Dream Journal #1

I had to keep a dream journal for one of my school classes and tomorrow I’m turning it in.  Looking over them all, there’s just a whole lot of darkness in my damn head.  Anyway, some of these are pretty good, enjoy.  Or, you know, don’t:

Steve Martin came into the office of the tech support job I had ten years ago.  No one had any idea why he was there but he just walked in, sat down, and started answering phones.  This isn’t present-day Steve, this is the Steve from the 70’s, with the white suit and the bunny ears.  We listened to his call intently and as we listened we realized he was pranking the customer by giving her really horrible advice.  We all knew what a bad idea this was but we were all beyond caring about our jobs at this point and we all began following Steve’s lead.  He was our liberator after all, we couldn’t just ignore him.  The goofing off ranged from telling our customers knock-knock jokes to telling outright lies that bordered on the absurd.  Some of us gave really mean-spirited advice that would delete all the files off a customer’s hard drive and some just played around with the customers until they got angry and hung up the phone.  There was an intense feeling of inevitable doom.  There was no way any of us were going to keep our jobs after today and what’s more, all of us were aware of how morally wrong what we were doing was, but we were also fed up and beyond caring.  I was in the middle of telling an old lady her keyboard was going to have to be taken into the shop and be completely rewired when Steve (not Steve Martin, the other Steve, the one who everyone hated) burst through the door, with a look on his face that was somewhere between wounded friend and hate-filled cannibal.  We all looked over at Steve (Martin, not the dick) and he shrugged his shoulders, said he was late for a gig, and asked for directions to Morongo.

About

Tim Hatch lives in a secret volcano headquarters somewhere in the South Pacific, where he controls the world economy and writes confessional poetry about his disappointing childhood.

His poetry has been published in MungBeing, East Jasmine Review, The Pacific Review, The Vehicle, Touch: The Journal Of Healing, Apeiron Review, and he is the recipient of the 2014 Felix Valdez Award.

He finds writing about himself in the third person to be an overtly seductive invitation to tell lies.

He once captured a French Eagle at Talavera.

Posted in blah blah blah