December 13th, 2007

Fever dreams

I'm down with a tiny virus right now, but for some reason my dreams have been much more entertaining than my usual endless horrifically dull fever dreams.

Last night, for example, I dreamed that David Lynch was putting on a performance art/play piece called "American Express". It started at 10:30 p.m., and ran all night. The audience was seated around the edges of a long hall dressed as a sort of 19th century parlour, and about half of the "audience" were actually the actors in the piece, but the audience members wouldn't know that until the piece started progressing. By the end of the night, the actors had turned the entire thing into a very funny Bacchanalian orgy. Lynch was there, and I really wanted to go up and tell him how much I liked it, but he was walled in by reporters.

I liked it so much I went back a second night with a friend!

(My man says my dreams prove that Freud was completely wrong, since my subconscious is obviously far more interested in entertaining me than dealing with any anxieties.)