Valley of the Trolley Dollies

this is wonderful. Read it right now.

Because there is nothing - No. Thing - duller than hearing about other people’s dreams…

I dreamt last night that I was wearing clown’s white greaspaint, caked all over the lower part of my face - from cheekbones to neck.

I tried washing it off with soap and water. To no avail.

Facial scrub just succeeded in smearing it from one place to another.

What - other than that my subconscious needs to investigate makeup remover - is the universe trying to tell me?

I had a big dog - a huge dog. I don’t remember much, other than being really irritated with someone, and hearing myself snapping the line “Of course I’ve had him neutered!”

In my dream, there were two rappers called Biz Niz and Blu Kolla. I like those names. Expect to meet them in a story one day.

Fiordland. Misty. Rainy. Cold. Grey. All of my Northern European nightmares rolled into one. For this, I crossed the world? So the heavens could rain on me? Then, the mist clears, and a cliff - a huge, tree covered granite slab of such vast area that it fills your entire field of vision like some slate grey and pine green Rothko - appears.

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