the dream of the Pee Sword

“When it is time for you to forge the Pee Sword, then you will make the Pee Sword”, she said.

And there it was, hanging off of my body, freshly crystallized in all its off-white, red, yellow, and black glory. If “glory” was the right word, it looked like it had been made by arranging a bunch of plastic Mardi Gras beads on a cookie sheet and half-melting them. I put it in my shirt pocket and narrated to myself: Someday, the Pee Sword would be “Stabber”. But right now it was just the Pee Sword.


(“Stabber” was not it’s actual name, I could not recall the name I gave it in the dream. It was one of those single-word names you give a Cool Magic Sword and it was not a bad choice. Much better than “Stabber” at least.)


Before that was a lot of wandering around tubes and watching turf battles in strange cities that I feel all added up to my dreaming self getting a status update from my immune system on how the tide is turning on this case of bronchitis I picked up this past week. There’s more in my paper dream journal but it’s all pretty boring compared to Forging The Pee Sword.

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