Overtly Gay Dream
It was a damned strange dream and so with great difficulty I got myself up and made my notes and fell back asleep.
More of the same damned strange dream, and then I woke up and resolved to blog about it but the notes I had made didn't exist, they were in my dream as well.
Most disconcerting.
This is what I remember of it:
I'm waiting tables in a restaurant, dark wood, high ceilings, no place that I can remember. Waiting for drinks I've ordered at the bar I meet other people I've worked with - Fred, "Hot Sauce" Fred, only it doesn't really look like him, he's much better looking and the only reason I know it's Fred is because he's so damned sarcastic. I'm surprised that he's here and he's looking at me like I'm stupid, we all share this bar, he's from the restaurant next door, and I had forgotten/didn't know there was a restaurant next door....
Now I'm in the basement and another waiter, some Mexican fellow, is talking to a table about why they should tip, they're giving him a hard time, he's explaining that he's just glad of the opportunity of an honest living, they like that answer and leave and when they've left I check the bill, they've left nothing for a tip and I call him to tell him, curse them down, but when I turn around he's lying down naked with a big black waiter, flaccid cock, it's a homoerotic scene and other waiters in the basement are doing the same and I'm like "Uh-oh" and so I start to go upstairs, don't want to intrude and these are big boys and I really don't want to be made into anyone's bitch....
I'm upstairs, outside, looking at the restaurant and it's divided into 3 different restaurants, 2 thin ones on either side of one thick one in the middle, an older style "character" building, and I'm thinking that that explains running into Fred...
And that's it. Probably there was more but it's lost in the notebook lost in the dream...
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- Category: Dreams
Faberge eggs
Fabergé eggs. Check the Wiki. Note that of the 50 Imperial eggs known to have been made, some 8 are still missing. Possibly to turn up at a garage sale near you...
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- Category: Lost
Father's Day
An early morning, I find myself unable to sleep in. Not Father's Day in particular, but any day, in the early afternoon I'll die and want nothing better than to nap, sleep, pass out in my bed, but it's morning and I'm up.
The flea market: great treasures today, found and not purchased: a made-in-china "Breguet", sharp but at $120.00 a bit steep...various games for the kids (Wii & Xbox), some jewelry, the rock lady had various finds resembling somewhat similar things I'd been ordering off Ebay (but not at the same price), an antique telephone for $15 but purchased for $10 (don't ask, I have my reasons...), other finds....all in all a good flea market day. I could have spent a few hours, but it's father's day and the kids, they have plans.
Well, not really. The daughter made me a bookmark in school, keywords placed on the blackboard and interpreted by the children for their fathers - My name, spelled out: "Respect - Get a new job, Organize - I need to see you, Different - Love ....".
Yep, I need a new job. 12 weeks until the new theatre season, and I should be resolved not to miss it regardless of the consequences. I have to mind the consequences, I've lived through them and they're too fresh in my mind to be ignored, the table hasn't sold (still get comments though) and I don't want to have to move again.
Time passes.
After the children have been repackaged, carefully returned to their more competent and well rested caregivers, I have my nap.
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- Category: Miscellany
Paul Klee
"We ascended in the lift, and the first room we entered was hung with an exhibition of queer works by Paul Klee which must have been passed on from the National Gallery, London, where they had been on show. The Poet Laureate had seen nothing of the kind before, and his puzzled, baffled expression made me laugh so loud that I was unaware of the Director's arrival on the scene.
'My dear Wheatley, what on earth are these doing here?' said I.
'Oh, this was my assistant's idea' he replied, but the assistant said it was the Director's idea. Whosesoever idea it was, the room was empty - not a soul there to see the Klees."
Sir Alfred Munnings on Paul Klee - Taken from "An Artist's Life".
Art does not reproduce the visible; rather, it makes visible. - Paul Klee
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- Category: Rejected
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