In an East Coast Bar, Chris is drinking British ale, telling tales of
his
South Pacific future. Like the ale, his car is brown "with the
right
glasses and filters maybe a yellow color" In Valerie Gardiner's
dream
(response #20, item #20 on Interactive on Arts Wire on TMN) a white
haired
student has shot her point blank in the chest. Blood pools at her
feet.
Last night, I was on a hillside gathering opulent flowers with long
stems with a man with white hair when we where attacked by the wild
horses that usually graze peacefully on this hillside the way they
do
outside of Xerox Parc in Palo Alto and in fact it was this hillside
in
the dream although I have never seen flowers like these growing there
or
any where else for that matter, but I have never been in the
tropics.
We stood our ground. They galloped past us, regrouping on an
adjacent
hillside. "We need to go inside where they cannot see us," the man
said. He was holding a long stalk encrusted with pendulant
bell-shaped
pink flowers.
"And what will the bridesmaids will wear?" I ask Alice.