Still, the tail end of the uncomfortable summer sleep this morning produced another doozy. Weird whoppers. The sinister flaming apricot in outerspace above keeps tainting my dreams.

I knew I was in trouble when I woke up confused. Rubbing my eyes. The irredescent aquamarine iris imprint light stain floating in my line of sight. Instantly started trying to figure that unconcious fucker out. Had to work backwards to remember it. Skull starts to crack when I hit a mental block.

Anyway, here it goes from the point that I can recall.

Jimmy Kimmel was sitting up in a single bed. Reading a chocolate alligator skin bound novel, with copper trim on the pages. He had on black horned rimmed reading glasses. The bed was shoved right up against the canary painted wall. The window was open and a slight breeze was blowing the floral print curtains, looked to be violet prints on a cream background. The sunlight was directly smacking his exposed legs. He was wearing workman painter's shorts.

I was rationalising that if Jimmy Kimmel had fat legs complete with cottage cheese thighs, then many more show business personalities had fat legs. So my larger than svelte frame would work out well in Hollywood.

Meld into Gotham clubbing nightlife. Frenetic goblins and orcs girating on the dance floor. The plates of their reptillian hide glistening with sweat, changing colors as the disco lights spin. My arm is snatched.

Go on a nondescript pub crawl. People, who I sense as friends, but their faces are unfamiliar, are pouring pints of absinthe for me. Guzzle mass quantities of the euphoric liquid, herbacious chartreuse rivulets running from the sides of my lips into my goatee. Constantly licking dried saccharine traces off my chin.

Wind up in a limo, driving through a pipe. Something out of the set from Blade Runner, if Blade Runner had a driving through a pipe scene. Four lines of intermittent lamps embedded into the walls. The pipe's walls consisted of a black grippy metal. The rythym of the passing lights hypnotises me. I spin out of control.

Shaken awake by a brunette. Her hair is big curly frizzy. Super Eighties cut. She wears a one piece scarlet dress that clings to her curves. As she picks me up, I can see under the bottom of her skirt, that goes halfway down her upper thighs. She is not wearing panties, and a drop of juice is suspended from her labia, backlit in the night sky.

We are on the top level of a parking complex. My point of view shifts to looking up at myself and the chick. She begins to move around me. She backs her ghetto booty up into my crotch, does a few lapdancing moves, bends over and reaches for my dick. She gives me a handjob.

Pan down quickly to the street level. I am entering a candle illuminated bar. The second half of it is still being renovated, and the floor is chewed up. Everything has an orange glow, especially the oak panelling of the bar itself. An acquaintance bought the place.

I see out the window people I recognise from the pub crawl earlier, walking across the street. I ask if I should go fetch Chris. A husky feminine voice out of frame tells me to leave them go.

Now I'm sitting on the floor watching a conceptual art video produced by the bald gentleman who is sitting on the couch rubbing his boyfriend's leg. The room is filled with people watching the screen, all faces have flickering images on them, but not from the reflections of the video.

One person has a lion tamer on their face. One person has one of those psychedelic oily patterns that they used to project behind rock stars on stage in the Sixties.

The video begins showing his champion poodle. It has on boxing bloves on it's paws. Hops up on it's hind legs and starts sparring with a boxer who looks like one of those turn of the century guys. Complete with handlebar moustache.

The video edits to a backyard scene. Dark wood siding on the house. Chalky periwinkle sky, without one cloud. The view is ground level, and tall dark green grass goes just over my head. I am still sitting on the ground, but now I am inside the video.

A grizzly bear pops out of the grass. He sniffs the air. I can hear the gay conceptual artist describe how he took the video and carefully didn't make any sudden moves to frighten the beast. The bear is not interested in me. He begins to leave the yard, and as he passes me by he gives me a brief glance out of his murky eye.

No longer in the video, this is happening in real life time.

As I watch the giant bear lumber out of the wood gates, chasing an odiferous muskrat. I look up into the leafless brambles above my head. Two monarch butterflies are fanning their wings. The sun is directly behind them, beaming through their citrus colored spots. The black lines inside their wings slighty immitates and melds into the dark branches. I think how it would be interesting to make a photo out of it. And a black and white snap is taken, hovers in front of my face and disappears.

Now my ma and pop are sitting beside me in lawn chairs with wide vinyl webbing and aluminum frames. My pop mentions the cabin he owned in the middle of the Wisconsin woods. Which never existed in real life, but I am convinced it existed in the dream. It had a double loft, where my sis and I slept. Tall composite rock fire place and chimney. Three level log cabin.

My ma is confused. And I remind them both that the cabin is where pop got his concussion a few years back. Up in the branches of the forest. Cutting down limbs from a forty foot ladder. Fell and busted his noggin.

His dad, my grandpa, shows up and chimes in. Confirms the story and tells everyone that his son couldn't stop looking at the stitches with a handheld mirror. Called it his own little doctor experiment. Junior surgeon he says.

Close up of sutures. It's as if I am floating over a vacant planetary landscape. Except the hills and valleys are all parts of a hairless human scalp. The cuts go up and down like a mounain range, connected with frayed black stitches. Many of the stitching has come loose and I can see inside the flesh. I start to pull back, and I snap out of sleep. Confused.

I don't know what in tarnation I am supposed to do with that.