Artist: Woah, Man, I just awoke from the most night vision..
Man: night vision? Like the goggles?
Artist: No, No… Like, A dream. A vision.
Man: Really? Tell me about it, if you like.
Artist: Yeah… Yeah… Well..
Man: Go on then..
Well, this dream…
It sort of revolved around the instance that Wollongong had become trapped in the 1974 (distinctly) and someone, maybe the council, the gods, renegade architect and historian, had erected these MASSIVE monuments of statues, and architecture, and churches, like in Venice, all over the city. It was like the second coming of the renaissance, and it came to Wollongong. From what I recall, it was near water. So it could have been the harbor. But everything was white, green, earthy brown and blue. It just looked like someone had dropped Ancient France onto Wollongong, and called it Wollongong. But everyone was like hanging out. It was like uni lunch break, only, market day. And it all seemed like some medieval city, except everything was much bigger. and … um, there was a dude selling some form of trading cards, illegally, and charged me $19 for a pack (which was also purchased by someone from my high school), and i haggled him down to $15. Saying “how about I give you $15 for trying to rob me” (Artist Laughs) As we made the exchange, a policeman hovered over my shoulder and gave a look to the vendor, who quickly packed up and left. I was new to the dynamic, so I was unaware that Trading Cards had become Illegal Tender. The cop was chasing us because we illegally purchased cards, I guess, and of course, in the style of classic dream running; my legs felt like they were encased in taffy.
Then I retreated to my house, which was a classic 1970’s Australian fibro home, which was also a castle, which was also a boat… It was complete with screen doors, and a wood lamenex t.v, and everyone spoke like they were out of “Hey Dad.”
Talk about whiskey dreams.
Man: You drank whiskey last night?
Artist: A lot of it.
Man: I guess I only have one question… What’s a Wollongong?
Artist: I just watched an episode of True Blood, followed by those Twilight Movies, Man.
Man: Oh Yeah, what did you think?
Artist: There was just something wrong. I mean, True Blood was cool. But it’s virtually Porn. And that kinda porn at the back of the Adult Store. And Twilight… I mean, Vampires in my day were cape-ed, and if you were lucky, transformed into Bats. I mean, what’s with them having emotions? And sexual desires? Bram Stokers and Anne Rice’s vampires were the living dead, devoid of emotion and barely a desire to feed, let alone, fuck. They had an overarching sense of emptiness and languorous drive to keep to themselves, based on the overwhelming essence of being dead… They never conflicted upon love. Rice’s interview was more of a history lesson if anything. And brief and intricately delicate Vampire psychology… I mean, what if Stephanie Meyer had had a brain fart, and instead of Vampires, she embraced the workings of Shakespeare into Zombies. I mean, it’s wrong, right? Zombies do their thing, Vampires do their thing, they don’t do Broadway.
Man: You can’t fuck a Zombie.
Artist: Excuse me?
Man: You can’t fuck a Zombie. I mean, they’re just not sexy. When it’s a really passionate scene, and an arm comes off, or like, their head topples to reveal their esophagus. Just… Not sexy.
Man and Artist are sitting around a roaring fire. Man is flipping through an old photo album, and Artist is reading s book with no cover, but that is Red and Black. Man is intrigued by the prominence of mystery with the book. but decides to turn his interest from it, by opening his mouth and speaking:
Man: Art, I really miss the forest.
Artist: Really, why don’t you go drive there in your CAR?
Man and Artist are walking down the street. They pass an alley way where a undeniably adorable hound approaches then from the gaps between the building.
Man: Art, what do you think he wants?
Artist: He looks deep in contemplation.
Dogs inner monologue (in Dogs Speak; Translated): How did i come about here? I can understand everything the human is saying and doing, I can empathize, but i cant communicate for shit. Ive been wanting a piece of pear for days now.
Artist: I bet he’s trying to figure out the complexities of Baudrillard’s final thesis.
Dogs inner monologue (in Dogs Speak; Translated): Pear pleez?
Artist: Well, I’ll tell you. My brothers have no problem with the theory that the Tooth Fairy has a device that can snuff out a tooth no matter where you lost it. But they can’t understand how Scarecrow is also a Psychiatrist at Arkham Asylum.
Man: Your baby brothers watch Batman?
Artist: That’s just the thing. They’re more Lego Orientated.