(no subject)
I had a dream about Brandon.
We were living together, but he had an English girlfriend with bad teeth and rotten lemons in her mouth. We lived in one of those lofts downtown, but no one had to pay rent. And we had a couch that looked like a tongue. He looked like Rents from Trainspotting (not like Ewan Mcgregor, but more how the book describes him). Unfortunately there was no Begbie or Spud. It would've been more fun if there had. As it went, we were sitting on the tongue couch and talking about the November election and how we wanted Woody Allen to win, but we hoped he wouldn't marry any more young girls or it might cost him the race. Somehow Woody Allen's election platform was related to the La Brea (sp?) tar pits and extracting fossil fuels from them. We went for a walk where flowers poured from the sewers and suddenly we were both running in stiletto heels. We ran into some cops and were arrested for prostitution. We escaped from jail and turned into Bonnie and Clyde, dressed in truly svelte fashion. We shot some dogs, took their money and used it to buy heroin. We shot up back at the loft and passed out on the floor.
I don't understand it, but it has to be the most imaginative my sleeping brain has ever gotten.
We were living together, but he had an English girlfriend with bad teeth and rotten lemons in her mouth. We lived in one of those lofts downtown, but no one had to pay rent. And we had a couch that looked like a tongue. He looked like Rents from Trainspotting (not like Ewan Mcgregor, but more how the book describes him). Unfortunately there was no Begbie or Spud. It would've been more fun if there had. As it went, we were sitting on the tongue couch and talking about the November election and how we wanted Woody Allen to win, but we hoped he wouldn't marry any more young girls or it might cost him the race. Somehow Woody Allen's election platform was related to the La Brea (sp?) tar pits and extracting fossil fuels from them. We went for a walk where flowers poured from the sewers and suddenly we were both running in stiletto heels. We ran into some cops and were arrested for prostitution. We escaped from jail and turned into Bonnie and Clyde, dressed in truly svelte fashion. We shot some dogs, took their money and used it to buy heroin. We shot up back at the loft and passed out on the floor.
I don't understand it, but it has to be the most imaginative my sleeping brain has ever gotten.