Yesterday morning, I awoke from a dream in which I was exchanging polite conversation with JG Thirlwell who was sitting in the same row at an auditorium, waiting for a gig to start. I figured out it was because his review of a Jan Terri concert was the last thing I read before going to sleep. That evening, instead of browsing Tumblr, I watched Downton Abbey on Netflix, and dreamed of being the pampered owner of a huge mansion, attended by servants. I had planned to watch something like The Avengers and see if I could acquire some superpowers for my next dream, but instead I saw this.
It doesn’t bode well. The macabre wit here is definitely aimed at grown-ups – especially those who aren’t particularly hoping for restful, pleasant dreams. Continue reading