Do you shee the beasht?

It seems I can never remember my dreams unless Jacob van Maanen appears in them. Last night's was no exception. And for those admittedly se beings out there, I'll put your minds to rest. What happened was:

"I was walking to class when I realised I'd left my shoes and blazer behind somewhere. I thought the most likely place would be the art room, as I'd had art earlier today. I walked upstairs on the hand rail. When I arrived a Maori class was in session. There were shoes and blazers lining the goddamn walls. I asked the Maori teacher (a man I have never encountered before, his character may have been based on the singing Maori of soap carving fame) if I could look for my blazer and shoes. He was enraged yelling something about one thing was one thing but this was another. I was enraged and noticed my blazer and shoes neatly folded behind him. I knew they were mine because a toy army tank from my childhood sat atop them. "They're right fucking behind you!" I was yelling. "Look, they're fucking over there! Fucking look behing you!" I picked the bundle up and marched out of the room."

And where does Jacob enter into all of this?

"I walked down a grassy hill with Jacob, singing Beach Boys songs."

And the great thing about dreams is that although you might have some theories and ideas about what they mean you and everybody know that nobody fucking knows!