Last night I dreamed I was in a gigantic classroom. The walls, floor and ceiling were sterile white, but each desk was fashioned from rich old oak and wrought iron. I took notes feverishly as Leslie lectured in the distance at the front of the class. She spoke clearly, but though my ears heard her words, my mind translated them into a kind of electronic mishmash of whirrs, beeps and clanks. I knew, however, that she was giving me my next assignment.
I went home and phoned Mike, who told me that he wouldn't be in the office for the next two weeks, but that he could give me everything I needed over the phone and via email. I thanked him and went in search of Pete; I needed his help to complete my assignment. I found myself wandering through downtown Toronto, when Steve appeared and helpfully pointed to the top of the CN Tower, where Pete was break dancing. His movements and his clothing - jeans, t-shirt and toque - gave me the final pieces I needed to complete my task.
I used my mind to assemble all the information I'd gathered into a schematic. I projected a holographic image of that schematic into the centre of a darkened auditorium. It resembled a cutaway diagram of a hydrogen bomb, but only superficially, for this wasn't an H-bomb, but a K-bomb, a Knowledge Bomb.
It was shaped like a giant teardrop. The outer shell was made of chocolate syrup, like a dipped cone from Dairy Queen. Inside there were two layers of cake; the outer layer chocolate, the inner layer yellow, each layer again teardrop-shaped.
"It isn't really cake, of course," I explained to the massed audience hidden away in the darkness. "The K-bomb's construction is purely metaphorical. When detonated, enlightenment spreads from the epicentre of the blast in a spherical wave. The bigger the payload, the broader the enlightenment. In other words, ladies and gentlemen, it's a true smart bomb."
I woke up and realized this is probably the most easily interpreted dream I've ever had.
I went home and phoned Mike, who told me that he wouldn't be in the office for the next two weeks, but that he could give me everything I needed over the phone and via email. I thanked him and went in search of Pete; I needed his help to complete my assignment. I found myself wandering through downtown Toronto, when Steve appeared and helpfully pointed to the top of the CN Tower, where Pete was break dancing. His movements and his clothing - jeans, t-shirt and toque - gave me the final pieces I needed to complete my task.
I used my mind to assemble all the information I'd gathered into a schematic. I projected a holographic image of that schematic into the centre of a darkened auditorium. It resembled a cutaway diagram of a hydrogen bomb, but only superficially, for this wasn't an H-bomb, but a K-bomb, a Knowledge Bomb.
It was shaped like a giant teardrop. The outer shell was made of chocolate syrup, like a dipped cone from Dairy Queen. Inside there were two layers of cake; the outer layer chocolate, the inner layer yellow, each layer again teardrop-shaped.
"It isn't really cake, of course," I explained to the massed audience hidden away in the darkness. "The K-bomb's construction is purely metaphorical. When detonated, enlightenment spreads from the epicentre of the blast in a spherical wave. The bigger the payload, the broader the enlightenment. In other words, ladies and gentlemen, it's a true smart bomb."
I woke up and realized this is probably the most easily interpreted dream I've ever had.
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