Your dreamcatcher is once again dreading the darkness after watching you devour a whole block of cheese just before bedtime.
“You have no idea what kind of filth flitters through this creep’s head night after night,” shuddered the bead adorned willow hoop that hangs above your futon. “That whole business last night with the nudity, the camels and the ice cream scoop. The hell’s going on there? I’ve plucked things from the air that no-one should see, let alone an innocent collection of horse hair netting and discarded turkey feathers.”
“We’ve only really evolved to cope with the mild and generally pleasant dreams of the peoples of the Ojibwe Nation of North America,” said a dreamcatcher hanging in a knick knack store in Berrima. “The worst dreams that we’re meant to cope with involve finding ourselves naked in the middle of the sun dance ceremony or not having studied on the night before the shamanism exams.”
Your dreamcatcher is currently studying ways of falling off its hook and clattering to the floor loudly enough to wake you before you descend into the REM stage of sleep and the “Ray Martin in a leather mask” dream gets underway.
Peter Green
bobvulture 