Dream Poem not by that one weird guy
 

As I was waking up this morning I dreamt that I had placed a poem in the New Yorker. The beginning was something about blowing my nose but the ending was crystal clear: the last line was this:

The bright humanity of my socks.


pretty kul, huh?

I had the same dream! The first line was:

I blow my nose at you, cocks!

I like very much.

I had a dream where I came up with a really powerful image - that when a cat rubs you, it is really barcoding you. It seemed so elegant and concise. But when I woke up I realised it doesn't really work properly. I was so disappointed.

Of course, it works on a perfect 1 to 1 correlation with reality--when a cat rubs against you it is marking you with its scent glands. It isn't scanning your barcode, it is literally stamping you with one; placing you into its inventory.

See that's where it fell down. Because most of us experience barcodes at the point of purchase. We don't have a relationship with applying barcodes. So you're right - the logic worked, but the image isn't useful.