beulahbondo's Diaryland Diary
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Captain, my captain
I dreamed I was dead. Half-dead, I suppose, as I could see out of one half-closed eye (more Ed Norton, suggested by his beat-up face at the end of "25th Hour"). I was only able to communicate with one person, some Central American man (Costa Rican, suggested by my recent trip?) and I was asking him to tell certain people that I was dead. But my guide, my helper, was busy preparing a meal of huge cockroaches stuffed into a turtle shell that he then stuffed into a rabbit and roasted.
Wow, is it cold and windy today. Cold as the refrigeramadora de el diablo. The plastic over my windows is billowing and heaving.
I can't see the floor of my bedroom for all the clothes and books and such, so I'm going to go tackle that. Seeing as I'm not really dead and all. The big white space at the top, until I figure out how to eliminate it, is for your caption. Photo by Bcat.
10:30 a.m. - 2003-01-21
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