A dream last night (one of several lurid dreams, this being the only one I can remember clearly).
I was in Texas, out in some hilly pastures which were covered with dry grass. A young woman (she was in the sort of outfit associated with cowgirls of the 1st or 2nd decade of our century – khaki short, blouse, bandana neckerchief, plain felt hat turned up in front), and I were running hilariously around in the fields shouting a parody on an old round which begins:
Potatoes, Potatoes, Fifteen Cents a peck etc-
only we had it:
Manure – Manure (pronounced as three syllables)
Fifteen Cents a peck,
Straw, Straw, rice clean straw.
Buy a half- a bushel
So you’ll make your garden grow
I remember that I thought this parody supremely clever. Presently, a third figure, an officer of the law appears. He has become incensed at what he considers my ribald shouting, and has come to arrest me. He has a “black–snake whip” in his hand which I contrive to seize. I keep him away with it for a few minutes, but gradually my arm grows more & more weak, so that I can hardly wield the whip. He makes a tackle at my feet & throws me. I suddenly step out “of the part”, and become an observer of the scene. My place is taken by a man, who it seems is a radical of some sort, and the “law” is out to “get” him on any trumped up change. The young woman is his fiancée, she tries in vain to help him. He is carried off to prison, where he is beaten & tortured. Later he writes of his experiences in a book he calls “The Beast,” exposing the evil condition of the prison so that he not only [affects] a reform but becomes famous. I woke at this point.
Charles E. Burchfield, Journals, September 3, 1938