Jan. 11th, 2014

the_benj: (Tripe on tap)
Last night's dream:
Jim Fishwick steps out from behind a fir tree in the snowy forest. He is bearing a large serving tray and a huge grin.
"I worked it out!", he cries gleefully, whisking off the tray's domed silver cover. On the tray, a plate of large, brightly coloured loose teeth, sun yellow, fire engine red, royal blue. They have the glossy, waxy texture of crayons.
"Try them! They're perfect! Our country is over!"
They seem to be clicking, but now I notice that sounds comes from above.
In the branches, an owl with a clock for a face touches down, gently displacing the snow with silent wingbeats. Above its waistcoat, owl's pendulum tie ticks back and forth.
Nathaniel, in my arms, reaches out and grasps a red tooth. He puts it in my mouth. It is surprisingly crunchy.
It tastes of urgent meetings.

October 2015

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