Dream post (feel free to skip)

I was living in New York again and the "green job" fad was such that the Metropolitan Museum of Art had been municipalized and handed over to the extremely powerful 4H Club of Manhattan, though the city was also planning a series of devastating cuts, so there were protests, teach-ins, and some sort of cow obstacle course contest. (We had jumping cows in this dream.)

I was in a street march with my pet piglet, HPL—which did not stand for H.P. Lovecraft but for Happy Pig comma Little. Lots of people were taking livestock as pets and using commas, colons, and m-dashes as part of the names. The march was peaceful but very claustrophobic; then I saw sabotabby throw some sort of innovative feces-based incendiary and run off. I evacuated with HPL to the museum when the cops-who had these little hang gliders and swooped down from the rooftops—charged the march and ran through several teach-ins, which looked a lot like Readercon panels (Nalo Hopkinson was there, as was John Langan, but so too was an aging Hope Lange) except taught in the shop classrooms at my old junior high school. I finally settled in one, which was about filling the sewer systems with compost, and fed my pig some intelligence-enhancing kibble so that he could participate from the floor with his own ideas about the future, which he expressed by wiggling his snout silently and with great subtlety. Sadly though, city officials weren't persuaded and it was generally understood that the compost had mutated and had become some sort of living giant swamp-worm under the West Village.




Anyway, this dream is one of many reasons why Inception was an awful movie.