sheldrake

Last night I had the most horrific nightmare involving Jeffrey Archer.



In the dream I was watching a documentary following Jeffrey Archer's release from prison. Apparently, Jeffrey had decided to reinvent himself as a contemporary artist. For his first piece, he'd set up a number of skips on the pavement of London's Oxford Street. In the first skip, he'd made a bonfire and was setting fire to all his belongings. In the second, he was burning the carcasses of cows and buffalo. In the third, his boiler-suited assistants were hurling horses, antelopes and zebra -- still alive -- screaming and struggling, into the flames. In the fourth skip, he'd killed a gigantic buffalo, and slit its body down the middle. He'd a acquired a number of bears, which his assistants covered in a kind of clinging, bright green algae, which was corrosive and ate into their flesh, causing them to scream and writhe. The assistants would then throw the bears into the buffalo corpse, and bury them alive, wrapping them in its skin.

The programme then cut to some Londoners being interviewed about the new artwork in Hyde Park. "Well...," said one old lady, "I don't think it's what I'd call art. Not really..."

"Doesn't bother me," shrugged a man, "people can do what they like, can't they?"

The voice-over went on to explain that for the finale of his piece, Lord Archer intended to go back into the womb, and be reborn free of all sin. Then I woke up.

I apologize to anyone who actually read that. I can't help what goes on in my subconscious.


Anyway, after that, the rest of the day was fine.