I looked at the remaining bird--it was mostly white feathers, short and soft feathers, with an orange, curved, parrot-like beak. It moved like a cat, rubbing against my leg as with affection. I couldn't tell if it really liked me or wanted to make me feel safe enough to get my face close so it could pluck my eyes out. But on the chance it was just friendly, I was petting it when we were joined by a happy calico puppy, a bit shorter than the bird.
I had a small bird in my pocket and the cat-ish bird gave me an enormous trade paperback book. We went to a psychiatrist's office and sat down and I read about a fourth of the book--it turned out to be one of the best books I'd ever read. A fantasy novel with a female protagonist. I really lamented the fact that the bird that had been taken by the man with sunglasses had had the only sequel to this book.
In the second dream I had, I was driving over a hill at night when the hill turned into the inside of an airport and I was no longer driving but standing on a treadmill with a variety of televisions--old tube TVs and flatscreens of various sizes and shapes--hung from the ceiling showing different things. I was with a bunch of disembarking passengers, among them Johnny Depp, Christopher Lee, and Samuel L. Jackson.
At the baggage retrieval, Depp and Lee were both upset that their luggage had been lost. "Your bag hasn't been lost," said an attendant to Depp. "The fact that it's not here means it's been recovered."
"But recovered by who?" asked Depp. "And where is it now?"
"Please, sir, I need you to wait in quarantine with the others," said the attendant, ushering us along with the rest of the passengers into a big room with hundreds of folding chairs and fluorescent lights from a low ceiling.
"And so the hobbits continued to Mount Doom," said Lee and Depp smiled at him.
Samuel L. Jackson sat down and leaned back, asking the room, "So what do you do in Michigan?" Evidently we were in Michigan.
People laughed at the question because, I guess, it was being asked by Samuel L. Jackson.
"Isn't there a new band from Michigan?" I asked. "A band known for never finishing their songs? That's their gimmick, their songs always sound like they end halfway through. Depp, you know them."
"Oh, yeah," said Depp after a moment. "I'm going to have to see them while I'm here."
Then I woke up.
Twitter Sonnet #432
Cherry shadows are jagged on chain mail.
Tarps of ring are linked by a boring man.
Phoney gumdrops belie a broader fail.
Candy ant drones glitter on tongues of Pan.
Bear claw buildings below Arkham sour.
Too obvious vagrant vineyards hide slow.
Bricks besiege the big kittanic power.
Phallic nachos bedevil Tim Tebow.
Arctic Olson transfers distil the house.
Minds and twins forget the binary rash.
Uranium shields the ultimate mouse.
It takes one for a million dollar bash.
Tires tapering towards curved stars fade out.
The gashed pipe organ gives a brassy fount.