The Skull Man & The Lactating Elephant Rampage.
You cower in the corner like a small hairy Mexican boy in a freak show. I lean forward to caress your supple overgrown face, but you recoil, remembering the glaring hungry eyes of the dime paying spectators as they watched you cavort & perform your mysterious South American wet dance. My hand holds forth a paper bag full of exotic beans, your nose twitches as your beautiful nostrils realise the smell is my latest blog!
Monsters lie in wait for you, either under the bed or on the news at Ten. Whichever it is, one of them will get you in the end. Death comes to us all my friends, I was reminded of this only last night while watching the superlative Bill Hicks documentary by Matt Harlock & Paul Thomas. The visuals were astounding & I squirmed in my seat as I guilty regretted having never succumbed to Mr Hick’s charms before.
I had always wrongly assumed he had died at an early age due to excessive living. I shall now be checking out his oeuvre with the passion of a lusty nun.
And so, after this enjoyable programme I retired to bed, some people think bed’s are like ball pools at a childrens’ theme park. To be jumped in, cavorted on & slammed into. I slip under mine like a lizard under a cool rock in the noon sun. There I dream, of late my dreams have taken on a stressfull turn. On the night in question I dreamt I was a rampaging lactating elephant, running amok through the streets of suburban Sydney. It didn’t end well, I crashed, full pelt into a conservatory & collapsed next to a small stone sculpture of one of my grey skinned brethren.
I awoke trying to fathom the meaning of this night vision, but soon gave up. On a subsequent night I dreamt I was conversing with a suited skeleton who was sporting a glass bowl on his head. I have illustrated this dream in the picture below this blog, it captures the event that took place in my night brain, which is never to be confused with my day brain, altough on occassion it has & with disastrous consequences. Sometimes it is best not to delve into the inner workings of the human mind, I often yearn for the simple dreams of a young terrier, chasing rabbits o’er hill & Dale, nipping ankles & pissing on posts. Maybe tomorrow night…