Michael Ginsberg (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
just_displaced) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
poly_chromatic2014-01-01 01:36 pm
just_displaced) wrote in poly_chromatic2014-01-01 01:36 pm
Entry tags:
Dreaming...
[It's an office. There's nothing about it that particularly stands out, except the fact that the walls of the room are completely covered in drawings and sketches and half-completed ideas, from floor to ceiling, overlapping each other in some places. The makeshift wallpaper seems almost too bright, somehow, too vibrant, the ink that's been used to doodle the thoughts onto the paper seeming to stand out from the taped and tacked up pages.
They're all advertisements. Some of them are thrown together and sloppy, some of them are meticulously crafted, some of them are incredibly inappropriate, the kind of thing that would never make it through a meeting, and some are good, the kind that could sell a product to anyone.
And in the middle of all the chaos, at the table which is covered in notebooks and glass bottles of soda and pencils and half-eaten sandwiches wrapped in paper, sits Ginsberg, hard at work on a typewriter…
… but not for long. Several seconds later, he's standing up from the table. He's picking up the typewriter with the kind of determination that suggests that he knows exactly what he's doing with it.
And in the odd logic of dreams, he's suddenly standing at a window, a window that overlooks Madison Avenue and the rest of Manhattan sprawled beyond it, and with the sound of shattering glass that's far too loud, too distinct, the typewriter is crashing through the window.
It's followed quickly by several other things, anything he can get his hands on, things that shouldn't be in an office at all, much less close at hand -- a tea kettle, a bottle of ketchup, an evening gown, anything that can go through the broken window does, falling or fluttering to the street below. All the while, Ginsberg seems to be muttering about products and brands.]
Jaguar... Heinz... some airline company, who cares about that... cigarettes, always cigarettes, but not Lucky Strikes, not after the letter... Manischewitz... Cran-Prune juice... disgusting...
[[OOC: Yes, welcome to him dreaming about work. You can feel free to be in the dream, and help him throw things out the window, or just judge him for making such a mess. Either way, it's open to all. C'mon in!]
They're all advertisements. Some of them are thrown together and sloppy, some of them are meticulously crafted, some of them are incredibly inappropriate, the kind of thing that would never make it through a meeting, and some are good, the kind that could sell a product to anyone.
And in the middle of all the chaos, at the table which is covered in notebooks and glass bottles of soda and pencils and half-eaten sandwiches wrapped in paper, sits Ginsberg, hard at work on a typewriter…
… but not for long. Several seconds later, he's standing up from the table. He's picking up the typewriter with the kind of determination that suggests that he knows exactly what he's doing with it.
And in the odd logic of dreams, he's suddenly standing at a window, a window that overlooks Madison Avenue and the rest of Manhattan sprawled beyond it, and with the sound of shattering glass that's far too loud, too distinct, the typewriter is crashing through the window.
It's followed quickly by several other things, anything he can get his hands on, things that shouldn't be in an office at all, much less close at hand -- a tea kettle, a bottle of ketchup, an evening gown, anything that can go through the broken window does, falling or fluttering to the street below. All the while, Ginsberg seems to be muttering about products and brands.]
Jaguar... Heinz... some airline company, who cares about that... cigarettes, always cigarettes, but not Lucky Strikes, not after the letter... Manischewitz... Cran-Prune juice... disgusting...
[[OOC: Yes, welcome to him dreaming about work. You can feel free to be in the dream, and help him throw things out the window, or just judge him for making such a mess. Either way, it's open to all. C'mon in!]