So after last night's rituals, I expected some kind of weird, post apocalyptic dreams.
I got the mayor of New Orleans, the Dem and the Rep Presidential Candidates, in my house instead. Ok, still weird dreams, but nothing apocalyptic. McCain seemed like he had Alzheimers. Obama was just too eager to please, and generally disgusted that I wouldn't fall under his sway. Mayor Nagen was trying to get money by contracting out repairs on our house without our consent. He was using a law that had recently passed, intended to bail out the housing slump, to push federally mandated repairs on the house, but my spouse had all the paperwork to prove we were exempt, and the mayor wouldn't listen. He wouldn't make eye contact, he talked too fast, and seemed really ... slimy.
Obama wouldn't stop making eye contact, like those paintings where the eyes are painted looking directly forward that look like they're always following you around. And McCain was surrounded by too many bustling "flappers," that he couldn't have maintained a train of thought, let alone eye contact.
Then I was riding a girl's bike with high handlebars. I had to pedal really fast up hill to get anywhere, and there was no gear shift. The handlebars were like chopper handlebars, but they went straight up so my arms were really uncomfortable. And of course, I was too big for it. Then I went around the block and came down the hill on the street parallel, and almost ran into this bitchy neighbor that was a conglomeration of several bitchy moms that I know of at our real-life elemetary school, and she said something snide, and I was like, "Do you REALLY think I want to be on this bike?" She got offended and ended up taking her too-many kids in the house.
It was weird, alright, but not really post-apocalyptic. After last night's dream, I think I actually trust Obama more. He at least seemed sincere in his desire to want my vote. Not that he represents me, my values, or my goals in life, necessarily, just that at least he came across as honestly wanting me to like him. McCain was just out of it. Lost, befuddled. I felt sorry for him. He seemed like he was on some kind of drug, like the Ism from that video Mike Rock posted the other day. His retainers kept him dopey and distracted enough so he wouldn't be able to pay attention to me, but they didn't want him to have enough time to really see where he was at either. Bah. Political dreams. Weird shit. At least there were no scary clowns or three-foot Santas.
But it wasn't particularly Goetic. I had conjured Ga'ap, alias Tap, and had a good conversation with him. The rite went really well, and I asked him to send me a dream if I needed more information. Either I forgot a dream, or I didn't need more information.