|X-posted to tmbg_dreams
||[Feb. 13th, 2003|01:21 pm]
|||||still waking up||]|
|||||"It's not my birthday"||]|
I had a John Linnell dream last night - it had to be the first in years. (Could my reconnection with high school peeps be causing this replay of innocent old fantasies?) We went on a road trip through west Texas, looking backwards out the van window while Barrett drove. (Reminds me, gotta email B, wonder if he's in Alaska already?) We sang Beatles songs, talked about Zappa, and discussed his creative process on such songs as We Want A Rock and No One Knows My Plan. Every now and then we stopped the van to shoot pellet guns at grain silos and water towers. Then we had a roadside picnic with fried carrots and mayonnaise on pita bread. It was a simple dream I was admittedly sad to wake up from.