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Marley & Tosh, mum & flood, horse rescue, sex, Mariah

1. Bob Marley and I are jamming in a tiny upstairs living room in an apartment. He's got the acoustic and I'm singing a loose, soulful version of his song "Is This Love?" He's smiling and bobbing his head encouragingly, which makes me feel confident and free to take vocal chances... I hear some noise coming up the building's main staircase. It's Peter Tosh. He stumbles in the doorway.

Tosh is now blind. Something really alien and weird has happened to his eyes, they look pasted on and fake, like big bulging marbles...

2. I'm strolling with my teetotaling mum and some of our dream friends on the sidewalk of a wide city avenue. It's the middle of the day. I realize something's wrong: there are flood waters coming up the street. Not scarily fast, but insistently. The waters are very clean for some reason. I kick my pace into high gear to stay ahead of the wave. I look back over my shoulder but my mother is oblivious, still stopped and merrily chatting away with some friend, as she loves to do. Dammit. If she keeps acting stupid like this, she's going to need rescuing from the flood.

On cue, I have a long coil of insulated wire in my hand.

I guess that's a hint? I sigh and am about to turn back... To my left I spy a strange scene on the staggered asphalt rooftops of some dark brick buildings. There are a few rhea (large flightless birds) running around loose, and a horse. Don't ask me how they got up there. On a lower rooftop, there are a couple of rescuers. One is pulling back a big bow and arrow! WTF? He's aiming right at the horse? He better not be!

The projectile with attached cord flashes from one roof to the other... but it's not an arrow, it's an oversize pair of salad tongs with a rope behind it. With a clang they clamp shut around both sides of the abdomen of the horse, securing it for its rescue. From the roof or from the rising flood waters? [*I'm guessing this is about my hunt for the right graphic novel artist...]

3. I'm in a bedroom at night. A heavily tattooed couple is sitting up, fucking on the nightstand right by me, laughing and having an uproariously jolly time. Although they're almost crying from laughing so hard, her pussy is dripping wet. There's another couple on the bed, too, and the guy rather crudely yells over, with biker attitude, "Hey, you should go ahead and put it in her ass!"

There's a graphic along the bottom of my dream screen, a row of circular "buttons" interconnected by a thin line. The currently lit up button reads, "We do some of these things."

There is a mention about my Shakespearean poetry influence...

The bedroom scene promptly dissolves into Mariah Carey stumbling out a theater's rear entrance (ha ha ha, I get it!), clip clopping after her manager, out into the dark alleyway after a show. Mariah cries after him, "Hey, stop! Where are you going?" But the manager just storms off in a huff, disappearing into the night like in a comic strip panel. I wake up.

[*I've had an uncharacteristic slew of celebrities in my dreams these last few months. I wonder why?]

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