Had a dream last night that London had been decimated. Giant twisters of smoke rose from the dead city and I circled overhead in a helicopter, enjoying the show. Spent the morning trying to turn this into something fictional and doing all right, although my story has disturbing parallels to The Road. Maybe I can call it an homage.
I'm starting to wonder whether this is how Pynchon wound up with the mashed-banana-and-peas plot-quilt of Gravity's Rainbow. Maybe he started a new short story every day, finished none of them, and at the end of the year combined them into a book.
"Mashed banana and peas plot quilt"? What the hell?
Just nouns, Jim. Inspiring nouns.
