Now there lived in that city a man poor but wise, and he saved the city by his wisdom. But nobody remembered that poor man.
Ecclesiastes 9:15
. . . . And such was the dream:
The train was careening out of control, for the rain had caused it to slip along its tracks. The conductor informed us of our doom, but I knew the secret.
Shouted I thus: “With repetition smash the breaks!” But applied she—our conductor was of such sex—this practice in a lazy way, lifting her foot of the break and holding it long. With zeal I informed: “No, it must be fast. Fast as you can pump the break.”
We were just saved, pulling into the station without further ills. I knew the spot, and thought myself wanting from yonder dispenser, Joseph’s Burgers. Tried I to leave my cabin, but held it my backpack to ensure my return. Stole the train a single shoe of mine as I made to exit, yet I would go, for now I saw a blonde friend whose company I would join. I had in this dream before seen her with another brunette friend whom, against wishes of my mind, my tongue proposed to. She laughed in response. “I don’t think so,” said the friend with flowing brown hair.
But disdaining to acknowledge me was my blonde friend. By my persistence she turned upon me, and said she wanted free of my company. So, she boarded the train. I was then in my dream suddenly aware the train must soon depart. Raced I back to where I belonged, but the doors were closed. Open they would not, and away the train flew that I had saved.
With one foot shod, and another soaking in a wet sock—it was still raining—I thought to outrun the engine by cutting through the buildings, thereby boarding the fleeing train. Ran behind me another female presence of unknown identity. Soon a pack of Chihuahuas came racing out from all quarters, assembling ahead of my path. Thought I to intimidate them with a roar. Shouting, I ran through their ranks.
Whether encouraged that I was running, or whether my voice had no great effect on them, they chased me. Jumping up, one in its maw clenched my manhood, and dangled between my running legs. No sooner had I disengaged my assailant—with thoughts of doing the devil great violence—than he was replaced by another.
The great pain awoke me from my visions in the early Sunday morning. Turning over, I thought such happenings strange as I drifted off in search of pleasanter isles.
A few notes on the text:
This is a real dream I had, and it seemed so comical that I wished to write it down for others’ amusement. The mode that presented itself to me was, as you may notice, a supercilious tone meant to convey a purposed falseness, a gaudy putting on of airs. One aspect of the dream, which does not appear in the narrative, was my conversation with the blonde and brunette. This was politically based, wherein I admitted to voting for Trump and the straight Republican ticket. Whether or not my Psyche is warning me that voting for conservatism will not endear me to the fairer sex is a question better asked a psychiatrist.
Tale Told 