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01-21-02 - 6:05 p.m. I had a crazy dream Saturday night. It was like this: In my dream, Jimi Hendrix was still alive. In fact, he and I were good friends. But for whatever reason, I felt the urge to murder him. So I took my shotgun and shot him. Six times. I remember that, in the dream, I took great care to lodge bullets like so: one in each thigh, one in each bicep, a bullet in his abdomen, and one between his eyes. A total of six. After I killed him, I wiped my fingerprints from everything and removed any sign of my ever being anywhere near him and returned to my home (it took place here, in San Diego). Later in the dream, an FBI agent showed up to ask me questions. She seemed to believe that I was innocent, but I remember being fairly nervous and deciding the need to go into hiding. When I awoke I checked the clock in the room and sat up thinking, "I gotta get out of here. They're gonna find me!" Then I realized it had been a dream, Hendrix had already been dead for quite some time before even my birth. He overdosed. He wasn't shot. Not even six times. Confused by this, I checked out Swoon.com to see what bullshit it would have me believe as far as "dream interpretation" is concerned. I think the whole idea of dream interpreting is a load of crap, frankly, but it is sometimes interesting to see what fools will believe. So here's what I found: Killing Guns Gunshot Hide Numbers Nervous That was basically it. So apparently I need to calm my ass down and control my raging temper. Okay.
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