Edward Oh. Bunuel Wilson.
I asked the same question I ask every morning:
What did you dream about last night?
I dreamed...
he said.
...about Paddington Bear.
What happened in your dream about Paddington?
I asked.
Except...
he ignored my follow-up question.
...in my dream his name wasn't Paddington, and he wasn't actually a bear.
What was he?
I asked.
A penguin.
he said.
He was a penguin.
Four-year old boy walks through playground dreaming about filmmaking and animals while his sister swings in the swings behind him.
Okay.
I said.
So Paddington Bear was actually a penguin?
Yeah.
he said.
And his name wasn't Paddington. I forgot now what it was.
Yeah.
I said.
Sometimes that happens with dreams.
Also,
he said.
I dreamed about a type of animal that never gets scared.
Really!?
I said.
What kind of animal was it?
It was...
he thought.
...the kind of animal you see in animal magazines.
Oh.
I said.
You have cool dreams.
Yeah.
he said.
And also I dreamed about a green fly. It was like a black fly. Only green.
You need to make a movie of your dreams.
I said.
He nodded,
and went off to find a camera.
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