Unhappy scraps from thee Subconcious
I had a bad dream last night. In it I drove to Cincinnati in my 1980s Volkswagen as the first stop on a multi-city tour to interview some specialists for an article at work about God knows what. I parked my car in an odd spot between two buildings and went up to meet the subject, whom I interviewed sitting outside the open front door of his apartment - he sat on the floor also. As we wrapped up our chat two strange objects were slithering around, and these turned out to cobras - he assured me they were harmless. As we bade adieu, one cobra bit me on the hand, and the other bit the insole on my foot (could this have been my cat trying to wake me up?)
I knew I didn't have a moment to lose, and my subject seemed genuinely concerned and surprised that I was bitten. He agreed to join me and help me get to the hospital. I could feel the venom swelling in my hand and my foot as I ran back to the car. But my reliable little Volks was replaced by something like a '64 Dodge Dart with practically no steering, and as I found out, no brakes.
We wheeled around the streets looking for a hospital, but all I found were medical office buildings. At some point I lost the other man, and as I could not control the car, I finally allowed it to slow down and settle into a parking spot the wrong way on a one way street. I spotted the cross on Christ Hospital and started to run for it, but I knew that would advance the poison, which I could feel taking over my leg and arm. I remembered some that friends lived along the way, and I knocked at the door and begged for a ride.
They received me gladly and said they'd take me, but needed a few minutes so could I hang out for a couple of minutes? I wasn't going to say no, so I sat tight, fretting the whole time and starting to feel faint. The "couple of minutes" stretched into about a half-hour; they smoked pot and watched an old video of William S. Burroughs. Then we were finally leaving, getting into the car and then the poison finally hit my brain. I remember thinking "this is it. My tombstone is gonna read '1961-2003'" and the last thing I see before blacking out is the great cross shining in the steeple over Christ Hospital...
I woke up, and stayed awake for about two hours. Whoa! What the hell was that about?
Uncle Dave Lewis
uncledavelewis@hotmail.com