OUR DREAMS, THEY ARE MADE OUT OF REAL THINGS, LIKE A SHOEBOX OF PHOTOGRAPHS AND SEPIATONE LOVING.
my dream last night:
i was on a long water ride with someone who may have been malia obama or someone who looked a lot like her except a few years older, about 14 or 15. we were riding on what looked like brightly colored innertubes with a mass of other people. when we got to the end of the ride we were suddenly dry and wearing real clothes, not bathing suits, and going down an escalator in an airport. suddenly a man in the crowd shot me in the head using a hidden gun mounted on the inside of his hat (it was like something out of the spy museum). somehow i knew that he only shot me to get to malia/the girl, who had been right behind me on the escalator and was now dead on the ground a bit farther away, and that it was a racially charged incident having to do with the election. i was sure i had died too, but a bit later my dad came and put me in a taxi to take me to the hospital, where i was picked up by a nurse. the hospital was a gate connected to an airplane, and walking through it i saw wounded people all around me, lying on the ground bleeding. the nurse told me the doctor was busy and couldn't see me yet, and that i should go take a shower in the meantime to clean myself up. i went into a bathroom that was attached to the gate and started to wash my hair. i wondered if i should really be using shampoo and conditioner because part of my brain was hanging out of my forehead and i was afraid the chemicals might make things worse, but i used it anyway. sometime after that i found out that malia/the other girl hadn't died after all, and some other things happened that i don't remember.
not quite as good as mel's usual ones, but still pretty crazy.
i was on a long water ride with someone who may have been malia obama or someone who looked a lot like her except a few years older, about 14 or 15. we were riding on what looked like brightly colored innertubes with a mass of other people. when we got to the end of the ride we were suddenly dry and wearing real clothes, not bathing suits, and going down an escalator in an airport. suddenly a man in the crowd shot me in the head using a hidden gun mounted on the inside of his hat (it was like something out of the spy museum). somehow i knew that he only shot me to get to malia/the girl, who had been right behind me on the escalator and was now dead on the ground a bit farther away, and that it was a racially charged incident having to do with the election. i was sure i had died too, but a bit later my dad came and put me in a taxi to take me to the hospital, where i was picked up by a nurse. the hospital was a gate connected to an airplane, and walking through it i saw wounded people all around me, lying on the ground bleeding. the nurse told me the doctor was busy and couldn't see me yet, and that i should go take a shower in the meantime to clean myself up. i went into a bathroom that was attached to the gate and started to wash my hair. i wondered if i should really be using shampoo and conditioner because part of my brain was hanging out of my forehead and i was afraid the chemicals might make things worse, but i used it anyway. sometime after that i found out that malia/the other girl hadn't died after all, and some other things happened that i don't remember.
not quite as good as mel's usual ones, but still pretty crazy.