LOS ANGELES, CA-

Well, it’s official: after 37 years on this planet– 37 years of being chased by homicidal maniacs, trapped in mazes, falling off cliffs, forgetting how to drive stick while the steering wheel comes off in my hands as I navigate particularly treacherous mountain roads, having my teeth fall out when I show up late for school with no pants on only to find my term paper was due the day before, falling into the ocean while clutching my computer which contains the only copy of the book I’m writing, oh and going back to college and finding that somehow I wasn’t assigned a dorm room and have to live on the street oh but I didn’t register anyway and all the class are full and nobody seems to care about my predicament– um, stop here, sentence too confusing.

I finally had the most fucked-up dream of my life.

If I weren’t listening to Judas Priest right now (Sad Wings of Destiny) I would never have the strength to talk about it. But luckily I am!

So. I had this dream. And in my dream, I was in… Walgreen’s!
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SOUTH COAST, ENGLAND-

I usually have awesome dreams; I don’t dream often, but when I do they’re usually quite spectacular and incredibly vivid.

In the past I have dreamt that I was saving Miami from rabid zombie babies in a red Chevrolet Corvette. I have dreamt that Al Pacino was chasing me across the New York subway system in a lime green Lamborghini and I have dreamt that I was at a beach party with Keith Richards, Jack Sparrow and Batman.

A few nights ago I dreamt I was in the Death Star. I can’t tell you if it was the one from A New Hope or the one from Return of the Jedi. I think it was the first one, just a hunch.

And I can remember walking about, not being bothered by anyone. There were Storm Troopers and androids and all sorts, the sort of figures you’d expect to see on an evil intergalactic space station. I was free to wander about and mind my own business.

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LONDON, ENGLAND-

A small rabbit, a small bullet of pepper brown fur, fires across my line of vision. 

The ground underfoot, a soft springy marshmallow of mud, moist with a recent smattering of light rain, clings in clumps to my boot heel. I unzip my pale green corduroy jacket; it’s warm, early evening. The sun is setting, casting strange and interesting patterns of light in the dimming sky.

The sky is smothered by thin, wispy pink candy floss clouds; closer to the horizon the clouds are thicker, darker, smoggier— like smoke. The sky is red; a deep, menacing red, molten sunlight oozing across the skyline.

The billowing eye of a volcano— spread 180 degrees across the periphery of my vision.

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CHICAGO, IL -

My wife is pregnant.

Showing.

Growing.

Glowing.

Claire is fertilizing my seed, so to say, and supposedly on June 6th we’ll have a full grown zucchini ready for bucketing.*

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BAKERSFIELD, CA-

There’s that one line from the new Dark Knight Batman movie that I keep stumbling on. It sticks in all the commercials. I hear it from my family. I read it in grafitti. It squeaks from comic book action figures: “Why so serious?” Maybe it’s because Comicon 2008 in San Diego is a place of spandex god worshippers who want their asses signed with celebrity lightning bolts. I mean, that’s gotta seriously hurt. (more…)