“In your case, ” I explained in a calm, rational yet forceful way,”incoherent means different bits of your story didn’t fit together, in the judge’s opinion.” He shook his head at this fantastical notion.
“I’m not calling you a liar although there’s a chance the judge will come to that conclusion in three weeks. But, you’ve just given me a perfect demonstration of how your stories are often incoherent. Just now, you said you don’t feel safe spending another night in your present shelter, then you said you won’t go to the temporary shelter I found for you, and you’ll stay where you are until I find something more permanent.”
So he tried to explain, yet again, how their lodger had lost it the night before and walked out to sleep on the street because he couldn’t stand the crowding in his tiny studio. And the rest of the craziness that flowed from this, for me and several other people, yesterday.
I don’t doubt for a second that there’ll be more craziness today. The universe as a vast story loom, clicking and knitting in all directions at once: this is, more or less, how my dreams summarized the current situation. (Between two wake-up calls by the dog during the night – I love my dog, let there be no doubt about that – but on both occasions, my mood and disposition were less than idyllic.)
Story, as in proto-draft (winding its way toward what I call a first draft)? Much in evidence in the dreams, with that mix of goofiness dreamtime loves so much. Something like a personal version of an episode from Little Nemo in Slumberland.
The bit about the circus person tackling a live charging bull that was only one half of a bull, yet alive? What can I say? Not much that’s impossible in dreamtime where even incoherence obeys some kind of underlying order, and where panic need not apply, especially during a full-out stampede.