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A Dream About Barack Obama
Last night I had a dream. Steve Martin had just given a former professor of mine a half-dozen brightly patterned neckties, and I dearly wanted to ask to have one. (I am a fan of Martin’s early work.) Instead, I found myself saying I was moving to California, as there were no jobs in Seattle.
Suddenly in Los Angeles, I walked across an unevenly paved bridge over a highway. On the other side: nowhere, just abandoned buildings and a sense of doom. I was afraid. Up ahead, Barack Obama appeared, carrying a large golden trophy. I watched myself catch up to him, then as the two of us were attacked by street people—homeless people and meth-doers and gang members and assorted stereotypically terrifying characters. Most were minorities. From afar, I watched as I was dragged away to some nefarious place, some awful end. Barack Obama eventually escaped the attack and walked on, still holding his golden trophy. I woke up, shaken, at 5:30 this morning.
I think I need a prescription to get through this election.
Comments (4)
At least you remember your dreams. The only time I do is when I'm incredibly sick. Usually the flu. My dreams are incredibly weird, and I never seem to get laid in them, so whatever.
Posted by Mr. Poe | September 11, 2008 9:32 AMThe first incredibly is not supposed to be there. Now I'm filled with rage.
Posted by Mr. Poe | September 11, 2008 9:34 AM"no one cares what you dreamt about last night, unless you dreamt about them." - built to spill.
everyone in your dream is you.
Posted by max solomon | September 11, 2008 9:41 AMI've been traveling in my dreams this week as well. I was shocked into lucidity for a few moments when I found myself outside of Les Halles on Park Ave. last night.
Posted by kid icarus | September 11, 2008 10:01 AM