surreal

Shelless Eg described her dream thus: “A maskumed ball, Beautrix as Death, Sad himself, and I played the Chandelier-descending-the-staircase-carved-of-mayonaise. Each downstep I could by Will extend forward, not flying, but gravity became less abrupt. The skiff in the parlor was missing an oar, which I found in the pantry, as a lamp illuminating B&S eating roe, with mayonaise left from the carving. I thought ‘this is a dreamhouse, I must be dreaming this’, then woke amidst my familiar darkness, the hole between yesterday and tommorrow commonly labeled midnight.” She sipped her rosepetal tea. “Would you like to hear about my paternal grandmother?” she giggled. “She thought she was the daughter of her own son.”

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