The isle is full of noises,
Sounds and sweet airs, that give delight and hurt not.
Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments
Will hum about mine ears, and sometime voices,
That, if I then had waked after long sleep,
Will make me sleep again: and then, in dreaming,
The clouds methought would open and show riches
Ready to drop upon me, that, when I waked,
I cried to dream again.
The Tempest (III.ii)
1. Lottery dream where I win, pay off all the debt of everyone I know (because I think my brain runs a balance sheet each night – and every single person in my life who has money trouble is part of it – that way my subconscious will never forget who needs to be part of the distribution when the big jackpot happens) and then I fulfill my dream of opening a laundromat/car wash/bar/movie theater right where Baja Bean is in the Fan. Sorry, Baja.
2. Honorary PhD dream for writing a book full of words. Words that don’t have anything to do with one another. Words like this:
angel purebred firebrand reverend. fragrant flaming piles with daggers. honest earnest danger platinum boogie.
3. Sitting at the bottom of a well, people throw down coins that I eat. I astral project into rehearsals of Guys and Dolls and cause mayhem.
I could be bounded in a nutshell, and count myself a king of infinite space, were it not that I have bad dreams.
2. monster monkeys
3. monster monkeys who steal my typewriters
4. being tied to a boulder while people from school throw handfuls of cold hummus at me
5. Alligator Fish Pig makes a cameo appearance wherein he talks (in addition to stinking really bad) and understands structuralist literary criticism better than me. So he mocks me while he tries to eat my toes.