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Normally, I don't share my dreams. And "dreams" isn't some subtle code for hopes and aspirations. Those I share all the time. I'm talking actual middle-of-the-night hallucinations, now.

This one was just too odd, tho. Plus, I need to go run and get the Diva in a minute and this is the most interesting thing I can squeeze into the time I have left. Feel free to skip.

So this dream...

Neil Gaiman was leading a trip to the U.K. and I was lucky enough to be among the 30 or so folks on the trip. We were all on a plane that didn't have seats. It looked like a big cargo aircraft fitted with nice cushions and beanbags and a cockpit. I was reading a new Peter Beagle novel; Neil G was behind me. I turned to tell him how surprising the plot twist was - it involved a dragon - and pissed him off (which he expressed very politely being British and all) because he hadn't read the book yet.

The scenery changes. The landscape is black and white and full of gnarled trees and rocks. We're in the waaaaay north of Scotland, which didn't look anything like the Scotland that I know from my waking life but the subconscious cares not for how things really are. Wildly colored glass balls start to crop up, balanced in the boughs of the gnarled trees, floating down the dark gray stream.

"I invited another artist on the trip," Gaiman says. But then can't remember his name. All of us struggle to recall -- it was one of those tip-of-the-tongue sensations -- as the artist, with an eyepatch and curly wild hair, walks toward us. He's carrying an enormous glass sphere, streaked with blue and orange that pops against the background.

Then, I woke up. And the name -- Dale Chihuly, in case you hadn't guessed -- has been on my mind all morning.

I don't know what it means, either.


I'm thinking you want a trip to the V&A

I want to go right now. I've actually see a few Chihuly installations in person -- but that one wins the cookie. What's weird about him turning up in my dream is that I haven't thought about him in years. Odd what the subconscious drags up.

Perhaps there's a trip to Seattle in your future. Cuz if it's Chihuly you wants, Chihuly we gots. I still haven't been to the Museum of Glass:

This is probably like reading your horoscope and wondering how it got to be so accurate, when, in fact, they're written to achieve just that effect, but there are a couple of aspects of your dream that find their analog in my "real" life, such as it is:
- I work for an air freight company; lots of planes with no seats.
- Mi amor's sister blows glass, and has studied with Chihuly.
- I've never met Neil Gaiman.

Ok, well, two out of three ain't bad.

Seattle is in my future indeed. Just not sure where in the future. Not only do you have the Museum of Glass -- speaking of, I still need to go to the museum in Corning -- you also have glassybaby, whose votives I want more of.

And, matt, do your freight planes have bean bags?

Sometimes my dreams are bizarre enough to scare me into peeing on a stick. I think dancing Chihuly glass and a barren landscape might prompt me. :)

A good point, k, but that ship has sailed. Two is plenty.

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