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Wednesday Morning
Sep. 16th, 2015 11:21 amA drizzly rain. Since it is falling so lightly, it is not banging the tinny patio roof, and the cats can doze leisurely on the patio furniture and take in the rather lovely autumnal landscape.
I had a more elaborate dream last night. I was shopping for a gun. Pop was with me, ready to pull out the credit card for me. He even pulls out some badass-looking rifle-type auto- or semi-automatic weapons - like something straight out of the Grand Theft Auto video-games. However, I am not interested in anything that unwieldy. I want a pistol. The store clerk takes me to some, but they are very odd. They are combined with household items, like, for example, a combo pistol and duster. I tell him that I wanted something ... not quite so odd. He chuckles and smiles: "I understand." But he does not show me anything else. As I look around the store, I come across some audio compact-disks, and I look closely at the Miley Cyrus CDs. I'm looking at the first one she put out (the first at least in this dream world), and it even contains a cut of "Rock Around the Clock". I am thinking about getting my Miley collection started.
And that is the last thing that I recall. This business about guns is a recurrent theme, not showing up in my sleep as often as, say, my old bus dreams, but they popped up every once in a while. I never have been able to figure out where they are coming from, or what they might mean, what it could be signifying. If I had to say something, anything, I would call it a desire for power, with, in this case, some nice mockery with that gun-duster contraption. It is a little amusing to think that if I were more insane, I might see it as a call to assassinate Miley - me and Chapman, buddies for history.
I had a more elaborate dream last night. I was shopping for a gun. Pop was with me, ready to pull out the credit card for me. He even pulls out some badass-looking rifle-type auto- or semi-automatic weapons - like something straight out of the Grand Theft Auto video-games. However, I am not interested in anything that unwieldy. I want a pistol. The store clerk takes me to some, but they are very odd. They are combined with household items, like, for example, a combo pistol and duster. I tell him that I wanted something ... not quite so odd. He chuckles and smiles: "I understand." But he does not show me anything else. As I look around the store, I come across some audio compact-disks, and I look closely at the Miley Cyrus CDs. I'm looking at the first one she put out (the first at least in this dream world), and it even contains a cut of "Rock Around the Clock". I am thinking about getting my Miley collection started.
And that is the last thing that I recall. This business about guns is a recurrent theme, not showing up in my sleep as often as, say, my old bus dreams, but they popped up every once in a while. I never have been able to figure out where they are coming from, or what they might mean, what it could be signifying. If I had to say something, anything, I would call it a desire for power, with, in this case, some nice mockery with that gun-duster contraption. It is a little amusing to think that if I were more insane, I might see it as a call to assassinate Miley - me and Chapman, buddies for history.
