10:19 a.m. - 2007-01-23
pipeline
Last night's dream:
Cutting a circle in the floor of some closed restaurant/nightclub when the ground collapses and I tumble down amidst tools and debris. I've fallen into a tunnel, freshly excavated; w/a string of work-lights vanishing into either direction. A safety-yellow handrail cordons a well-worn trail off from a flexible, firehose-like, conduit: a pipeline gurgling with some sort of liquid payload. Making my way down the tunnel I pass two uniformed laborers shoring up a collapsed section of wall and another adjusting a T-joint where a smaller pipeline feeds from a tributary cavern into the one I'm following. I nod a noncommittal greeting to each worker, hoping not to telegraph my unease, certain that I don't belong here. They pay me little notice. The pipeline expands and contracts with a steady rhythmic surging, the work-lights hum; for at least a mile this is all I see and hear. As another group of workmen comes into view I note one of their party wears a white collared shirt and gestures with a roll of blueprints. Some sort of interaction here seems inevitable. Approaching I proffer my hand and, shaking his, explain my situation. He nods slowly, weighing my explanation and, accepting it, reveals to me the purpose of the tunnel.
"That pipeline, it's full of fish. Part of the President's secret fishin' hole restocking initiative. Bass, perch, crappie, some trout...catfish" he gestures with an open hand to indicate that the list goes on, "We're pumping 'em live into small lakes across the country. Getting people back to fishing where they live, making 'em reconsider the natural beauty and recreation potential of their hometowns, we think it's good for America."
I nod, comprehending with amazement that this pipeline carries live cargo.
"Plus, with less people commuting to out-of-town fishing spots, we can save energy and reduce dependence on foreign oil."
I nod again and awaken.
