The Crone and the Blue Baby


Last night I had a long, vivid dream, most of which, in spite of its vividness, has decayed into bright flashes and shadows. But end is fixed into a fragmentary narrative because I spoke it, half awake, to Mrs. Dr. Omed as we lay in bed.

I was standing in front of what looked like an old, ramshackle hotel. I was asked, by who I don’t recall, to accompany a woman who had just given birth back to her home. The woman was old, really old, a crone, and spoke with a rural Appalachian accent.

Her baby was blue. Deep blue. He–I think he–had arms and legs and a head in the appropriate places, but resembled–was–a solid, three dimensional Mandlebrot (or Julia?) set, his skin was comprised of many little cones, each of which displayed the Fibonacci spiral. When the baby flexed in a yawn, all the Mandlebrot convolutions undulated, and waves of blue shadow ran across his skin.

We were bundled into a car, and driven (I don’t remember anyone driving, but I was in the back seat on the right side) into the countryside. The crone didn’t quite know the way home from the small town in which the hotel was located, and we navigated by guess and by golly. Then I woke up. 2am. Before we found the way home .



One response to “The Crone and the Blue Baby

  1. and did N.P.. in his Friday call, subcondescend to parse for you the oneirotica so such oodled across the Pons Hypnopompus ?? ah, the clarity with which the Good Dr. evades the parasympathetic jackboots of the stormtroopers of Nux.

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