A Dream Story is basically this: I would go to sleep (as most people do), I would dream (as most people do), I would wake up (as most people do). If I had a particularly funky dream that I vaguely remembered, I would write it down quickly on a pad of paper I had beside me bed – and then typically go back to sleep. Then, later on when I was fully awake, I would try to decipher the demonic chicken scrawl that was written on the paper and write a wacked out half-poem half-dream all-crap kind of thing. And THIS is what you see below.
Try to psychoanlayze THIS ONE why don't ya. Enjoy.
Dream Story – Then He Walked
By Drooling Maniac
She sat by herself, hands placed on her lap.
PLACE: is it a giant indoor mall
maybe a airport terminal
or maybe it just doesn't matter
She knew they were following her
CRIME: if there is one
then its hidden very well from sight
or maybe it just doesn't matter
And I was there with her
For I too had others following me as well.
There was no denying it.
I would catch glimpses
-in the corner
-against the hallway wall
-in a blue chair, acting like he was reading one of the many pamphlets strewn around this area
-against the hallway wall
-in a blue chair, acting like he was reading one of the many pamphlets strewn around this area
HE was there now.
Up some stairs, looking down from above.
A long beard, yet kept, not scraggily.
Glasses too small to even cover his eyes
But big enough to watch my every move.
Then we walked (not even a jog) away from that place
(a man played with a cat that was way to large for reason)
(a pink haired girl standing on a rock waving her hands in the air to no avail of us stopping)
To a place much like home but way better. Where others would climb ropes over chasms in groups of five, a hurried rush to see who could be first (if there ever is a winner).
It was a place of laughter, of friends, of acceptance.
A place where you would see the unlikely. (Ozzy Osbourne and the Beatles ((before the unfortunate act of break-up and death)) stand in line at the bathroom, singing tunes together while they wait).
And in my calm, I watched and smiled. Then saw a homeless man wandering around, never once noticing the party atmosphere. He merely grabs a entire row of Sty-ro-Foam cups from the table, and takes off with them. I wonder what he'll do with them once the homeless man gets back home.
One of the NEW people walked up, giggled and taped a sheet of paper on the wall.
"I think he'll like this.", he says to another as they walk away.
There, on the sheet, are rows of almost mug shot pictures. Set up in singles, yet a group as a whole.
Mine, it was towards the bottom, with another person I could not make out.
And with it was a small list of instructions for things I have to do, projects clients need done.
Looks like work has followed me home again.
But why is it that I can't stop smiling.
I hear an rather odd version of Iron Man in thick British accents.
Guess its just one of those days.
