We were living under martial law somewhere in Asia. Every word, every move had to be validated by a committee.
I was to serve the military again, and waiting for my fate in a large hall with other people, among them Serge Gainsbourg. I had to present my songs. I showed them a dead chicken - a song is a dead chicken in that world... But the dead chicken I displayed didn't pass the commission, so I returned to my table - we were all sitting at vintage schooltables.
Serge Gainsbourg's chicken wasn't more successful either. His was deemed too disco a dead chicken.
Then one of my comrades said to me: "We should have sex in front of the committee and when I'm about to get into you, you turn on the big white light!"
Where that idea came from, I don't know, but I looked at Margaret Thatcher who was sitting on the stage, deep in a conversation with her peers and shook my head. "Will not do..."
As I would wake up and fall asleep again, more elements added to the dream, and made it harder to remember. I just know that eventually, we were doing Chinese calligraphy, and that too turned into dead chickens.
Oh yes, I watched Barking dogs never bite yesterday, that might explain...