Blog overlap :
I had a dream last night where This Mystery Guy™ held up a slab of meat that looked pretty much like a rump-roast in my face. It was quite a lovely cut of meat, but it was shot through with these deep purple threads (“…Smoooo—oke on the water, fire in the sky…”), which weren’t really alarming at all, but weren’t completely nice. Sez he to me : “This is your liver. It’s not well,” or something along those lines.
Well, in the dream, I examined this hunk of meat closely, and realized that it was indeed a rump roast rather than some f–king hippy-dream-representation of my ‘inner health’, and kicked his ass. My Liver is a big, misshapen bubbly fat-encrusted abomination that keeps functioning through sheer power of will, not a rump-roast with polite little black threads of icky-ness running through it.
I reckon that dream was actually about the fact that I can’t buy a decent freakin’ steak in this country.