But one saturday night, just after recovering from the regular saturday night depression we all experience from time to time, he had a revelation: he had to be an idolater.

The idea originated in the show he was watching (namely American Idol), but he found the strength and ingenuity to move foreward and give it its own genuine form: he wasn’t to be an iconolator, worshipping some Hollywood star, but a proper idolater, a real pagan or totemist; or maybe even a demonist.

I need a religion of my own, he said, that is the only way I was to be special.

And he started worshipping his black cat.

It appeared I was at my place; all the furniture was in the middle of rooms (this may indicate the confuse state installed on my main deck). Inside the house there were a few people, some of them I knew, some others I didn’t. They seemed to intend to paint my house (i.e. to dispel my confusion). I
wasn’t quite willing to participate at their intention, so I climbed on the top of an old bed (which I throwed away a few years ago, which means I persist in my unhealthy habits, dispite the goodwill of my friends and relatives, who’re trying to help me change). And, as I was sitting there,
pretendingly meditating, I saw a pink liitle ball skipping on the floor.
- Er, I don’t remember having given such a little ball to Thecat or Thekitty.
- It ain’t a ball, a painter said, it’s an animal.
I approached the animal (with a natural fear) and catched it. It was wrapped in pink rubber (some kind of spheric cuticle) and had a piggy face ending in a naughty snout. I couldn’t tell what genus it was.
- Very interesting, I said carefully holding it with two fingers, so it didn’t bite me. It’s some kind of taxonomic exteriority, an animaloid, a mechanoporcus.
I put in on the floor, to see what it’d do. It went away. It jumped a little (to gain the initial impulse), then it jumped higher, and higher, and more obliquely, and tried to leave the room. But Thecat caught and killed it.

The second dream is unclear. I was somewhere, with a few somebodies, and I told a joke. It was a charming joke, and everybody, me included, started laughing. But Thekitty pushed me harder and, for a second, I was confusingly lucid* and I realized that my hoke wasn’t funny at all; it wasn’t even absurd, it was just borring. It scarred me a little, but I
found the resources to get back to my audience and continue entertaining it.

* I called confused lucidity the state appearing in the moments when someone suddenly wakes up and believes he is very lucid, but which, after the person is really awaken, appeares like a fog floating over a marsh (which is the dream).