Rachel writes:
I had just arrived in an airport in South Korea. I was talking to someone on the escalator about how everything here is made of paper pulp – hotel sheets, hairbrushes, even the walls of some of the buildings. It’s the new plastic, I remark. Then, I’m met by George Takei, who was coming to pick me up, and he hands me an enormous bouquet of parsley. He decides it’s time for pictures, so he passes off his camera and begins striking wacky poses behind me, as I brandish my parsley in confusion. It takes me a while to get into it, but eventually I decide it’s fun to make faces with George Takei, and as each picture is snapped, the “screen” of the dream goes white and I can see the photograph that was taken, like a cheesy photo booth montage from the makeover scene of some high school movie. Continue reading
I dream of dada 