I had a dream which featured two eggs. One egg when I cracked it, was more mature than I had anticipated. Out of it came a grey-feathered chick, and I registered surprise as it emerged tentatively, awkwardly from its confinement, very much alive.


It was already a few days back that I dreamed this: a doll made of flesh. It stood statuesquely in a clearing, out of doors. It was too big, not just for interiors to accommodate, but to really be a doll — a thing that would serve a child for play. I saw it like one does a tree that stands above the others, or an outcropping of rocks emerging lifeless from a verdant canopy.


At the bottom of the toaster, there is a diminutive desert where the tiny bits of bread have gathered and blow into dunes and traps—beaches even, where a fairly vast silver sea rides smooth to glowing orange streaked horizons, and slim creatures dance mamboesque.

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