On Web Culture

I found this in the files from last year in November:

Last night was a fusion of Pulp Fiction, Guitar Hero and the throb of recent surgery. I woke up in the middle of the night somehow confused I was going to get shot/killed/die, that I had been wounded and that my wide-open wardrobe was a gate to a dark void.

I must have lain there for about 5 minutes, head spinning, trying to work out why I needed to be playing Guitar Hero, why I was convinced I was going to get shot and why I hurt in so many places…my toe, my shoulder, my back? I didn’t even get operated on my back…why the…?

Unfortunately I can’t recall events of the witching hour with great clarity so the exact reasons for me being convinced I was in serious trouble will remain a mystery. It is interesting though how real pain segues into dreams and is then explained…my toe was throbbing because it had been blown off by John Travolta.

Pretty soon you’ll be an old bastard too