Living the Dream

After many trials and tribulations in Cambridge Illinois, I woke to the sound of a meandering cello receding in the distance.  I looked around, and the obscurity of my milieu was drowned out by the monochromatic stench of the singularity.

"Outstanding," I thought.   "Another lucid dream.  What should I do in this one?"

The water tower of Cambridge, or was that Peoria? Delavan? appeared in front of me.   With my new dream powers, I willed myself to ascend to the top and spied the full domain of my dream.   "Variety, I must have variety,  An assortment with all its assorted assortment--not this foul smell.  Give my nose something it can enjoy!"

So I extracted a prism from my pocket with hopes that the prosaic stench of the singularity could be deconstructed and spread out like a rainbow.

I paused and enjoyed the profundity of my olfactory pleasure and abundance.  As morning gave way to afternoon, a visitor reproached and then later approached who claimed to possess the ability to smell consciousness.  And she thought I smelled good--very good.  But when I put the prism back in my pocket, I could tell her attention began to wander.  It was not me that she liked, it was the slow rhythmic breathing from my diaphragm, and my prism of course.  There were brief negotiations over the purchase of the latter, and eventually I relented.

Here is what she promised:  Each night at 10:04 p.m., she would leave her wife, find me, and she would have intercourse with my mind in a new way every night.  This would go on for a period of 10 years, or until her real lover found out.   I found the arrangement satisfactory.   I would find the arrangement satisfactory, as it turned out.  What she did not know now, or later (which I could opine with a high degree of certainty, for I came to know her very well as you might suspect) was that this particular model of prism was readily available on Ebay from a number of Chinese suppliers at a remarkably low cost.  I found (and would find) that I had struck a remarkable bargain--for mind intercourse is one of the most rare commodities in this age.

Another apparently rare commodity in our day and age is the inability to drop the gun you are holding when the police tell you (that is too mild--they scream at you ten times) to drop the gun.  But I digress.  I have had a long week of inmate complaints, and I'm less than objective. 

 

Thank God the Nathaniel Hawthorne trial is over