Last night I dreamed I killed the Wizard of Oz and stole his jacket. I’m not sure why I felt the need to bash him on the head, but bash I did.
My crimees and I then ran around Oz, not knowing we were there, looking at the weird “street art” and wondering how in hell any city could afford a community bath house shaped and sized like Noah’s Ark, or a giant, copper car-detailing robot with gleaming appendages and a living brain.
Then we found the Oz money. We really wondered about the one-hundred-twelve-dollar bill. Then I found the fifty-three-dollar bill, with the picture of a rose on one side, and Ozma of Oz on the other, and we knew where we were.
From then on, we skipped around Oz, poking our noses into secure facilities and pretending to be people we weren’t. Then some dude noticed my jacket. He looked at it like he recognized it, and I knew we were in trouble, so I ran.
Apparently, in my dreams you can bop the Oz police on the nose, and they’ll back up a bit. You can bop them backward through a door, then close it on them and run away. That’s what we did, and when we got away I finally took the jacket off and found the “Oscar Zoroaster” embroidered on the waistband and realized I’d knocked off the Wizard.
I woke up thinking what the fuck?
Did I kill the magic? Is the magic dead? Am I doomed to a grey life like the one Baum represented with Kansas?*
Matt says Oz/the City/San Francisco didn’t turn out to be the magical place I thought it would be, and that maybe I just need to get back to Kansas/Chico, where I have family, and where it’s safe.
I like his interpretation. I will miss the magical living robots though.
*Personally, because of the Oz books, I’ve always been a bit intrigued by Kansas, Dorothy’s home, and Nebraska, the Wizard’s.