surprised by how many underground groups and movements are alive and well in this nation, breathing and spreading quietly in the background of history.