incandescens | if the person responsible should be listening

I wish to complain to whoever is in charge of these things. While asleep last night, I dreamed that I was reading the next Barry Hughart novel.

Then I woke up.

It's bad enough waking up at 7.30am and having to go to work, without also having had to stop reading what I am absolutely sure was a brilliant story. Not fair. Not fair at all. Bah humbug.

Oh yes, the day otherwise was quite decent. No complaints. Writing good. Life okay.

No, I don't remember any of the book. Feh.

(I hardly ever dream, either, or remember dreaming, and for it to be this cool a dream . . . mutter.)

---

Back in the caveman days business was fair.
Used to turn up at Wookey Hole,
Plenty of action down the Hole
Nights when it wasn't raided.
They'd see my bear-gut harp
And the mess at the back of my eyes
And 'Right', they'd say, 'make poetry'.
So I'd slam away at the three basic chords
And go into the act ---
A story about sabre-toothed tigers with a comic hero;
A sexy one with an anti-wife-clubbing twist ---
Good progressive stuff mainly,
Get ready for the Bronze Age, all that,
And soon it would be 'Bring out the woad!'
Yeah, woad. We used to get high on woad. . .

http://www.cs.rice.edu/~ssiyer/minstrels/poems/211.html