Mick & Me
I experienced a multitude of dreams last night. The only one I can recall vivdly was a brief spell where I was holed up in a squalid little apartment with Mick Jagger.
It was early in the afternoon, the skies were covered with dense clouds. It was a small studio apartment, sparsely furnished with a wooden chair in one corner, an old mattress on the floor opposite the entrance topped with a tangled blanket, and a door which opened onto a small alley. It was dimly lit, the only available light slowly filtering in from the small window above the mattress. He was sitting on the bed reading a book when I entered. I had come upon his hiding place quite by accident, and though he was not pleased to be discovered he invited me to stay a while, as we shared a common goal: we were both trying to find a quiet place to avoid David Duchovny. Mick put down his book and offered me some opium, first to smoke and then later to chew. I accepted both. The piece I chewed on tasted like licorice, with the texture of a stale caramel candy. We sat and spoke a while, though I remember none of the content. I looked to the window and saw David Duchovny's face peering through. "Shit, it's Duchovny!", I barked as I lunged akwardly out of the small chair, knocking it over backwards as I made a frantic break for the door. I flung the door open and tried to sprint away. But the black stuff had jeopardized my sense of balance, and I managed only one clumsy stride before falling down face-flat on the muddy surface of the alley. Dream faded to black at that point. No word on whether Mick managed to shake DD.
Later I awoke and had to fend off a friend who was wielding an axe, trying to punch my ticket.
Strange restless sleep.
It was early in the afternoon, the skies were covered with dense clouds. It was a small studio apartment, sparsely furnished with a wooden chair in one corner, an old mattress on the floor opposite the entrance topped with a tangled blanket, and a door which opened onto a small alley. It was dimly lit, the only available light slowly filtering in from the small window above the mattress. He was sitting on the bed reading a book when I entered. I had come upon his hiding place quite by accident, and though he was not pleased to be discovered he invited me to stay a while, as we shared a common goal: we were both trying to find a quiet place to avoid David Duchovny. Mick put down his book and offered me some opium, first to smoke and then later to chew. I accepted both. The piece I chewed on tasted like licorice, with the texture of a stale caramel candy. We sat and spoke a while, though I remember none of the content. I looked to the window and saw David Duchovny's face peering through. "Shit, it's Duchovny!", I barked as I lunged akwardly out of the small chair, knocking it over backwards as I made a frantic break for the door. I flung the door open and tried to sprint away. But the black stuff had jeopardized my sense of balance, and I managed only one clumsy stride before falling down face-flat on the muddy surface of the alley. Dream faded to black at that point. No word on whether Mick managed to shake DD.
Later I awoke and had to fend off a friend who was wielding an axe, trying to punch my ticket.
Strange restless sleep.