Martin Luther King Jr.

So titled because I had a dream.
Lately, be it bizarre circumstances or mundane things like the dogs fighting outside my door, I have begun waking up around 4:30. Today I woke up at 4:25 after a very odd dream, which came in many parts:

It was night, and I had been surprised to have heard fireworks. I could hear them in my dream like gunshots, echoing as they kind of 'broke' sound around them. I was watching them explode in pseudo-danmaku fashions, one of the more exciting ones was a series of fireworks bursting into a wide, loose spiral. Alec came and asked what direction the last one I saw came from, then after I pointed towards where I had seen it, she grimly concluded that we would never, ever see the man lighting the fireworks, for he only lit them at busy streets. This is odd, because we live on a busy street.

I did not know who the man was, but he was a failed inventor or something, trying to appease an Alarm Company he worked for with these grand displays which were supposed to alert of certain things or wake up young children for classes. They worked, too, which was bad because a lot of people couldn't sleep. Some were complaining of it, and others were like me, sitting out on their porches to watch the Alarms go off.

After the sky had become too bright to see the alarms, I remember hearing one more firework-display go off.

It was morning, now, and I saw a family of silver-whitish cats camped out around this mailbox. They were sort of unkempt, so I presumed them strays. I kind of weighed their importance by Humane Society standards, and promptly snatched a kitten with matted fur and a swollen, lolling tongue, which I'd determined to be severely dehydrated. I brought it inside, to the mild disdain of my mother, who works with this all the time, and went out again for the others. They had gone. I'd decided to play detective, and checked my backyard.

The backyard was a mass of dirt and holes, now.
A three-legged dog was limping on its stump from a food-bowl that had shit in it. He had stopped eating from the bowl, and started eating directly from the food-bin, which someone had left open to the rain and now festered with maggots.

My father was standing on the porch, smoking his cigarette. I told him that the amputee-dog was eating maggots. He nodded gravely, but said he "Thought the food was probably better in proteins now."
I attributed the state of the yard to the state of the dog and the dog's food and said, "We really need to fix this shit."
He nodded, but said no. Something about grass, I think.
I told him, "Over there? Nothing. Over here? Sparse patches of nothing."
He was kind of convinced and said we would fix it, then mentioned frogs.

He said "You know, you only have cancer of the mouth and genitals," then said "Tara has Female Cancers."

He told me a story about a frog named Tara, which shares the name of my mother's best friend, and how it laid spawn - which my Dad called "growing fruit" - inside a wind-chime. I guess the "Female Cancers" didn't disrupt child-bearing.

I woke up shortly after that, at 4:25, and began to set the pace to buy something for a friend of mine.