I have messed up dreams.

This is nothing new. Sometimes they scare me, sometimes they confuse me and occasionally I can interpret them.
This example is noteworthy for one reason.

Paint thinner.

I foolishly left the cap off of this potent solvent while I slumbered.
Suffice to say I do not remember much.

There was a bright orange cat, wearing sunglasses.
This cat was sullen, until prescription eye wear rimmed with silver was available. Then we all rejoiced in its joy.

A battle to the death in a supermarket.
Except, depending on which lethal kung fu move was being employed, we would shrink and grow.

Falling into a kaleidoscope of colours and sound.

Added to all this (and more), my addled mind composed a song.
It was oddly catchy: half a wry and witty look at the Clinton Administration (hold the smut), while in the second half it rapidly became nonsense and yelling (extra smut, hold the olives).

I wish I had written it down, but my highest priority was getting fresh air.

Update: Sometime October 16, 2001

Due to the benefits of breathing air that won't ravage vast amounts of ones grey matter, I have just remembered another part to this dream:

I'm a part of some kind of group, and we're standing on a stage inside a hall. Everybody seems to have an instrument except for me, some groupies and a pair of conjoined twins (joined Chang & Eng style - by a small cord of skin).
What struck me as odd was not the fact that they consisted of brother and sister, but how they got dressed (we were dressing on stage you see).

They seemed to have no trouble actually getting their shirts on, but could only get them off the rack of available clothes by flailing and attacking them.

It also seemed I could only find a jacket with unusually short and tight sleeves.

It seemed that my contribution to the performance was to stand centre stage, until the crowd rushed us and the concert devolved into a brawl.

Log in or register to write something here or to contact authors.