Monday, February 15, 2010
I dreamt I burst into a crowded bar with some sort of a machine gun in one hand and a piece of paper in the other. I yelled to announce my arrival, and when that failed to garner much attention, I shot some holes in the ceiling. I started to wave the paper around and demand to know who wrote the few partial sentences on it. It was some sort of half-baked philosophical statement on human existence. It became clear, and somewhat bewildering to my lucid self, that the primary reason for my toting a gun into a public place was to engage people in a philosophical discussion. The bar patrons were not interested. Most ignored me and my gun. A few started to leave. I shouted about how they couldn't in my best wild-west, to no avail. Not wanting to kill anyone I shot at an outward bound calf muscle. I then learned that my gun shot what appeared to be white gumballs at a very sluggish velocity. I gave up.