I am in jail, in some kind of holding area. Ronnie Hicks is there and he has been stabbed...it's not serious, light laceration. He is on a gurney and we are joking about how arbitrary jail rules are. At this point, on cue, a guard comes over and tells me that I have to leave because me talking to Ronnie when the ambulance comes is a security risk. We argue the point for a minute before I realize that the guard is just a little ant mindlessly going about this ant business. You cannot argue with these people in or out of dreams...it's futile. Followers will do anything to avoid thinking.
So I leave. Art Marx is there, standing by a door that leads to the outside...an enclosed walkway. I tell him that I can't stay any longer; if I do I'll completely lose my mind. He says he understands and will file the necessary papers when I leave...
I go through the walkway and end up in Kittanning. It looks like the 1940's I think, though I have no way of knowing what the 40's looked like. At any rate I am walking down by the river, there are a couple of old guys singing Vera by Pink Floyd. I sit there thinking about how depressing Pennsylvania is.
So I leave. Art Marx is there, standing by a door that leads to the outside...an enclosed walkway. I tell him that I can't stay any longer; if I do I'll completely lose my mind. He says he understands and will file the necessary papers when I leave...
I go through the walkway and end up in Kittanning. It looks like the 1940's I think, though I have no way of knowing what the 40's looked like. At any rate I am walking down by the river, there are a couple of old guys singing Vera by Pink Floyd. I sit there thinking about how depressing Pennsylvania is.
No comments:
Post a Comment