Dreamt last night that I was in an empty, darkened room, sat in a chair at its centre, while Ivor Cutler walked around in front of me, on his hands, mind you, reciting a new work of his. It was a scene straight out of Twin Peaks.
This could have been my Kubla Khan moment, except when I woke up this morning, all I could remember was that he'd rhymed "Eight Academy Awards" with "Sideboard."
Fuck.
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