Blogdrome

I couldn't sleep last night for thinking of how I now have a blog of my very own. I am so an author. All night my blog was calling to me, pleading and begging me to add another post: "Tell the world how superflycool you are, Artswipe. Everyone is listening because they crave your special homespun brand of propaganda." When I did finally fall into a dream-filled sleep, Debbie Harry's lips appeared on the plasma screen of my unconscious, saying, "Artswipe, now you have a blog, it is your responsibility to tell things not as they are, but how you think they should be." I came closer to her lips, rimming the screen with my tounge, trying to push my head through her candy-coloured mouth.

Upon waking I consulted my Dream Dictionary and it said that the dream of Debbie Harry's on-screen mouth represents either, "the need to speak in cyberspace (or television, if your dream is set in the early 80s)" or "a latent desire to return to the womb." I accepted the former explanation because the latter won't happen (unless as postulated in my last post that Bono could replace me in my mother's womb via time-travel-body-swap-meet if he wants). Thinking about my dream, I realised Debbie (AKA Deborah) was the mouthpiece, and I the muse. Or maybe it was the other way around - who can tell. All I know is Debbie called me, I did not call her. I didn't even leave her hanging on the telephone because the line was busy blogging.