I dreamt of Artemy Troitsky. In his soft voice, he amiably inquired about some technical issue, but instead of a coherent sentence, he produced a jumble of disconnected words. I answered him (quoting verbatim): "Your question is meaningless. It is analogous to the question: "Is red tasty?".
We left it at that. He tried to give me money for the consultation, but I didn't take it. He also gave me a CD with some rowdy punk-chanson-alcoholic music, kind of a cross between Tom Waits and Shnur.
Dream
2006-05-08