Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

Oh, don’t worry, I’m not eternally damned.  Well (rolls eyes), not yet anyway.  But I did have rayther a terrifying dream on the topic Sunday night.

The first and shadier part of the dream seemed to be all about temptation.  I recall that I was in what I recognized as Port Swiller Manor and I could somehow feel or see a Presence around me.  This Presence was urging me to do bad things, suggesting that if I did what it wanted, I would get all kinds of power and pleasure as a reward.   And I also recall an answering voice inside of me that at once spurned the Presence, but at the same time…..well, liked being courted.   For a while, these two sensations – the spurning and the enjoyment – were oh-so-delicately balanced against each other that with my mind I could push one way and the other, back and forth across a kind of mental knife-point.  Part of me knew perfectly well what the stakes were and that I was  playing with fire, but part of me, well, didn’t mind so much.

Eventually, I found myself standing next to a very fat man and holding a scalpel to his neck.  All I had to do, said the Presence, was slice some bits of flab off the fellah.  By so doing, not only would I, well, acknowledge the Presence’s authority, but it promised that I also would get a lot of pleasure  in the process.  This’ll be fuuuuun, it said.

It was at that point that another, much clearer voice, said, “Good God, no it wouldn’t!  Why on earth am I even thinking about this?”

At that, the dream switched to a second, much clearer part.  Here, I found myself in the Mawster Bawthroom looking down at a grate in the floor.   Peering up from under teh grate was the head of a man which gradually (I swear I’m not making this up) took on the shape of Keanu Reeves.   I was given to understand that here was another man who actually had accepted the bargain offered by the Presence (or, as I now plainly started to think of him, the devil), and having enjoyed some years of cruelty and high living, had just discovered that the devil was calling in his tab.

The man wasn’t frightened, however, he was furious.   He seemed to think that the devil had somehow cheated him over some part of their agreement and kept yelling, “You’re a liar!  You’re a liar!” over and over.

As I stared down at him, water started swirling up, gradually rising from his chest to his neck and then creeping up toward his upturned face.  At the same time, I was aware of a kind of low, omnipresent rumble that gradually got louder and louder, signifying an approaching doom.

“Good God, man,” I thought to myself, “Repent! Repent!  It’s so easy! All you have to do is say you’re sorry!”

But the man was so consumed with his anger, so blind to anything other than his grievance that he had been cheated, that he had no room in his brain for anything else and he kept on bawling his accusations.  The last thing I remember was the water swirling over his face as he continued to rage and then the whole picture becoming a blur.

And then, as they say, I woke up.  Somewhat alarmed, as you might imagine.

Cor lumme if I know what brought that one on.

 

 

 

 

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