A Domainer’s midsummer night’s dream
Last night I went to the movies and saw Prometheus. A few beers and a stimulating conversation later, it was time for bed.
The visuals of the day, along with the alcohol, food and hot company turned my sleep into a complete mess of a symbol-laden dreamfest.
I found myself in the middle of a shore, with crashing waves and a beautiful sunset. Rick Schwartz was fishing, his pants rolled up to avoid getting them wet.
As I came closer, he waved at me and showed me what he had fished earlier on. It was a large fish, with the head of Márcio Mello Chaves. It was still breathing.
I left Rick and walked further down the beach, where I saw Tia Wood‘s familiar *ahem* features, glancing at me all the way from a beach cabana. There was a party going on, and among the various guests, Sahar Sarid‘s head shone as the most familiar.
“Come join us, Lucius!” said Tia, all wiggly. “We are having a developers’ party till 4:30am Friday.”
As I approached Tia, she turned into Arianna Huffington. I immediately lost interest. Sahar Sarid was nowhere to be found but the music – a combination of 80′s italodisco and Caribbean melodies played on.
Without a warning, I then found myself sitting at a stairway that led into a restaurant. I stood up, only to realize that I was looking at my own reflection at the restaurant door’s mirrored entrance. Somehow, I had turned into Elliot Silver and was holding a baby, while a dog sat by my feet.
“Strangest things have happened!” I muttered and searched for a way out, but a large chef with a machete came out of the restaurant, looking up to no good.
I had to react fast or risk losing my own head to the angry Chef’s machete.
“Chef Patrick, for the love of god, what are you trying to do?!” I screamed at the bearded guy. “I’m your friend, remember?” Patrick Ruddell smiled in a very friendly manner and then punched me straight in the face.
As I went down the stairs, I saw Rick Schwartz again, still fishing by the beach. Howard Neu was also there, roasting freshly-caught crabs with the face of Márcio Mello Chaves.
“I must be dreaming!” I thought, and instantly woke up, all sweaty. It was 4:30am and still dark outside.
Having a glass of water, I promised myself never to watch a movie as thought-provoking as Prometheus again; or at least, never combine it with a couple of brewskis.