Saturday, 6 July 2013

Dreaming: Pirates

I dreamed I was riding in an empty Greyhound-type bus around the logging roads of the town where I grew up, which were now paved, and empty of logging equipment and vehicles.  I had a little black cat clinging to my shirt.  The bus driver was a woman and speaking English.  People rarely speak English in my dreams anymore. 

I got off the bus and went through one cramped room after another in the little corner groceries on the outskirts of that town; they'd added on quite a few rooms since I'd last been there, with no obvious planning, and crammed them full of drygoods, mostly tins of fava beans and cellophane-wrapped yellow boxes of al-Ghazaleyn tea bags.

There were pirates, in the drygood stores, all of them male with multicoloured dandelion hair and sparkly teal eyeliner.  I wish I could pull off coloured eyeliner.  I only remember one pirate clearly, but he was a gentleman and a scholar and agreed with me that al-Ghazaleyn was way better than Lipton, even though it was cheaper.  Lipton is weak and insipid no matter how long you steep it, and it doesn't cover up the taste of the alkali in the water.  And to hell with supporting American brands anyhow.

I believe they were book pirates, rather than the maritime robbery sort of pirates.

I have no idea why I keep dreaming about riding in vehicles on the logging roads outside Bigotsville.  Those flamboyantly gender-presentation-ignoring pirates would definitely not have survived long there.  A shame.

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