Monday, March 1, 2004

..underlit and red...

I'm walking down this crazy hall, all underlit and red like some seventies porno movie, and I'm walking past all of these doors, colourful doors - red, blue, yellow, green; doors behind which I know are hookers. [inaudible] carpet everywhere - red shag - on the ceiling even - but the walls between the doors are paneled with thick dark wood. I cough and most of the sound is instantly absorbed. Coming to a brown door, almost camouflaged with the wall, I swing it open, knowing that it leads somewhere else. Somewhere away from here. For some reason or another I'm not at all alarmed when I find Carl Jung sitting on a bed and cutting up a big line of posh atop the bedside table. He just turns to me, peering through his thick, hazy, spectacles. "You've got a lot of work to do," he says, pointing a rolled-up bill at me. I demand to know just what the hell he's on about, but he just sits there shaking his head and watching me with an unreadable expression. I slam the door and when I turn out into the hall I find myself in darkness - [and I awake in somewhat of a terror, whereupon I record this].

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