What do a flaming iPhone, a nuclear bookcase-weapon, the cutest puppies ever, a swimming pool full of shit, sexy Michelle Obama, Buddhist monks, a money-shredding machine, a time-traveling trans shaman, a faucet spewing chunky soup, a monkey customer, a pet mule, lots of unusual bookstores, and encounters with a lost son have in common? One bookseller's unconscious.
Still grieving eleven years after his son's death, bookseller Andrew Laties agreed to try Jungian dream therapy. Never one to recall them, he strove half-awake to scribble dream-fragments into a notebook and narrate into his iPhone's recorder. Transcribing these, he sent them to his therapist. The texts here are just as emailed--in their original time-sequence--though edited for grammar, punctuation, and name-change. Left out are the therapeutic conversations; reader reflections are equally valid.