Dog Dreams in a Dangerous Park
I've been having some interesting dreams lately but I've been doing a bad job of remembering them. So, a few nights ago, when I woke at 2am after having one, I immediately typed up a description as best I could with eyes that were not quite ready to open and look at my bright computer screen. Here's the description I wrote, typos and all:
Dream about a big yellow dog
girl looking for him
Indoor park
dark street
she stares at tehe camera, short hair, big eyes
Dog is mustard cooour
eats cildren
is sometimes '80s acto
I have no idea what "'80s acto" is supposed to mean. I guess the dream must have been set in the '80s. I do remember the dog seemed dirty, streaked with black and dark green, like egg yolk with black, melted rubber.
Anyway, Happy Guy Fawkes Day, everyone. It comes early to Japan, where it's unobserved. In America, where people used to not know about it, of course it's election day this year. Quite a confluence since one candidate is accused of inciting a mob that stormed the U.S. capital. I think the left has largely mischaracterised that event but, all the same, I want to urge any Americans reading to vote for Kamala Harris. If you're worried about getting a president manipulated by powerful outside interests, Trump's the one you gotta worry about, not Harris. If the demons spinning yarn around his head can be considered outside interests. I'm not just talking about his bizarre hair style. He's clearly possessed by ideas, recklessly fueled by resentment, possibly also by the inability to cope with his position on the world stage, about his own unrecognised merit. He'll cling foolishly to anyone who flatters him as a consequence. This speaks to the basic lack of the maturity requisite in the leader of a country. Please, don't make us joke again. Or not more of a joke, anyway.
X Sonnet #1895
The heartless robber stole the horse's hoof.
A captive plant would dream of aphid death.
Entire teams were seen on Scrooge's roof.
The track could only lead to Walter Neff.
The clown was routed back to Hades' court.
Reversing time required counter spin.
The game's diminished, it's a console port.
When all the lot would conquer, none could win.
With helpless hands, the gloves discussed a meal.
Without the buns, the burgers changed in shape.
A simple food would prove its health is real.
The flying man would wear a crimson cape.
A whale collision rocked the briny deep.
Pervasive error coos itself to sleep.
Dream about a big yellow dog
girl looking for him
Indoor park
dark street
she stares at tehe camera, short hair, big eyes
Dog is mustard cooour
eats cildren
is sometimes '80s acto
I have no idea what "'80s acto" is supposed to mean. I guess the dream must have been set in the '80s. I do remember the dog seemed dirty, streaked with black and dark green, like egg yolk with black, melted rubber.
Anyway, Happy Guy Fawkes Day, everyone. It comes early to Japan, where it's unobserved. In America, where people used to not know about it, of course it's election day this year. Quite a confluence since one candidate is accused of inciting a mob that stormed the U.S. capital. I think the left has largely mischaracterised that event but, all the same, I want to urge any Americans reading to vote for Kamala Harris. If you're worried about getting a president manipulated by powerful outside interests, Trump's the one you gotta worry about, not Harris. If the demons spinning yarn around his head can be considered outside interests. I'm not just talking about his bizarre hair style. He's clearly possessed by ideas, recklessly fueled by resentment, possibly also by the inability to cope with his position on the world stage, about his own unrecognised merit. He'll cling foolishly to anyone who flatters him as a consequence. This speaks to the basic lack of the maturity requisite in the leader of a country. Please, don't make us joke again. Or not more of a joke, anyway.
Click to viewX Sonnet #1895
The heartless robber stole the horse's hoof.
A captive plant would dream of aphid death.
Entire teams were seen on Scrooge's roof.
The track could only lead to Walter Neff.
The clown was routed back to Hades' court.
Reversing time required counter spin.
The game's diminished, it's a console port.
When all the lot would conquer, none could win.
With helpless hands, the gloves discussed a meal.
Without the buns, the burgers changed in shape.
A simple food would prove its health is real.
The flying man would wear a crimson cape.
A whale collision rocked the briny deep.
Pervasive error coos itself to sleep.