Last night the dream machine turned out a pretty special image. I’m sitting in the living room of my parent’s house over on 37 Arundle here in St. Louis (a dream location that has figured heavily since I moved back here, but was not really present before that). I am sitting on the couch and I have a collection of small living cartoon characters that I am tearing into small pieces and feeding into a vacuum cleaner hose. Charlie brown pleads with me not to do it as I dismember him and allow the sucking air to lift a body part away while snoopy silently accepts his fate. At this point my ex-girlfriend Mary, who was killed in a car crash this past summer, walks in. She is glowing and radiantly beautiful. She has long dreadlocks and is smiling with a bright light in her eyes. She stands over me and tells me that she wants us to get back together. The alarm wakes me up.

Mary believed in being an organ donor. She was brain dead at the scene of the accident so her organs and tissues went to over one hundred different recipients. Perhaps that explains the dismembered cartoons, I don’t know.