?

Log in

No account? Create an account

in a web of glass, pinned to the edges of vision

Dream chunks (too big for fragments)

I'd forgotten how often we saw Magritte

mucha mosaic

Dream chunks (too big for fragments)

Previous Entry Share Next Entry
mucha mosaic
This morning's dream started with me walking into an antique store @ 18th and Church, and meeting the guy who owned and ran the place: at one point later in the dream, we noted a sign that said the building had gone up in 1902 and he said 'Oh, why it's almost as old as me'. Old gentleman, real card, who needed a hand, as it turned out, getting something there from Noe Valley. For some reason, helping him out made perfect sense. This little old man had all sorts of bitchy things to say about the influx of clothing stores into the Castro smothering out all the other stuff. 'And how stupid is it that you have to walk three blocks to buy a book in the one bookstore within ten blocks?'
Not exactly sure what he represents.
UPDATE:
Just realized that the little old man who is older than 100 and who is running an antique shop and is bitching about how much better everything used to be was, I suspect, Gaiman & Pratchett's Aziraphale, from Good Omens. Carry on, then.

Noe Valley looked like dream Noe Valley always looks- that is, 1 part Haight street along Buena Vista Park, 2 parts Noe Valley, and 1 part Union in the Marina. There was a restaurant there, too- same dream-Noe-Valley brasserie that it's always been, a half-story down from the pavement, done up in this very late-Victorian art nouveau style, with the smell of absinthe and searing meat.
No idea what we went there to pick up.
  • smell of absinthe and searing meat.

    i'm not a big fan of anise smell, yet somehow, that combination feels right. though, i am imagining it mixed with the smell of my dad's chilean style skirt steak (bathed in lemon and garlic) that he grills to perfection.

    anyway, now i'm hungry. :)
    • I actually was imagining an absinthe-flavored marinade for a big thick slab of tuna, in the car.
      I think that would actually really work well.

      I blame Poppy Z. Brite.
  • After a silence of a quarter of an hour, a truck pulls up to the curb and unloads the shipment that you are to help the old man with: more old men like himself!
Powered by LiveJournal.com