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I don’t care what Mom says, my hair looks fine.

I don’t care what Mom says, my hair looks fine. published on

In last night’s dream the demon biologist who was driving me to the session of the Dark Congress pulled over so she could look at the hummingbirds. They were the size of swans, flying in repetitive formation over a small suburban house. They were constructed from bits of old brooms, with no legs and long sharpened beaks. Their wings whirred steadily, except for one that thumped sometimes from something broken.

The pattern in which they flew and the way they turned was extremely unsettling in the dream. I wonder if this is something I could reproduce in Maya, or if it’s one of those dream-things that exists without real pictorial form, only the impression of eeriness that it left on me.

The rest of it was a Disgaea dream. Apparently I ship Laharl/Flonne, which is possibly wrong-headed of me. While they were blushing and stammering at each other, Etna found the higher-level version of herself with the different color scheme and beat her down.