it’s been six days since we were implanted with borg technology. hatboy’s been wandering around the house in the daytime, his implants making him do strange stuff. like cleaning the dust from off the top of the kitchen cupboards.i’m re-evaluating my borg-lacking-humour theory.
the implants have brought back my dreams. i dreamed last night of a possum, caught in the crossbeams of a semi-trailer. the driver saw it, but didn’t bother to slow, beep his horn, or swerve a little to miss it. he just left it up to some weird trailerpark trash god he’d known when he was a kid.
the possum rode the rest of the way, half its brains spread across the wheels of the semi, like a post-modern sculpture in motion. stray electrons filtered into the brain, letting it know pain without awareness.
i dreamed that the hitch-hiker standing at the side of the road was watching the truck pull closer in the night. he put his hand out, and waited for the truck to slow. he didn’t try too hard to get it to stop, and nor did he encourage it by waving. he just left it up to some weird hitch-hiking god he’d known when he was a kid.
the truck did stop, and the hitch-hiker got in, sat through ten minutes of stunted sentences, pulled out a bowie knife and stuck it as far as it would go into the throat of the driver.
glancing into the corner of my eye at the time, i realised it was almost three pm. time to wake up.
i watched the red dribble down from the driver’s seat and puddle between his motionless feet.
what the hell, i thought. give it another fifteen minutes to see if it gets interesting.
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