Funambulism

I remember my dream, for the first time in months. Now little is extant, but I remember a great chamber, so dark you can hardly see the walls, the floor strewn with rubble, half an ancient theatre or a great school hall, half a war zone, kipple everywhere. We’re all children (I sense my mother is involved somehow) and we’re running amidst the rubble against the opposition, trying to acquire something that’s half typewriter, half bomb, half radio, but is very valuable. I hang back in the struggle for the macguffin, but eventually, too late, I join in and almost [more...]