listening dreaming

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I found a nice spectacularly long one from the Irish "comedians" going on about conspiracies, not that I enjoy them, but that I can get the volume just right for it to help me zone out and drop off, but we were in an uncomfortable scrunch on some rocks by some water and my harridan sister had jumped in to pretend to drown.

I was telling them she was only faking. They didn't seem to care either way, and kept yammering as I watched her haul out on a separate rock. We went back to the cabin, but none of them would get on any kind of spiritual plane I could hang with, so I woke up to find two of them in a really determined argument, feigning erudition over the finer points of telling parents who just lost their kids that their kids never existed.

I get up, going, yes, well, this will be solved if you just flip it, idiots. Tell people who did not just lose any kids that you don't appreciate their sick ruse. So I switched to Sturgill for some peace.

Joe had been staying in my guest room with his chihuahua for a few days. He'd needed the sleep. I needed to make room for Sturgill, and Joe'd been out like a light for three days. So I figured I could go in there and pull things together without it bothering him much.

He woke up and I told him I'd get him some coffee and later cook him and Sturgill dinner, but I'd just gotten the coffee started when he came out and I needed to introduce him to my mother, who was scrunched up in front of my computer like I am at this very instant, squinting at horse races on the screen.

I told her he used to be a tv star and she thought that was fine, but went right back to her horse races, and Joe decided it was time to take his chihuahua out for a spin. I went back to trying to make more order in the guest room.

But Sturgill seemed to be lost, or stuck, and so I went out to get him, but he was in some old west style bathhouse parlor with a lot of women crowded into the place, leaving him unable to get out of the tub without starting a riot. He didn't seem very happy about his picklement, but didn't seem to need any help either, so I went for a little tour of my brand new old west style town.

I could find Joe or Sturgill in any building because I could hear their voices in there from out in the dirt main street, and I kept finding them too engaged to bother with dinner, and finding new and interesting, yet also deeply familiar businessmen in my formerly near dead town. So I stopped worrying about feeding Joe and Sturgill.

At length I realized I couldn't cook them dinner anyway because my oven and half my range are broken, and have been for something like a year. So I got some hot sausages from a street vendor, and then took them with me to the saloon that was just closing, but the also weirdly familiar irascible proprietor let me come in and eat at the bar while he was mopping up.

Their voices stopped and everything was black. I opened my eyes and found it was the matte black in the minutes before dawn. I threw on my giant alpaca sweater and got myself that coffee.

pipe up any time....