Dream 407: Wale’s
I’m at a party, hating on Vivianne, how she seemed so considerate back in the day but later I realized some things she said weren’t so, and possibly also a permutation on this idea. I’m growing self conscious that I’m explaining this all directly to one female who had brought it up rather than to any other person who is standing around this kitchen island with us listening in (mostly other guys who knew Vivianne too).
A black male vulture, followed by fluffy white angelic female vulture, followed by a deer, followed by a buck. This is all at T intersection we come to. We turn right. Now there’s a scraggly black wolf sneaking up behind us. The chase begins. All the animals clamber over our car. We almost crash into a nice pickup truck man as we approach the bigger paved street to turn left onto it; there’s a street light right there just to the left of us which he’s stopped behind one or two cars at. Everything is lit by headlights and streetlights. I had considered trying to soften the possible crash with my gloved hand as the passenger, but decide afterwards that in the end it was good that I didn’t try to — as slow as we were going, it wouldn’t have been worth it. The nice pickup truck man says something hickish about the hunger of the wolf.
With picture perfect timing, the stigmata blood gushes out of my hand, back in the studio with Henry there all night and some other tall white guys catching up, hanging out.
I’ve been supposed to spend the day working, but I kept getting distracted by this philanthropy thing. Karin complains, but I argue that since it was related to augmented reality it was relevant to my career (it qualified as AR because turning pages in a comic book was able to affect reality). I had thrown away the first of many individual allies not realizing this was trying to be recovered, and then it was a kids Christian thing, maybe, but also chocolate, and had been adapted into a movie; they gave me this inscrutable package with chocolate stuff and crumbly stuff, and also some sort of weird goo or oil that I’m supposed to mix in, but I can’t do it fast enough so all my crumbling together is for naught, and perhaps the ratio was too far off to meaningfully combine them in the first place so it’s their fault — too much chocolate — I might as well l have just eaten it as was. So now I have to set it all out on the sidewalk to unfold the wrapping to better get at what I’m doing, and thusly I waste the entire day away without really making any impact on the philanthropy project let alone my own work. Ironic, that the philanthropists’ promo precluded my very assistance it was designed to bait. Giant bugs swarm the chocolate.
Orson Welles has made us all brandy.
I’m putting away my long sleeved shirts.