Monday, February the 21st, 2005
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I had too much to dream last night, and for once I didn't dream about my weak and not good Bomba. I dreamed about an electric prune, and it looked like this:
It was shouting “The Kol Nidre! The Kol Nidre!”, whatever that might mean, and then it was joined by two more prunes, equally electrified:
I was somehow aware that I was in the middle of a dream, and I was desperate to wake up. I had a feeling of terror that these prunes would begin to celebrate a Mass, not necessarily a Black Mass but perhaps something worse, a Mass in F Minor. I was sure it would be portentous and horrifying, but I was powerless to stop it. I think I may have been chewing my pillow and beating my puny fists on the mattress. Suddenly yet another electric prune came shimmering into view:
There was a heavy, rumbling sound, redolent of überprog. The phrase “release of an oath” hammered through my brain, over and over again. The dream was becoming a nightmare. I yearned for some kind of respite. I sensed that a fifth prune, as electric as the others, would push forward to haunt me. It did, and there they all were, lined up in a row:
Time seemed to go into reverse. That hideous noise became delightful, chirpy, sweetly innocent yet somehow a little bonkers. It was a bit like pop music, but not quite. Now all became clear. Despite my weak and not good Bomba, I was as one with the children of rain, the children of sand. I woke up to a sparkling morning, my soul refreshed, my Bomba in fine fettle.