Friday, March 11, 2005

Bees Cure Disease

I'm in this large laboratory and communal kitchen with a friend (PT). We're researching a disease. It may be a disease afflicting my mom or another close relative. We've discovered that there's a chemical compound - like, an enzyme or protein - in honey. Honey holds the key to an important therapy, or maybe an outright cure. We cooked the honey over a bunsen burner to concentrate it. The concentrated honey is a deep golden brown, full of sticky clumps and crystals.

"Do you see that?" I say to my friend, "That's a concentrated cure. It's a real breakthrough! Bees cure disease."

The concentrated honey is stuck to the bottom of a tall, white, square container with lots of tiny chambers. The chambers are lined with a mesh of fine mylar screens. It's too thick and crystalized to pour out. I need a tool to scrape out the honey... so I look around to find something. I remember a line from a tune I played with a band called The Moderns, back in 1980... "I need knowledge and tools."

There's a long line of kitchen sinks along one wall. People who use this combination laboratory and communal kitchen wash their dishes in these sinks and put them on rows of dish racks to dry. I spot a screwdriver with a red handle among the dishes in a nearby dish rack. The people who own it were washing dishes here earlier in the dream, but they're gone now. I figure they won't mind me using their property, as long as I clean it and put it back when I'm finished.

We use it to scrape out the honey. As we work, I notice this odd contraption that's climbed up on our lab table. It's a tan, flesh tone, plastic beehive on little black plastic wheels... with a little camera, a computer track pad, and lots of little yellow and red blinking LED lights. I notice that it's about the size of a human brain. It's trailing a long wire... like a TV cable. It's some sort of remote sensory array... and it's playing back the sound of our breathing through its little onboard speaker. I wonder who's observing us and why. The beehive begins to roll away as its cord retracts into its innards.

I follow the beehive along a short corridor, past the row of sinks. My friend stays behind to wash and return the borrowed screwdriver and white container. We talk about that for just a moment before I go, and agree that this is the best course of action. The best use of our resources.

The beehive rolls around a corner, turning to the left. I follow it into a small, windowless living room furnished with a sofa, easy chair, and two end tables. The room is comfortable, lit by lamps on the end tables, but it has the feel of a faceless hotel room... you know, that nondescript, bland, rented decor that's perfectly suitable for living, but nobody really lives there.

There are several people sitting on the sofa, listening to a man sitting on the easy chair. He's just signed a book deal to publish a book about bees. It has lots of color photos and he's very pleased that the book is being printed in Japan - because lots of really high end printing is done there these days. I want to ask him some questions about the book, but it's a little hard to get a word in edgewise. Everyone's animated and talking all at once.

"Excuse me," I say, "I came to this party a little late." Everyone smiles and a few people laugh. "Will the book be printed on one of those fancy new six-color digital presses?"

The phone rang and I woke up.

2 Comments:

Blogger Disease Index said...

This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.

2:37 PM  
Blogger AndySocial said...

You're a fucking spammer. Drop dead.

9:35 PM  

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