Flowings of Your Everlasting Taffyman

in pursuit of a pulpit to sing from

Why is it whenever words come naturally, pen and paper or a tape recorder are never present? I had a dream, I don't know how long it lasted. I was asleep for approx. 2 and half hours and although philosophy probably filled my head a good deal the dream only ended in it. I woke, I went to the bathroom, I removed much of my clothing because I was sweating. I tried to go back to bed. I spent a half an hour going over line after line rhyme after rhyme everything made sense in a half dreary sort of way. Something about speaking philosophy as a russian aristocrat, No I was the son of a russian aristocrat who spoke of the old roman ways, philosophy in politics, he spoke in french in Paris, with crowds around him, the place a tavern of sorts, on a fairy swan pond, but at the same time i was a reporter in new york, we heard all that went on translating instantly through the old dixie cup method. 1 cup over your mouth 1 cup to your ear. It was bizarre every line that came out became a new translation on the life of man, a new theory showing one separate aspect of life. Minutes after that was over and I was actually struggling to find a pen and paper I gave up again, finding more comfort with a back scratcher, I dreamed these things again a half awake half asleep with a permanent backdrop of a light through window shades, but also actors on a stage. They were playing improv games, each time the lion roared a new actor would take the place of the old, giving an instant monologue off the top of his head. This man's had to do with him trying to tell the tale of his winning over an audience, speaking poetry of course. He told of how he at first could not succeed but then as he became more uncomfortable and quieter the more the crowd loved him. He ended with something about "near silence I found only futility." The actor spoke the line grandly but with such tone that the meaning came out he too was hoping for applause in this case such as before, he continued the improv sketch when no one bowed in. He became a famous actor receiving roses and gentle words in loud tones and he thanked them with a sort of mocking voice, not really mocking just like face gratitude. It was really odd, because no one stopped him no lion roared to take him out though he made all the gestures an improvist would love to take the place of. Still they sat and watched. Then they all vanished and I woke up for real. and could get nothing out of my head except this and that and wanting to take a bath except what would i do once i was in the bath? nothing sorry it just needed to be recorded