Dream text about an Irish Bin Laden

Dream about an Irish Bin Laden

I enter my flat but the flat is empty! Where are all my things? Weird situation; have I been burglard?

A little man is sitting in a corner.

-Hello, he says, my name is Oscar and I am an expert in emotional blackmail. If you want your stuff back you have to make me a painting of Bin Laden.

He points with his finger to one of the walls, There is a huge woorden frame a skilled carpenter has pitched into the wall.

-Start with the frame, the little bastard orders me.

Oh well, I have nothing else to do, except catch up some sleep, so why not?

In a corner of the room I find brushes and Peint Neuf tins.

-Do they still make that shit? I ask Oscar, who does not reply.

I use all colors at once, that will teach the mongrel.

I use so many thick layers of paint I cannot finish the frame, there is simply not enough Peint Neuf.

So what to do now?

Oscar is getting excited and jumps up and down like a monkey that has discovered a sudden gold chain.

-Now you have to travel to Valletta in Malta. There is a stash of Peint Neuf hidden in the carcasses of frozen meat in a plant run by a former African prostitute who made carreer in Belgium.

-Is that the same woman who ruined the De Keyn brothers with her expensive taste for jewelry, race cars and race horses? I ask.

-The one and only! Okay, I cleaned her stables once, so their might be a positive connection.

JUMP in time. I am in Malta now but have no clue how I got here.

At the meat factory they explain me that their last shipment went to the Irish Republic but that they sold the Peint Neuf as the more expensive Carlux paint. The oldest trick in the book!

But I can take a boat to follow the convoy to Ireland.

In the harbor a brass band conducted by Peter Postlethwaite is playing military tunes. Strange, I thought he died last year or so.

-What’s going on?

-Oh, they are celebrating the return of Bin Laden to Ireland. He’ll be on the same boat as you.

-Pardon?

-Yes, the Americans killed a lookalike and Bin Laden is not a Saudi at all but an Irish freedomfighter from the IRA and he is now returning with all honors to his home country.

I nodd my head in disbelief and board the ship.

I see Bin Laden on the deck. He’s talking with an accent like Martin Mc Guinness to a fellow conspirator. He has also shaved off his beard.

-We have to tackle the weakest link of American imperialism and that is the UK. We can murder the queen during her visit to Northern Ireland. Charles takes the throne but that’s a complete morron so this will lead to the end of the present monarchy. I marry Parker Bowles and become ruler of England, then assassinate some British generals, blame it on the Americans and the UK declares war to the USA and the nuclear destruction of capitalism can start, finally!

-That’s a far fetched plan Bin, his buddy explains. I found out that the Irish potatoe famine was caused by a voracious beetle. We smuggle these beetles into the frozen carcasses of meat to New York and start contaminating their agriculture. Natural bio warfare, that is the solution to all our problems. They will have no clue what hit them and we remain safe in holy Dublin, the Virgin Mary be blessed and Allah as well.

I am getting a headache of those 2 nutcases. In the meantime the ship is attacked from all sides by giant waves and sea monsters, whales, giant fish and octopus, even the kraken joins the party.

The ship manages somehow to avoid all these monsters and sea outrage but I can’t take the visual bombardment on my retina anymore, so I leave the deck and go downstairs.

The ship is constructed as a narrow spiral and I pass a lively pub while walking down. Because my head is spinning I decide to enter the jolly establishment.

-Ah, there you are, we haven’t seen you for a while, a waitress shouts with enthusiasm at me and she kisses me on the mouth.

Did I take this journey before? It seems to be so.

Ladies with naked breasts and no arms are sipping from their shiny cocktails.

They giggle and explain me

-We all suffer from a Venus de Milo complex and take this trip to cure us.

-We shall arrive in Dublin in 30 minutes, a grave voice announces, so please have more drinks before the final call!

Half an hour of more nightmares?

From Malta to Ireland in such a short time, this makes no sense at all, I am thinking but repress that thought at once.

I am behind Bin Laden and his mate when I leave the ship. They are still inventing more ridiculous plots to destroy US imperialism.

I leave them to their fantasies and try to find the Carlux cargo.

The harbor master explains me that the cargo is already sold with some serious profit to the Italians and is on its way to Milan. But I can take a direct train from Dublin to Milan and will be there in time to intercept the cargo.

-Italians are great business partners, they buy sardines and sell them as expensive tuna, a trade unionist explains. We all like Italians!

I don’t ask the question how the direct train ride is possible but jump on the first train going to Milan.

-Don’t fall asleep, a soft voice announces, we’ll be in Milan in 5 minutes!

OOPS, more weirdness.

-I do not get this, I challenge the ticket controller.

He smiles and explains:

-We Irish have invented a machine that contracts and suppresses time and then deconctracts and unfolds it. That is the main reason of our present welfare.

–????

-We made a capital mistake and sold it to the Greec government who told us they would apply this to their own booming turism industry but they introduced it to the whole of their economy and that plan backfired in their own and Europe’s face. We pay them money however to keep quiet that the mystic economy contracting machine is an Irish responsibility. He refunds my ticket to keep me quiet. I accept because this is funny bussiness after all.

Man, I think, I am learning more and more about the truth about the European crisis during this crazy trip then while I am clustered to the media propaganda TV Channels from all over the world.

The train stops and has arrived inside the Milan cathedral. Now is that not amazing?!

I look to some praying nuns and see that the ladies with their Venus de Milo complex are also in the Duomo. I wave to them but they cannot wave back of course, so still not cured I guess.

It is like being in a De Chirico meets Paul Delvaux painting.

Are you in pain an angel of mercy, asks me?

Pain?, Oh I came here to collect some paint. Time to look around and resist the dragons in the cathedral.

THROW ME THE KEYS THROUGH THE WINDOW BECAUSE THE FRONT DOOR IS LOCKED AND I FORGOT MY KEYS, my neighbor is shouting loudly, so loudly that he wakes me from this dream. I see my furniture and books, no Oscar and no frame at all.

Oh well,

does anyone has Obama’s email address so I can warn him about that Irish Bin Laden dude?

Guido Vermeulen, June 2012