recently on ILX Dreams...

Last night I had lots of weird dreams, all fairly horrible (I was shot twice, both by people close to me). When they brightened up a bit I was in Marks and Spencers with an employee showing some £25 vanilla body lotion to me and Momus and Dido.

but sarah was really really drunk, and so none of my suggestions worked. the best part was when she saw a brightly lit pedestrian bridge in the distance and shouted 'let's go climb the mackinac bridge!' which left mark and i in hysterics.

awwww.

Then I noticed someone passing me on a normal bike. This person was chattering on a cell phone with an earpiece and microphone. And then I realized that this person on the bike must be Ally, because she was a she, and over her shoulder she was carrying some dry-cleaning that had a big label that said TOMBOT but in the style of Talbot's: http://a1389.g.akamai.net/7/1389/2573/20010329163324/www.talbots.com/images/upper_nav/talbots_logo.jpg

Then later I dreamed that Maryland had won the ACC tournament, which pissed me off so much that I woke up. (NB I have never met Ally or TOMBOT nor was I drunk)

i dreamt i was at some kind of magician/soothsayer/charlatan festival and some guy had a list of tricks he could perform and one of them was "Dom Passantino's balls in your mouth: believe it or not"

and takers for this particlar trick were given a small round green ball slightly larger but similar in texture to an olive.

and they just couldn't believe it! "wow! i really thought i had dom's balls in my mouth!" they marvelled.

i didn't try it.

So if I flinch next time I meet you, it's nothing to do with this.

Meanwhile a Phil/Daddino amalgam and Geeta (who had Mike's beard! didn't somebody else have a Geeta w/ beard dream before?) were telling me they meant to pick me up from the station when I got into town. I told them I wasn't expecting anybody to pick me up anyhow. Then Local H's lead dude and Stockholm Cindy were yelling at each other and I woke up.

I'm kind of tired of having ILX dreams.

My mind has exploded.

Please say this critic was me.

The Stockholm Children is a fantastic name for a band!

Don't I wish!

The Stockholm Children is a fantastic name for a band!

It is! It's a Factory Records fusion par excellence.

I was driving in a big blue minivan with tinted windows through an endless parking lot littered with burning cars. And I was in a good mood, listening to Mott the Hoople on a ghettoblasta sound system.

Getting hungry I stopped at a taco bell in a place called 'INTASTATE WASTELAND PIAZZA" and went inside. I ordered a taco, informed the server that he'd, haha, better make it good because I'd never had a taco before. I wondered why I'd said that, and it was clear that the server didn't believe me.

Said server was about 6'2", with really mangy short brown hair, and looked like a cross between Mike Skinner and Bill Haverchuck from Freaks and Geeks. He handed me a really terrible taco, which I (for his benefit) pretended to enjoy before walking to the car.

I'd parked near a brick corner, so there was a mini-alley between the edge of the minivan and the wall. I walked into it and opened the side door to the van but before I could climb inside I was thrown bodily against the wall. The mangy Mike Skinner/Bill Haverchuck taco server stood at the alley's exit, holding a chunk of cinderblock he'd used to clock me in the gut. He bent over me and tried to kiss me, and I could see that he had a bifurcated snake tongue. I ripped off his chin which fell away (I suspect) in a manner modeled exactly on the way Brindle-Fly's does at the end of Cronenberg's movie. I started running and he loping after me.

Then I shut a gigantic magazine and realized that the whole thing was a story in a new issue of the New Yorker. It had been written by Walter Cronkite and the front cover illustrated by David Hockney.