The stuff that dreams are made of...

I met Kelly for the first time in the Crobar the other night and she told me about her dreams...

I figured that perhaps the whole encounter was just an hallucination brought on by too much beer and metal, but like the proof found on the train window in The Lady Vanishes here is her livedreamjournal.

Let me read an entry to you:

There are two Spider Men. One is good, one is bad. Both are vampires.

The bad Spider Man stands on a country road. The fence on either side is lined with very large men dressed in blue Tick costumes waiting to be the Bad Spider Man's next meal. After one sorry Blue Tick Man falls from Bad Spidey's blood drenched grip another one steps up, stretches out both arms and sings a single note in a beautiful soprano voice. The Bad Spider Man uses his nine inch claws to tear open the Tick's back and within an instant he jumps on the ticks shoulders and dives into the open wound to drink the juice. It is like this all the way down the country road.

Cut to Good Spidey.

He is thin and weak looking sitting under a tree. He is holding a small little fox that he is crying over. He had to eat, he explains to me. He feels bad because he had to kill one of God's beautiful creatures, but he had to eat. He chose a little one because he didn't want to be greedy and he never wastes food. He is crying now and I feel embarrassed. I said, "Spidey, why didn't you eat that fox over there in the blue dress. That one is retarded!"

And the whole thing is illustrated...



I need to go lie down now.

Mike is still writing to awesome old 78's