Weird Dream
Jul. 19th, 2006 11:09 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
perzephone
Yesterday as I was sleeping, I dreamed of Led Zeppelin. We (meaning me & Led Zeppelin) were out in the desert. Robert Plant (a much younger Sun God than now) was standing on this little hump of sand and I was standing there next to him as he sang to me & the rest of the band played... Don't remember what song, but I remember being ecstatic & feeling like I was wearing winged sandals.
Anyway, I don't know if somehow this was part of the same dream or a different one, but later on, Jimmy Page (a much younger Page) was somehow my teacher/guru/High Priest of ceremonial magic. He was circling the house in a big-ass red '50's convertible Cadillac w/the top down. For some reason, he couldn't come inside to get me so I had to go out to him. He also couldn't stop driving because someone, possibly from inside the house, was attacking him. I was supposed to somehow leave through one of the windows, which would portal me into the car w/him, but all the windows were too small for me to leave. And I'm not talking just too small because I'm fat, I'm talking too small for my head. Or big enough for my head & maybe an arm. Now that I'm typing this, it sounds like some birthing metaphor. There were people inside the house with me cheering me on, urging me on, things like, "Just try it! You'll see, you can fit!" & Jimmy Page would wave & holler at me as he drove by whatever side of the house I was on, telling me to hurry because he had to leave & it was too risky for him to stay.
I know this was probably just cosmic revenge - Page being a magickian an' all... BMG has been advertising a Jimmy Page collectible action figure, like one of those McFarlane 'Spawn' things. Every time I see it I laugh evilly & tell Rob I want it so I 'could do stuff to him' because it's like a little plastic Jimmy Page Voodoo doll. I usually then go on to elaborate in great detail exactly what I would do with a Robert Plant collectible figurine. Plant should be glad BMG hasn't offered one for sale because he'd be a sloppy blonde dildo right now. The real Robert Plant would be walking around perpetually smelling and smelling like pussy. (Not that he doesn't already, but I'm sure the guy can't have sex 24/7... or can he? I know Sting brags about 5-hour orgasms, but damn...)
Anyway, I don't know if somehow this was part of the same dream or a different one, but later on, Jimmy Page (a much younger Page) was somehow my teacher/guru/High Priest of ceremonial magic. He was circling the house in a big-ass red '50's convertible Cadillac w/the top down. For some reason, he couldn't come inside to get me so I had to go out to him. He also couldn't stop driving because someone, possibly from inside the house, was attacking him. I was supposed to somehow leave through one of the windows, which would portal me into the car w/him, but all the windows were too small for me to leave. And I'm not talking just too small because I'm fat, I'm talking too small for my head. Or big enough for my head & maybe an arm. Now that I'm typing this, it sounds like some birthing metaphor. There were people inside the house with me cheering me on, urging me on, things like, "Just try it! You'll see, you can fit!" & Jimmy Page would wave & holler at me as he drove by whatever side of the house I was on, telling me to hurry because he had to leave & it was too risky for him to stay.
I know this was probably just cosmic revenge - Page being a magickian an' all... BMG has been advertising a Jimmy Page collectible action figure, like one of those McFarlane 'Spawn' things. Every time I see it I laugh evilly & tell Rob I want it so I 'could do stuff to him' because it's like a little plastic Jimmy Page Voodoo doll. I usually then go on to elaborate in great detail exactly what I would do with a Robert Plant collectible figurine. Plant should be glad BMG hasn't offered one for sale because he'd be a sloppy blonde dildo right now. The real Robert Plant would be walking around perpetually smelling and smelling like pussy. (Not that he doesn't already, but I'm sure the guy can't have sex 24/7... or can he? I know Sting brags about 5-hour orgasms, but damn...)
