recently on ILX Dreams...

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.

after this conversation it somehow skipped to a bit with us working in a very fake old timey pub together. he was in charge. then i dreamed about a boy band performing the orange juice's version of al green's 'l.o.v.e.'; they were quite good. (i think this might be something to do with "rockism".)

incidentally i know for a fact that lurker and occasional poster adrian langston has regular homo-erotic dreams about jess harvell.

Oh no!