Dream a Canadian dream…

too true…

Anson George

Spring is in the air. I can feel it on my skin. Hear it out my window. And see it on newsfeeds, news channels, and news related, Steadman-illustrated dreams. A vibrant aural hum is building momentum out there, in the great blue beyonder. The tone of the birds singing has taken on a frantic, ornery, repetitive plead. The ether of the northern hemisphere is waking from a late winter stupor with a deep seeded, primal urge to fight and/or fuck anything in sight.

…Speaking of dreams…
I woke this morning, soaked. Fortunately it was just sweat.
I had just been torn from the grips of one of the most graphic visions I have ever experienced. It went something like this:
In my dream, I woke up on my couch at some early morning hour to the sound of the cable news blaring out in hypersonic belches of smagmatic drizzle.

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