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Dreams 1991

 

1/1/91: 8:30AM: Wurtzel(?), from Nutley, NJ, (201) 235-1003, phones at 8:30 to WAKE me out of a SOUND sleep since only 3:40AM, saying he'd met me at WSDG or gotten my name from them and we just talked over the phone, and he talks so intently and correctly that I almost think it's a RECORDING, but not even throwing him off when I ask "But what's the bottom line," and he talks about things that he'd done 12/29, and that he's a WBAI rhymer, and he jabbers on until 8:55, when I put the phone down and decide to start the day watching TV.

1/2/91: See Notebook 579 for DREADFUL morning waking up at 7:45AM! UGH!

1/3/91: 6:35AM: A large group of us (not necessarily human!) are vacationing (maybe on another planet?) and there's a final game (or Life-control) night. As lights go on in the competition, we and the audience gasp to see our opponents: dressed (or actually?) prehistoric animals. This after a rather confrontational dance, where one representative of each team is left standing, naked save for a fur cummerbund below which the penises dangle lengthily. The two slender figures stagger about, streaming silver from their fingertips and the corners of their bodies, while murmurs of appreciation rise from the onlookers. Both perform so well we may be given the honor of a draw. Pleasing!

1/4/91: 6:35AM: Wake after getting to bed at 1:25AM, and I feel OK to get up!

1/5/91: "Best dream of all" on this day of Australia-flight is NO DREAM AT ALL!

DREAMS FROM ANTARCTIC TRIP

1/21/91: First DREAM I remember in ages: a woman agent is ALMOST pleased with my writing, VERY supportive, and she finally suggests I write a computerized letter of referral for "almost-good writing." I'm pleased and think of a check-list that gives stock paragraphs for characters, description, plot, etc, plus "fill-in" data like type of story, names of main characters (remember puzzling and deciding on choices of he/she/ it), and other checklist items so that a VERY literate response could be typed at length from the most SIMPLE entry items.

1/26/91: 5:35 odd dream: I get to a different apartment, home EARLY, and hear "our" vibrator going. John comes out of his bedroom with an erection and says "You're home early," matter-of-factly. I dismiss it, and he asks about his "personal playgroup" I'd met. "Oh," I said, tears coming to my eyes, "We got together, but nothing really happened," meaning I NEVER got hard and we NEVER had sex.

1/27/91: Dream of having sex with a muscle-bodied JACK BENNY and wake at 5:03 to decide THIS is my jack-off time, and spray the WALL with first of 3-4 LARGE sprays by 5:22.

1/31/91: Had TWO dreams, first at 3:30, when I woke: Rosanne Silverwood is shaking her head, saying, "If you don't sign up for a series of TWO classes, you can't take ANY class." Other parts I forget. Then before 5:25AM, an incredible sequence with me at an Actualism party, being asked by Jackie Kennedy to buy HER ticket. I got eight tickets with two badges, rather like Port Arthur tickets yesterday, and as I pull them out, PARTS go flying over to a FIELD where BIRDS are digging about, and I'm fascinated by CLUMPS of tiny platypus-like moles and green frogs burrowing in and out of soft mud in CLUMPS. I look for awhile and then remember lost ticket and try to look for it but can't find it. Back to Dance and try to PROVE I'd bought tickets, but entrance person like Dorothy Kent says I MUST present stub with NUMBERS for her accurate RECORDS. Then I think "This is probably a dream, as I CAN control it," and DO find tickets. Jackie hurries in late and grabs my arms and says, "You must eat with me, too." As we enter dining hall I'm amazed by how AFFABLE she is, and I think, "She's improved a lot, she's no longer a cold and icy woman." Then she sits in a separate area and I "get lost" somehow and return to find she's LEFT. Go to "ticket desk" and find that everyone's clambering for course tickets: a Hell's Angel group is VERY gentle, contrary to what I would think, and clerk like Sheila Andron says to woman next to me, like Margi Clougher, "Miss Prosit, I have your request right here," and Mrs. Prosit turns to me and smiles pleasantly. I'm amazed at how well things are going.

2/17/91: DREAM at 7AM: I'm waiting for word to leave a stool sample in a tiny dirty room. I've cleaned the edge of the toilet and left lots of stuff to be flushed down, mostly books. When I flush, there's a large rush of water (E-VAC?) and the books "float" to a higher level and I figure it's been designed that way. Then the person AFTER me sort of looks at me impatiently and I stick my head out to see where I shit. The doctors look at my chart and seem to imply that my "disseminated carcinoma" has ALREADY been verified, so there's no reason I NEED to leave a sample. I calmly accept the "fatal" news and wonder how I can live better before I die. Odd but NOT alarming, somehow.

3/5/91: Then I record my dream in the notebook: "Canada Kavikani," and I wonder if she's not Kavafy's daughter? I'm AT Don Maloof's house (is this PRECISE?) and he's almost totally gutted the insides for a redecorating job, which he tends to do every 3-4 months. I look at ONE particular area beside the living room (I seem to KNOW the apartment) and say, "I didn't even know you had a ROOM here; what was it FOR?" And in his characteristic manner, Don smiles and really doesn't answer me. There are LOTS of workmen milling about, many of whom seem to be FAMOUS, but I can't quite identify them. Then he calls everyone to go eat, and he begins to have some of the traits of Jim Henson in that small areas of the room have been given over to miniature scenes (inspired by Merrovale yesterday?) in which tiny puppets are operated from below to have them "living and working" in their little scenes: farmers, mechanics, factory workers, beauticians, etc. I'm concerned that all these OPERATORS (albeit hired) are working below and not EATING. Then, behind a kind of fence or railing, there's a gathering of old women who are either society figures or retired publicists. One old woman is caring for an even OLDER woman (isn't Don's mother very old?) who keeps SWOONING into a heap on the floor. "I think she's only faking it," I say rather snidely to no one in particular, then am embarrassed that she seems to have HEARD me and she glares at me. I look at ALL the absences, ALL the workers, and ALL the space, and I despair of ever catching up with all of it. Someone like the Danish cook (which I realize even in the DREAM had been played by Jim Henson, who's now dead) has been preparing special breakfasts (like Chris at Eaton Hall?) and hands me one, saying, "This is for Canada Kavakani" (is it a coincidence that the last name has the multiple consonant-vowel pairs of all the Maori street and place names I'd been reading on the tour yesterday?), and though I get him to repeat the name TWICE, I still have no good idea who to give it to (and NOW it dawns on me that this is BREAKFAST, which they wake us to HAND OUT) when I wake up, feeling REALLY like I've had a FULL night's sleep (a RECORD for me on a plane?).

END OF DREAMS FROM ANTARCTIC TRIP

3/7/91: 1) IBM job is FINISHED finally, through final coding. 2) Dennis with plans for 309 W 57th, original bedroom is strange, and noise to adjacent apt.

3/11/91: 10AM: 1) Flying high (55) and low (52) over clouded ridges. 2) Cooking crusts WITH and WITHOUT mustard, and how to FIX second MAYBE (?). 3) List of NAMES with A, F, and C in red in the right column, and I MUST phone for TAPE from Alice.

3/14/91: 9AM: 1) I'm going to SING to a group ("La Mer") and have trouble with WHICH sheet music---folded and on two SIDES---and even WHICH of two PIANOS. PRACTICE one seems to know more than "concert" one. AND it's late AND I know I CAN'T make the high notes and it'll be AWFUL. 2) GET long-awaited "movies" and find it's VERY check PAKISTANI film, dated "produced in 1/7/70, and it's over-marked "for use 3.91." I'm FURIOUS---and at 8:58AM I've dressed and UPS bell STILL hasn't run in SEVEN days for the delivery.

3/15/91: 7:15AM: I'm sitting next to Mom in car, waiting for parade to start, cutting off a slice of my cock to eat and sheltering the sight with my hand when she looks over with exasperation! Radio commenting about how trucks with supplies have been lined up on the "West Side Highway," waiting for the Mardi Gras parade to start, having been controlled from the border of Laos, the next country to the east. Wild!

3/17/91: 10AM: I'm towing an island that ROTATES in sections under its cover of BIRDS. We live in CAVES hollowed out of grass and live by being GUIDES to tourists. Tour is supposed to arrive later, when "segment rotates into place," but I manage to get there early and talk to people who are waiting for tour.

3/24/91: 8:15AM: 1) Me and Mom on a tour of a small village and we enter a kitchen where woman has baked "burnt" cakes of thin enamel-like designs that she GIVES to us---I want to EAT one for the BURNT taste. Mom doesn't want me to like them, then a KID protests, but we DO take them anyway. 2) Hal Wallach appears, emptying trash buckets in college, asking "Are YOU still in school?" I say, "I'm graduating NOW, where will I LIVE?" There's a black with a dark blue suit, vest, sweater, and LONG overcoat nearby. 3) Then to COUNTRY to visit MIDGE, a LOVELY long drive down a dirt road, and there's going to be a party when we get there.

3/25/91: 7AM: I'm in a J/O group in an office where someone's going to be filming, but I haven't had a shower in a few days and someone smells my crotch and makes a remark about "pong" balls. I feebly defend myself by saying that the smells turn SOME people ON. Then my partner is Paul McLean and he tries to get me hard, and I play with his nipples and he turns and crushes my cock into his ass-slit. Then John A. has spilled SALAD over the clean bed, with WHITE SQUARES in it, and I say "How do you expect it to dry by the time Mom has to sleep in it tonight?" And he says, "I never thought you'd make the bed and cover it up when it was wet." As I gather up the shreds, I ask "Why are there squares of SHEET in the salad?" He says, "Because it was CLEAN." "Well," I say, somewhat confused, "OK then." And I'm happy that I DO respond to the stimulation and am hard in the dream and when I wake up too.

3/26/91 (all these typed MORE THAN A MONTH later: 4/29/91!): 8:05AM: Pissing sideways onto sofa on which Mom lies, frowns, and places round pillow. I wander into basement of playroom and unlock (cock-headed) door onto purple- yellow parking deck, and look BACK at basement people for Kafka staring, when guy (David Hock-like) brings in ham salad sandwich as radio station plays from playhouse as I jump off stage out of his way, and think "This would be a GREAT place to be and work."

4/4/91: 6AM: I'm in a ROOM that's the back seat of a LIMO, and a swinging driver enters and sits next to me, but our legs and knees touch so sensuously that we lie down and begin to play, and the "real driver" from the FRONT seat (Michael Blackburn?) covers us with a blanket when he thinks we want to sleep. I run my hands around his body as he lies on his stomach, and he's VERY responsive and firm and nicely built. Then I'm OUTSIDE, naked, while two cops guide a tour nearby, but they ignore me, so I don my bathrobe and return to the room to find it's another room than I one I'd expected, and I've lots my way AGAIN and try to find it and wake at 6 to pee.

4/10/91: 4:45AM: I'd just ironed three short-sleeved shirts and put them temporarily in the bathtub, then I inadvertently run WATER into the tub and they're underwater! Pull them out all dripping and puckered and hope that just HANGING them separately to dry will allow them to retain SOME of their ironed smoothness.

4/17/91: 9:25AM 1) Helen gives me a binocular-sized camera, and I take a few photos with it, then try to rewind the film in it, having trouble with finding DIRECTION it's to be rewound, and take out yellow Kodak cartridge and somehow tell Mary Vilaboa to check the CHEMICAL COMPOSITION of it against a table of values, and I realize I don't know if Helen FILLED the film with photos or gave it to me BLANK. 2) Taking a shower in Scandinavia in a closed amusement complex that has BUSSES with showers, and I walk along edge-crumbly STREAM and get to office-area and fat boss says he'll give this pushy American (me) a TOUR for anyone who wants to listen.

4/18/91: 8:30AM: Kevin Costner goes up on his lines in a play that I've a bit part in. David Niven has just said quietly and disturbingly, "My man beat your man by a foot!" and Kevin stalls: "My foot---?" and tries not to laugh, and Niven sits on the edge of a sailboat and folds his arms and waits for an explosion of laughter. In another section, I've sucked someone's cock and start to say "I recomm---" and decide I can't SAY that here.

4/23/91: 6:40AM: Don Maloof's new great BATHROOM: half-door, door, half-door entrance; elaborate decor, floor-john unit with two antique chamber pots in metal and mother of pearl, under a WATERLESS one that seems useless. A "mock-gold rush" throne will dirty toilet paper up a slope. I ask floor-sweepers to shut door and they complain, "There's no room." Workers read paper as I prepare to shit and wake to shit.

4/25/91: 7:50AM: 1) I'm crossing a busy street, and a black panther crosses with me, licking my hand for salt, and I caress her face and she plays and licks, and she asks to come home with me. As we're getting erotic in bed, SHE asks that we undress, and delicately leaves the room. I let her take my unbuttoned shirt off and start caressing her breasts, which seem to grow into soft pillow-like lumps. I don't know if I'll be able to become erect for her, but I'm willing to try. 2) I'm talking on the phone to someone, saying my debts ARE being paid off, but I don't want the garden apartment with the huge kitchen because "The kitchen just ISN'T the room I prefer to use, as HE would," speaking of an older man combination of Stan George and Barbara Lea.

4/28/91: 10AM: I'm staying overnight (whale-watching hotel-thoughts?) in someone's apartment, and look out at terrace over a breakered sea, and go downstairs to join a TOUR of the area that points out our castellated building, five floors countable below us, in a courtyard, while we're standing above it, on the street level, and eight floors above, and we've gotten the top apartment, which is really quite a special place here on the corner of the beach right at the ocean.

5/1/90: 9AM: 1) I'm trying to get from one part of Akron University to another by cutting through a building that I seem to remember I have to pass completely through to get where I'm going, but I'm blocked by a pink-doored elevator that I don't remember, so I figure to go in the same DIRECTION on the next-higher floor, so I take the elevator up and find myself in a Physics lab where I'm confronted with a malfunctioning robot-salesman that a Physics instructor tries to fix by a) washing out the eyeball with pink goo, b) replacing the eyeball by pulling out the old one and putting in a new one, and c) reaming out the mechanism of the old one, which is such a disgusting operation that I turn away to protect my stomach-contents. 2) [I can't read my note]: [I'm watching in a theatre or on television a] Space-opera with TALKING part of giant marvel-builder [probably based on tall character of Jonathan Pryce as the Engineer in "Miss Saigon" which I'd seen three nights before on TV, and I'm glad I got up to record this note at 9:20 because of the marvels I'll be able to recall MORE than I noted on the incredibly complexly-detailed dream TOMORROW!

5/2/91: 9AM: 1) I open Dennis's New Yorker (it seems to be a Christmas issue) to the inside-backcover ad, and there are three ads: one large one for the top half of the page, two smaller ones in the bottom half of the page. All three of them are in color, animated, and all three of them CHANGE into five or six others as I look at them. Each photo shows kids running around a Christmas tree, sledding down a hill, chasing dogs and cats, greeting Santa Claus with cocoa and cookies, office scenes, indoor and outdoor festivities. I'm astounded at this technology and tear the sheet out of the magazine and a ragged edge shows laminations of thin plastic. I bend the page and it seems no thicker or heavier than an ordinary New Yorker cover, but when I separate the plastic laminations there's a lower layer of flowchart-like boxes of various colors that are ripplingly lighted by small liquid-crystal displays in various colors, and I figure that superimposed diffraction patterns take the SAME colored areas and make them into DIFFERENT photographs, and it occurs to me NOW as I type (at 12:30PM) that this sounds like the conversation with Rolf the night before last when he talked of individual access-codes being superimposed on built-in signals from their specific modem-chips for a proper access-signal to coded stock-market information from financial video channels. There are other thin layers of plastic containing the masks for the various photographs, and the lowest layer thickens into an aluminum TRAY filled with a plastic fluid-filled bag with the inscription that the liquid is "derived from perfectly safe egg yolk" that won't harm the environment or the individual if anything happens to impair the integrity of the container. Dennis tries to put it back together, and he puts one layer containing a large yellow-colored condenser in the wrong place, and I grab it away from him and hope to reconstruct it properly. 2) Dennis gives me a greeting card, maybe for my birthday, that turns into a wooden HOUSE whose front can be pulled off, disclosing a series of model rooms that contain various treasures: in the attic is a copious collection of tongue-depressor-shaped wooden objects which can be put together to form various model constructions, in a bedroom is a carton like a toothpick-box with pieces of shattered colored tiles in clays, ceramics, and plastics which can be used as a sample-book to select actual place-settings and wall plaques, and there are tiny stacks of gift-wrapped boxes in other rooms that appear to contain trinkets, charms, toys, carved pieces of wood, working models of various automobiles and trucks and trains, and many other LOVELY gifts that I'm entranced with the idea of opening at my leisure. Really regret waking from this dream, since I'm reminded of that possibly-apocryphal drummer drum lid which I broke to find that it contained tissue-wrapped knickknack figures of dogs, dolls, and toy soldiers.

5/3/91: 7:30: Two WONDERFUL cocks, facing each other, and I'm kneeling between them, squeezing them together and separately, licking them so that they become slick to my touch, pulling them down to harden and lengthen them, while the two bodies above them writhe with pleasure as I wake with an insistent hard-on.

5/5/91: 1) 9:20AM: I'm in a HUGE ship's dining room (from the liner leaving the Harbor as I crossed the Brooklyn Bridge at 5:15 yesterday?), and the white walls begin SWEATING clear water as choppy waves outside make the horizon out the windows dip and rise as we begin to PITCH up and down in a gathering storm. 2) 10:50AM: Tanned attractive woman looking a bit like Rosanne Silverwood keeps rolling around with me on a narrow day-bed as someone like Mom looks on impassively. We nestle into a comfortable 69-position (all this without ANY frisson of sexual excitement, though I'm semi-hard when I wake), then we roll around a bit and I'm lying on top of her, but she's breathing calmly without ANY sign of pressure or suffocation, and then we roll around again and she ends up with her head and hand on my chest, and I feel gentle and protective toward her. She nuzzles me sensuously about the nose and face and forehead as she leaves the apartment, and there's just a gentle PLEASANTNESS about it all.

5/6/91: 8AM: I've been invited to an art exhibit at the "home" of Winthrop Rockefeller, which happens only once every five or six years, and I'm watching some kind of TV report on the lengths that reporters will go to in their quest for the perfect reportage, including one woman from a network who's hired a cleaning woman with an enormous vacuum cleaner to vacuum the enormous rug in the bare room in which her interview will take place. I also see a view of Winthrop himself, in the colonnaded courtyard below where he's walked home from the office, putting down his briefcase and putting on his glasses to peer into a newspaper to check one last stock quotation before going up in his private elevator to meet his interviewers. Then I'm out on an enormous spit of land over tidal waters, as if his apartment stretched out onto a private arm of Long Island Sound, and he's allowed viewers to take paintings out to see them in the sunlight, or that the paintings have been PLACED out there for viewing. I look at three or four, and they all turn into 6' by 8' almost-monochromatic non-representative paintings that could have been done by almost anyone, and I question the waste of the amount of money he's supposedly spent amassing this unique collection. I'm carrying one of the exhibited paintings back to the "base of the point" where somehow the paintings have originated, and it's come out of its frame, which I even eventually lose, while scorning another viewer who's dropped something behind him that I don't even deign to mention to him as he distractedly looks around behind him and at me and still doesn't see that he's dropped an article of his clothing. Then I'm at another part of the beach where he's exhibiting his large-scale ceramic sculpture, and it's as if he's set up a temple grounds on the shore, because I'm wandering over heads of titanic crocodiles, washed by the incoming tides, knowing that the water's cold and hoping I don't get my feet wet as I step gingerly on the thin rock at the edges of the eye sockets of what seem to be ceramic skeletons, and some edges are breaking, or have broken, off, and I worry about what's going to be LEFT of the pieces, unless they were intended to be destroyed as they were looked over. Passing the high-tide areas, I come to rows of ceramic-brick Hindu-style temples which start about three feet high, looking like whimsical outdoor fireplaces with minarets, but they gradually start to gain more striking colors and size as I progress back toward his apartment, and I can only conclude that they're permanently installed here, on his private land, so that people in their own or hired schooners and skiffs can cruise past on the near shoreline and look up at the temples on the crumbly embankment, with only rudimentary paths linking the porticos of each of the temples. Oddly colored dream, too, that I finish recording now at 8:10AM directly on computer before periodontist.

5/8/91: 10AM two-part: 1) RAINING in old apartment, my SHIRTS are out on boxes getting soaked because the roof is leaking, and I think that I've GOT to put things AWAY in chests of drawers whose interiors would be dry against the leaks. 2) Mom is wearing a high-collared tailored muumuu, and she's young in face and has dark hair, and she sits across from me to play cards and talk of Aunt Helen getting her a two-day-per-year SINGING contract with some kind of advertising company for a commercial that will make Mom RICH. I remember being amazed and delighted in the dream, and only wish something like that would happen in real life. I didn't question any of the incongruities IN the dream.

5/11/91: Cocks, maps, power-failure, and museum busses and fallen wires, all at 9:20AM when the hideous tromping upstairs drives me out of bed, though I'd GONE to bed at 11:20PM, so it's TEN hours in bed! 1) I'm standing in line somewhere with a group of military men, all of them incredibly handsome, one with the most extraordinary blue-green eyes under sculpted eyebrows, and one leans against me so that he can cup his hand around my cock, and even though I don't get instantly rock-hard, he seems to like the feel of it and switches positions so that he can get a grip around it as a handle, giving me a lasciviously approving leer as he positions HIS cock in front of MY hand, and it grows and grows (Omni interviewee's virtual-reality lengthening facility?) until my two hands can't possibly feel all of it, and he twists in my grip so that he says "I'm coming!" as he spurts over the body of a man lying on the floor next to us. 2) ANOTHER segment I just recalled: I'm lying in a BED, but the bed is in an inner OFFICE, where workers can stare through two or three doors of intervening rooms to see me under my scanty bedcovers, but I look down with relief to see that I'm in thin full-length pajamas, rather than just in underwear or naked, as I would usually be, and when I'm getting up, I see that it's not even 9AM yet, when the office-work should start, but there are four at desks in the SAME room I've been sleeping in, but they're silhouetted against the sun-lighted row of windows at the foot of my bed, and they've taken care to position their swivel chairs so that they're facing toward or away from each other, thus profile to me, so I can't really think they're concentrating on looking in my direction. I guess I really should be getting out of bed, and I don't even THINK, in the dream, what I'm to do with my bed IN this office. 3) There's brief section where I'm traveling and studying maps of where I'll be going next, and it's mostly Italy and France, and I remember particularly a detailed map of the roads in the Alsace region, with wine-producing towns like Ricquevir and Colmar on a map that looks like a medieval color-drawing or the cover of the book that Joe gave me about the history of the world. 4) Another brief segment has me sitting in a room that's not even lighted, but suddenly all the mechanical noises around me fade into nothingness, and I think to myself "I'm glad I'm not at my computer, because it sounds like there's been a power failure in the building, and I wonder what DOES happen if there's a power failure and I'm working at my computer? Would there be a disk-head crash, or would I just lose the page I've been working on?" 5) I'm with a tour at the Museum of Natural History and I have to get down to 5th and 57th (the HISTORY Museum seems to be situated on 5th where the METROPOLITAN is!), so I walk down a flight of stairs between people (and get annoyed at a kid stretched out full- length on the stairs, and someone ELSE gives him a kick that sends him tumbling down the rest of the stairs, like a cord of wood, to lie inert at the bottom) and get on what looks to be a bus that goes downtown, but then get so engrossed with reading my book that when I next look up I see unfamiliar street-corners and the driver is announcing stops in the Borough of Queens, and I must have taken something like the Q27 bus that goes through the tunnel (and was I so engrossed in reading, I wonder, that I missed our passage through the Queens- Midtown Tunnel?), and now how do I get back to Manhattan for my meeting in about a half hour? Think I might grab a cab, but it's clear that the bus driver is making great time because we have access to the bus lanes, which are clear enabling us to speed along, but the cars are relegated to the single busiest lanes on the street and making hardly any time at all. Then, somehow, we're driving in a car, the driver to my left, and I look up and out the window to see some kind of overhead funicular hits the top of a fifteen-story bus (this is a dream, remember) with a glass-walled side that looks like the skyscraper Joe and I stared at in the sunset as we walked west on some street north of Chambers to get over to Greenwich Street when we were looking for the "Tea and Sympathy" restaurant that ended up on Greenwich Avenue (and what a pity that the STREET, which goes more north-south than the Avenue, doesn't follow the typical street/east-west and avenue/north-south pattern of Manhattan), and bits of broken glass rain down onto the street as we duck, and then two heavy cables that look more like cable-car cables than power wires come thumping down into the street ahead of us, and the driver ducks and tries to stop, because we're running over the wires and enormous quantities of electricity are coursing through the taxi, detectable as a vibrating hum I can feel through the soles of my thankfully rubber-shod shoes. Then we're BACK in the bus pulling into the driver's final terminal in Queens, and I ask him how I can get back to Manhattan, and he says HE could drive me back, somewhat illegally, I get the impression, and I suppose he'll be driving an express bus which he'd be willing to make a special stop for me to get off where I wanted, and I ask "What time are you leaving, since I should be there at 9AM?" and he smiles and says "9PM," but as I open my mouth to protest he waves me to silence, as if he was joking, but then the phone rings with Carolyn to say she's coming on Monday to see the slides at 7:30, so I never know if I got back to Manhattan in time or not.

5/17/91: 9:55AM: Get right to the computer to try to recapture as much of the colorful dream as I can: about five or six of us are eating at an elegant French-Italian restaurant, all having five or six courses, and the waiters seem to be keeping five or six bills, none of which have all the charges for all the courses---this NOW reminds me of trying to keep up with the last Key Food check both THERE and after I get back home, to find they'd overcharged for the popcorn (the original $2.09 rather than the half-price $1.05 special) and NOT charged at all for the tuna which was on special (3 for 59 cents). So at the end the headwaiter is imperiously scribbling on various sheets of paper, trying to come up with a reasonable division of the bill among the five or six of us, depending on what we've actually ordered, and at the VERY end I'm scrabbling through literal PILES of possible-bills trying to find the ORIGINAL list that I'd at least come to terms with, to try to reconcile that with some kind of FINAL bill, and just at the margin of waking there's the fantasy that we were actually the ONLY customers during the latter part of the evening, so that the kitchen could just present us with a complete list of what they prepared through the last part of the evening and we'd figure out how to pay for it all, and NOW it seems that it might be connected with my negotiations with Robert Moy for the whale-watching trip, since he's saying he DOESN'T have to have me pay for my share of the $100/night room, and I'm saying I should, though I don't know how the two of us are going to manage to sleep in a double bed, which is what I have to figure if Dennis comes with me to Garnet Hill, where AGAIN there's only a double bed, and how can they DO it that way?? The cast list at the restaurant is somewhat strange, too, since Bob Teitel seems to be the fellow sitting next to me, trying to resolve the billing problems with his usual over-enunciated skewed-rational asperity, and Shelley Neiderbach seems to be there, too, reflecting her efforts to get me and her Australian friend, Patrick Troy, together, and HE wants to meet ME, and may come to Actualism tonight to see the slides THERE. AND the negotiations with Marck Smith about having dinner, possibly, BEFORE the slides, adds to the complexity of my dream, which took place in vivid color at the end with distinctly red ink on blue-lined yellow legal-colored sheets of paper that the partial bills are written on, somewhat like buck slips with notebook-holes punched at the sides or tops of them so that they could be gathered without having to be spindled to hold them together. And now it's 10:02AM and the rest of the details have GONE!

5/19/91: 1) a) Jill Adams on TV: President Bush had heart attack, will recover, no need to worry. b) Jill Adams (now in Indian sari, looking dark-eyed and sad) "Bad news (gasps from press assembled), he's gone (she sobs and there's an outcry from the press conference)." 2) a) Someone (LIKE Rosanne Silverwood) is raising SMALL child to "take footwork as part of growing up" and "handling insects with love." b) Dennis is revising his novel, and as I read his rewrite of Chapter 3 I KNOW how he must redo Chapter 4. He agrees, but then I insist "Tell me how ("I know you know") how you WILL revise it, and we sit down with papers to do so.

5/20/91: 7:25AM: 1) Crossing off my do-list page ranges as if I were doing an index, which helps with preparing for my leaving on some kind of trip. Somehow I'm debarring lawyers for malpractice in doing this. 2) 8AM: I go to a BROOKLYN baths---there are WOMEN (like old cleaning ladies from the midnight subways) sitting on one side of the sauna in the light, but the guys are groping on the other side of the sauna in the dark, mostly old fat hairy bodies with stubby cocks, but the crowd parts for an oil-slicked muscle builder to flex for everyone's enjoyment, and I press close to him and wake with a pleasant erection that I probably jerk off.

5/21/91: 8AM: I'm touring a strange city like Hong Kong and realize I left my new SUIT (or at least my pants) at a stop somewhere along our tour's itinerary. I fear it'll happen again somewhere and get anxious about checking for things that I have with me in the future of this trip, wondering how I can put everything I need into one bag so that, if I have THAT, I have everything! Wake with a sore throat AGAIN---Rolf said the air in my apartment was DUSTY and stuffy. I focus on my new BLANKET, thinking it might be some synthetic dye from some foreign country that I'm allergic to, but I check the label to see that it's 100% cotton and made in the USE. I recall the doctor's asking me on Thursday "Have you any allergies?" and wonder if I should phone Pope to ask for my ionizers back---but then when I FINALLY put the stuff back in the closet, on Thursday, from putting in the air conditioner (which I also wonder might contribute to the junk in the air, but I only had it ON for a half-hour on Friday itself!), I FIND the larger of the two that I thought I'd given Pope, so I put it on, and am amused to hear it "clicking" as if it were absorbing particularly harmful bits of ionization in the air. Also fantasize inviting Maya over to check out the air quality in my apartment and see what ELSE I might be caused difficulties by. But I haven't done anything about it by this morning, when I wake SOMEWHAT dry throated, but without the cough I've had for about the past week. Maybe it WAS just a cold that I've now recovered from?

5/23/91: 7:45AM: 1) Obviously based on my anxiety yesterday about my Macmillan bill for the Mountbatten index and the possibility that they never use me again because I'm too expensive and I can't AFFORD to lose them: I'm supposed to move to a different desk at IBM, and someone in authority (obviously based on "the power" as Tony Davis described Michael Becom at Macmillan) is trying to convince me that I should accept a desk (with Mozelle and Cathy O'Sullivan: all three of us are obviously VERY experienced, well-paid programmers who have been kept on by IBM out of a sense of loyalty, but now our productivity compared with our salary is now being called into question---are we WORTH the high salaries that our many years have entitled us to?) in the lobby of the office building in which we're working. We GO to the lobby and I indicate that all the revolving doors on the corner entrance are now being used, so it would be very noisy and windy and cold if we worked there, and when he questioned how we could have been there when we STARTED, I point out that the building had just been finished, there were fewer workers coming through the doors, and the one door on the south side wasn't even being used so we could put up a small partition to protect us---not to mention that we occupied it only during the first summer, never in the blustery autumn and coming cold winter. Then (as in my conversation with David Frost, verifying that Michael Becom DID have the power to say whether I worked again or not) we're standing in a small hallway where a number of people are sitting in close-quarters chairs, and I'm trying to find out what authority this fellow HAS for office assignment, and I ask him "Who's your BOSS?" and he doesn't know. So I ask whose DEPARTMENT he works for: is it for the fellow who sits in the large office on the second floor where a supervisor---Fred Blecker, now the name comes to me---of the IBM computers sat, since the office was ONLY for the person in the higher position ---always sits? No, that office has been subdivided and is no longer the seat of authority. "Well, do you work for the person who took Ted Kallner's place?" since Ted was over BOTH programming and operations. "Well, go into the guy's office and ask to see a table of organization." But when I go into his office, I see that it's on the second floor with the windows thrown open to the terrible traffic noise outside, and without air conditioning it's hot and humid and very uncomfortable, and I'm preparing my argument that, even though HE may have through some inner work come to a level of concentration where the noise and heat don't bother HIM, we as programmers MUST be able to concentrate on what we're doing so that the noise and heat (and this is probably based on my current problems with Ms. Robertson, the $5/month billing for my air conditioner, and the fact that I put it in on Friday and haven't used it since) WOULD affect our productivity and thereby our merit of our higher salaries, REGARDLESS of the fact that he may be earning MORE than we are and ACCEPTING inferior office quarters. There's another, unspoken, bargaining point: there are particular patterns used for ashtrays/coasters/napkins (whatever the small rectangular-with-rounded-corner objects in my dream could be called) and I must be careful never to use the SAME pattern as HE'S using, or it will admit my willingness to accept whatever he says, and I have to be PARTICULARLY careful when he casually offers me a cigarette/candy/memento, because if I inadvertently accept it when he's sneaked out an identical pattern, I would be finessed into accepting his judgment on my office-space. 2) Somehow connected with the above (at least in the midtown-Manhattan location of the dream, since the IBM office is nearest to my old SBC office on 59th and Madison, and this one seems centered around Tiffany's and Trump Tower on 57th and Fifth), I'm walking with Andre toward a VERY elegant shoe-store that I know is just west of 57th and Fifth, but I'm crawling on my hands and knees and a friend of his, a small fellow with a round face who reminds me of Edgardo, yet without Edgardo's humor and wit and intelligence, creeps up behind me and unties my shoelaces as a joke. I'm VERY exasperated with him, so to indicate how inconvenient his practical jokes are, I turn to talk to him and pull apart the opening on his very expensive yellow cashmere sweater (clearly related to the yellow cashmere that Madge Mao gave me so many years ago, that I remember leaving behind at some meeting in NYC) coming dangerously close to ripping the fabric or tearing off the small white buttons that hold it closed, pulling it out of his pants and being peripherally amazed at how LONG the sweater is. He doesn't seem to get the idea, just morosely begins rebuttoning it. In retying my shoelaces, I somehow have to replace my stockings, and get out over-the-knee white net leotard-like stockings (clearly based on my glancing through the Fredericks of Hollywood mailer yesterday), pull them over my shapely (though black-hairy) legs, and wonder what the reaction of the clerk at the expensive store will be, but I console myself that they DON'T have holes in the toes, though I peripherally wonder why whoever HAD them threw them out so that I could pick them up---maybe they're just out of fashion. I've triumphed by picking up my coat, which I'd folded and put on a bus door-hinge, just before the bus pulls away from the curb, but as I walk through Tiffany's to rejoin Andre at the shoe store, I GROAN ALOUD with my desire for a good $800 pair of shoes, as if my EXPRESSION ALOUD of that desire would, est-like, ENTITLE me to buying expensive!

5/24/91: 8:15AM: Have a vision that I describe as "melting-sliding frame-house art-pieces made from various media in different sizes." These are in frames, and I've clearly found a new art-form: either with thick impasto lines of paint or with small slightly wavy structural elements like pasta or slivers of wood or slats of plastic, I've taken what might be a line-drawing of a frame house and started at the top with orthogonal lines as if the structure were solid, then repeated the same lines a fraction of an inch below, as if the house were sliding down a hill, slightly deforming as it melts, and then repeating the lines with progressive distances between them, as if the deformation rate were increasing, until the house is about half its height and 50% greater in width at the bottom of the painting. The first vision was of yellow lines with remains of red highlights within the yellow indicating windows and doors, and I in the dream feel that I've found a truly revolutionary way to depict nature in artworks that will sell and become a widespread fad. Vaguely out of the dream, I think of making a sample, but it's rather like the dyed-pasta skylines that I tried before: my sample will never match the glowing originality of the archetypes I visualized in my dream, and as time passes the image will fadeout.

5/25/91: 7:30: 1) Sitting in BASEMENT Actualism room and Art-Khanlian-type starts CLASS, telling girl-who-looks-like-Chrystal to "go" to Africa as a kind of "quadrant" for the class (he'll tell three others to go to three other varied locations) for a different point of view, and I realize that, as it's 4:50PM, his class started at 4:30 and is now beginning late, rather than being a 5PM class, as I'd thought, starting early. So I gather up my stuff from under my chair, and there's more and more of it to be collected, to my embarrassment, and walk out, not bothering to say that I wasn't here for his class but only in preparation for my class upstairs at 5. Up to find a children's FRENCH class BEHIND us in the same room and I wonder how to MOUTH the words "ruby red" to MY class without giving any "secrets" away to the obviously curiously-listening children, and then someone ELSE starts the class. Then I CAN'T recall even having MET a tall older-graying advanced student who says his name is Bill MOYER (obviously my reference to the cute Dan-Pfeffer's- brother-type who insisted he met ME long ago at a failed meeting on President Street), and I figure I can at least teach part of the class-material on MY losing my MEMORY and feeling OK about it. 2) Outside, through enormous floor- to-ceiling windows opening onto a white-brick-fenced lawn-and-garden, someone says it was AWFUL: BEAR bit off head of MOUSE (based clearly on my skim through last night's "Something Is Out There"). 3) I get into VACATED still-not-made- up hotel-room at 10:20, covers tumbled on the bed at which I glance to make sure the previous tenant isn't still there, and try turning a sliver-like key again and again in a slot, like turning a plug to make a lamp light, and finally get the light to go on, and I'm pleased that I have enough time to do whatever it was I came in here to do (another double meaning: that I have enough time in my LIFE to do what I was "incarnated in this life" to do). As I then noted: "FRAUGHT with MEANING." 4) Describe to SOMEONE (like an editor or agent, not a friend) how GREAT a story was that I read because it SET UP a reality and then went BEYOND it SO convincingly that I felt CERTAIN I was about to be shown a TOTALLY NOVEL, yet MEANINGFUL, alternate reality---like my DREAMS?5) ANOTHER set of horrors being somehow "converted" or "consumed" by a) BURNING different bear-ant atrocities in a furnace (AGAIN like that prison-room in the movie last night)(and of course the "monster" was most like an ANT in the film) or b) burning BOOKS in which the awfulness is described, before it can actually HAPPEN or before the ugliness WAS TO HAVE BEEN carried out. And double messages abound: consumed = eaten/burned/Actualism-consumed. Carried out = accomplished (as in "talented"?) or toted away. 6) and ALL THROUGH the above, somehow, stemming from self-revolutionary thoughts last night about volunteering at 13th Street Gay Center a) to meet cute guys as I did on Thursday at Dan's memorial: the brother-like cutie, the aloof sculpted beauty of "Joseph," and the thin intensity of the aide to my right who barely spoke, b) to substitute for possibly-dying indexing as a source of future income, c) as a new area to go into and grow through and advance in now that the "end" of my Actualism activities has been patent for the last few years, though I've been reluctant to admit it (see below), and d) with the feeling of an est-like "anything can happen if you want it to," and "you could enter into a completely NEW life, with new friends, a new circle of activities to grow into, and new excitement of discovery." 7) and then I note: BC/VW/BL/MV/ECB---"bizarre Actualism-RELEASE going on?" as way of FACILITATING Actualism release---again double meaning: ACTUALISM'S RELEASE from financial difficulties, and MY RELEASE from my commitment to Actualism. And I note that this may ALL (the above) have come about because of MY release from "getting through my trip" by getting to the END of 1) indexes, 2) VCR tapes, 3) slide-showings, 4) article-writing, 5) journal-transcription in the near future, and freeing my mind to think of OTHER activities when that's all OVER, as I've begun to think that NEXT I've just GOT to re-maintain my VCR library and re-do my video-index and label the now-blank tapes that I keep track of with slips IN them (which actually might work BETTER than the past to-see list---like my advance in easing movie-list updating??

5/26/91: 8AM: Thanks to Delores and Michael's letter and trip fragments: 1) We should board either bus 8 or bus 9, but #8 is jammed, so I climb into the first row of #9 with Paul McLean. 2) We're looking at the selections at a lunch buffet, and there's little fruit left, so I pull off a decorative "loaf" of unsegmented grapefruit slices and wrestle off some of the cut segments onto my plate, which has only a few forlorn bits of cut peaches on it. The menu is confusing because there are extra charges for wines either by the glass or by the bottle. 3) We try to choose among Island A for two days, Island B which is available only in the spring, and Island C available later in the year. 4) I'm standing in the back of a large California library during an EARTHQUAKE: the shelves are shaking and the walls and ceiling are being slightly deformed as occupants and users of the library rock back and forth and emit louder or softer "OOOhs" as the tremors increase or decrease, but there's no real feeling of DANGER in any of this: rather like looking on at a well-done movie and being impressed with the special effects without being endangered by them.

5/27/91: 9:30AM: !) I'm in a huge auditorium where a female president is reading off the names of female generals who are to be decorated for their valor in battle. 2) Afterwards, there's a party in which everyone is dressed in white against a black background, but then those who demand peace, or ecological benefits, begin to wear green ribbons, which changes the character of the photographs taken of the assembly, some of the groups in the background having changed to TOTAL green-ribboned color.

5/28/91: 8:25AM: Mom and I are book-shopping in a store that's full of sales items, and I was SURE a two-volume Oxford History of Painting on Cloth/Paper, once $45, was $15 for BOTH, but clerks insist it's $15/volume. I try to find what I thought was a sales-poster below the shelf of more normal-sized books, but it's not there. Mom asks, "WHEN are we going to leave," and I say "I don't know," and then realize she's tired and wants to eat, so we leave. At the end, I think I should have TRIED giving $15 for both at the cashier and hope that the clerk would be stupid enough to let it pass for the lower price.

5/29/91: 9AM: 1) I'm leafing through a magazine and see a photo of the tiny lakeside village of Rudesheim, and I want to say to someone: "This is what's wonderful about having traveled to so many places: I can say I've been here, because it's right on the lake I took a tour around from Geneva, or Lugano, or Zurich, and it's right next to Hildesheim, where there's----" etc. 2) A group of us has to get back to the hotel after visiting some house, and when everyone leaves it turns out there's a LONG line (3-4 guys) before a john into which Pope has just gone, but then I hear the click of a latch on the other side of the hallway and someone leaves and someone else enters and it occurs to me that this place is so large (like Phyllis's apartment yesterday?) that it has TWO bathrooms, and now I'm next at one of them, so I'll be out in time for lunch.

6/4/91: 1) Divination by (WHAT is the word I noted: reds? rods? rays? ears? REMs? 2) Taste grapes. 3) Boat-tour of play---with banners and buildings, is it the opera Aida? Guy out of river, creche for Christians on treetop I sit under. (How I WISH I'd transcribed this 3 days ago!) 4) Rooms of tour participants in which I see itineraries and maps which includes one of THRACE, marking the ancient site of Amalik and the coastal city of Edfu. EB reveals that Thrace lay between old Macedonia and the Black Sea and included EDIRNE (old Hadrianopolis) and Byzantium. AMALEK founded AMELEKITES, tribe living south of Judah and into northern Arabia. EDFU is town on west side of Nile near Aswan. None of which agrees: "north coast" would be north of Istanbul.

6/5/91: 10:35AM: I'm oversleeping at Spartacus's and up to find TWO people moving around, and he's out shopping for his next trip, packages on table labeled "Take Friday" in blue and "Take Saturday" in red stripes. I spit into toilet-bowl water that's filled with various floating junk. 6/4-5 recorded 6/7.

6/7/91: 8:25: 1) I'm telling TWO people in large group (and ONE man in particular---do people CHOOSE to visit my dreams?) about Antarctica: a) how NO one had their tents blown away by the heavy winds the tour-group encountered, b) how I threw away EVERYTHING I collected and STILL returned with a suitcase full of papers and rocks, c) about food and rocks and slides and sights. 2) THEN I lectured on Shakespeare, how he worked on as many as SEVEN plays AT ONE TIME---DID he???

6/15/91: 10:15AM: "We serve Mankind (to Mankind)" is the final image of a series of horrific tableaux of a dream that appeared to be a tour through the India-in-America that the world had become through overpopulation and religion. At the start there was an enormous worship into which I was ushered, held in an auditorium that slowly, through usage, had been converted into a temple. Looking back, I saw that the balcony, high overhead, supported a snowy marble statue of what appeared to be a Herculean figure writhing in conflict with a snake and a bull and a bear, and I could hardly wait to elevate my position to see the titanic genitals that undoubtedly blessed this hero. Other images mixed: a woman like a young and pretty Janet Seaver throwing herself on me, saying, "You remember me?" and I looked at her nametag and said "Mitchum, of course I remember you," and then wondered if she'd had another name and taken this to show her immersion in this religion. We found ourselves in the back of a strange sofa-like tramcar, she laying on my side, me grasping a thick stanchion for support as we swung around curves on the way past eight-story apartment houses like living ghats on the river of the connecting highways, and we "flew" over the lower levels of one, seeing row and rank of enameled pots and plates, and she said, "Oh, not another market." We landed at a higher level, where the sale-items were smaller and more precious: tiny jewel boxes that held images of their Krishna-like deity, and she beckoned me into a luxuriously appointed room where gems were sold. Then we passed by the food areas, where "Kapoors" were sold, huge glistening-red pizzas of massed foodstuffs which were being shoveled from a vat so enormous it took naked slaves with paddles, red with foodstuff, to stir the foods. I'd gotten a handful as a sample, but I found it had the strangest major component: little hard pieces that, as I sorted them out with my tongue in my mouth, had the curved shapes of fingernail parings, and I feared that they'd handled the excess population by killing and cooking them and serving them to their adherents, and I concluded with the signpost "We serve Mankind," and then, so as not to imply deceit, I added smugly below, in parentheses, "to Mankind." There was a previous fragment of wandering through a building looking for my bedroom, since I was wearing only an undershirt and shorts and carrying the rest of my clothes, but somehow I was ushered into an office where I was received with hidden smiles, and then I thought I'd found my doorway to the backstairs but found the FRONTSTAIRS, in amber marble with gold trim and saffron panelings, and from there I was ushered into the auditorium that I'd described before, where two worshipful hands were clasped in the pew in front of me, and from the angles of the forearms I though the man in my row was holding the hand of his wife in the row in front of me, but when I looked more closely, the row in front of me was empty and the man next to me was somehow holding his own hand, and only now do I recall the half-male half-female Hindu deity Para-paramahista, or whoever. There was another segment after which I'd awakened at about 7:30AM to pee, which I should have written down: gone now.

6/16/91: 9:45: I'm in charge of five steps of military/air-force fighter-plane assembly in a huge airport area---"If I set it up right," I say to my assistant, "I'll be SIMPLE for you to disassemble it."

6/17/91: 10AM: I'm waiting to see someone, like the superintendent of my apartment building where I live on the top floor, and decide to take the new elevator up to his office, with some other people I assume are going there too, but I'm surprised when the elevator reaches a certain height and then begins to go along LATERAL tracks, outside, across the tops of some like-sized buildings, and then I figure, "Of course, this is connecting the house where I entered with the SECOND house the owner has about five doors away," and I sit back in the elevator and enjoy the company of the people with me for the short time the ride will continue. Then Dennis phoned and I went through what's on NOTEBOOK 589.

6/19/91: 6AM: 1) Clay cocks supported by, probed by, lamented over dead by, carved by, buried by, exalted by---tiny plastic soldiers I have on top of closet. 2) Keep coming back to father-son relationship: son must INCORPORATE SPIRIT of dead father---as I must incorporate mine as I come to RESEMBLE him. Son and father and drama? Son confronts father as CHILD and young man and at HIS age. Father AS dead and AS ULTIMATE (as CAUSE) bringer of INDIVIDUAL death to son---through CONCEIVING him.

6/22/91: 9AM: White CAT, frantic but silent, trying vainly to untangle chain from neck with paws, on banister at 1221 Dietz, with brain-wet SKULL-plate on ill-fitting spindle, and agonized dark eyes in skinny face, and I untangle and gingerly remove and replace skull-top. UGH!!

6/23/91: 8AM: 1) Mashing huge, scratched, soft-lens-size HARD contact lens and STRETCHING my face to put it on, feeling it VERY dry. 2) Changing in bathroom, and I need to put jeans BACK on because I knew, as I confessed to old 23rd St IBM roommate, that I forgot to bring pajamas.

6/24/91: 9:30AM: 1) I'm due to fly halfway round the world in just two days and I haven't started my preparations for the trip nor my WORRYING about the trip, either. 2) Another fragment, but I forget it.

6/30/91: 10AM: 1) I'm at a consciousness-raising seminar and a woman LIKE Joy Vogelgesang is VERY lightly elbowing across my shoulders---and SHE says she's being HEAVY on my shoulders, leaving me to imply I'm NUMB. Then she oils my feet and suggests I hold in mind my feelings of being "at the connection" where I felt so LONELY. I begin sobbing HEAVILY and wake feeling sad about my shyness and loneliness---like at Homogeniuses last night.

7/1/91: 9:15AM: I'm traveling in some Arabic country and a) a car is trying to turn a trafficked corner and the driver (a tourist, oddly) and his wife judge they're too close to the car on our right, so we back up and let the car go through the intersection so that we have room to go through without scratching the sides of our car, and b) we drive to the base of a hill where the road ends in a rocky footpath leading to a tunnel, and we sit in a waiting room and I peer ahead through the window to a "moving hallway" with doorways to the right and left (like crypts at Green-Wood Cemetery), and then the window "pearlesces over" in electrical/polarized obscurity and we suddenly pull out as if we were in a TRAIN car---backward-facing passengers pushing against the seats in front of them to stay seated, and we're going on a ROAD that somehow crosses the hill we needed to pass through. And c) then something to do with Paul McLean---- "It's more probable you'll FLY from Arabia to NYC during your 3-day VACATION tour with dull periods between days, rather than TRAIN to NYC from Washington when you're now LIVING there.

7/2/91: 9:30 1) I'm going along a BEACH-path to someone's house, and pass a huge parked bus with loads of ice under its fenders and tire-flaps, which I kick to dislodge the ice so I can PASS in front of the bus to get to the house. 2) IN a house, seemingly Mom's, but not 1221 Dietz, I go into the bathroom to pee and find the toilet very SMALL and FULL of water, but it leaks into an adjacent GARBAGE hole, and I look down into bags of trash and garbage and wonder about the appearance of the mess, and the smells from the garbage, but accept it as being the way it is, wondering what GUESTS will think. And, by prevision, the plumber called at 2PM and by 3PM had replaced my toilet insides!

7/3/91: 10AM: 1) I'm playing with Frank Mungo, grabbing his cock and body so that he stretches and twists with pleasure. 2) I'm watching a sexy middle-aged guy try to sell a piano, thudding with thumbs something like Tchaikovsky's Piano Concerto #4: "DUM, dum-dum DUM, DA, da-da DA, da-dum, da-dum, DA-DUM. His uncut erect cock, wetting from the tip, is RIGHT AT the keys! Drives me WILD.

7/4/91: 3:40AM: Dream-Documentaries! 1) Woman is concerned about her daughter's eyes in a VERY backward country (Russia?) where all the children develop eye abnormalities. She writes to her husband---long letters that she writes simultaneously, so that when a post-office person signals to her (since writing is illegal) that her husband has RECEIVED one, she's not even sure WHAT he knows and what he doesn't. THIS is "comic-book style" so woman's white hair is ONLY visible, giving possibility that HER eyes have been destroyed---will the style work? 2) A treasured ballet-student is leaving his adoring, white-haired teacher, and as they sit in a final interview, holding hands before a bleachers-full of reporters, including me, the teacher will mime a) his love and respect for the talents and bravery of his protege, and b) his protege's sleek miming skills by DOING them and then having his PUPIL mime them is precise beauty, so that all wonder if the student can literally "mime-read" the WORDS that the teacher's fingers are writing in his letter of recommendation, possibly even reading words of homosexual indiscretions. 3) 5:45: Rolf and I are chatting in his bed. I lay my head on his chest and am pleased he accepts it. Then curl up next to him. He reaches for my belly and cock and we start playing toward sex, starting to kiss reverently. Then he asks "How does your life-system work?" "You mean, why am I usually happy?" "Yes," "I work AT it, and it WORKS." He seems OK with that, then draws away and his face is AWFULLY BRUISED---someone KICKED him! He'd had makeup on; he now tells me the story of it. 4) 7:20AM: Sailing for ENGLAND on foggy morning, but MOUNTAIN is icily visible from cove across DARK waters. Walk out into WAVES and sail comes. I wonder where to change MONEY for coins to phone for Helen to pick me up. Then I'm there, and Helen is SLENDER in black-silk dress, and she asks me not to TOUCH her hips after her new diet. They're all going to church and I don't care to go with them. Looking forward to sightseeing in London.

7/5/91: 9:50AM: I've admitted I've done something wrong to cover for someone who DID do it, who would be PUNISHED for it, but I would be excused.

7/7/91: 6:30AM 1) I'm talking to Pope on the phone, and want to GET something, so I LEAVE him talking and go get it, wondering WHAT I'll say to him---NOT intending to tell the truth that I just walked away from his talking---and pick up phone to hear him gasping, whispering "Stroke" and he's helpless on floor, and I shout "What's your doctor's name?" and he whispers threadily "Walker," and I have no idea how to get him or who to call for help. 10:30AM 2) WITH a toothache, I dream I'm in a dentist's chair for a MINOR filling, and suffer GREAT pain and even faint, waking to TRY to spit into sink and dribble blood down the side and say VERY faintly, "I'm sorry," and nurse wipes it up. When I'm finished, I feel with my tongue that LEFT wisdom tooth HAD been drilled away and ask, "Are you FINISHED drilling?" Doctor says, "Yes, there's a temporary coat of Bufagen on it," and I feel lumps that interfere with my BITE, but really DON'T want to tell him and have him do ANYTHING like planing to it!

7/9/91: 9:50 1) I'm in a section of town where old shacks and cottages on a hillside are being improved DOWNWARD by digging BENEATH the head-high temporary constructions, shoring them up, and hollowing out a LARGER ground-floor beneath the shacks, which now become a smaller second floor. (Remember now that I'd read Dennis's article in New Yorker about "Teepee Hill" that day.) I climb up steep rocks and find an old AFRICAN-type village with a parade of people going on, shops, and people gathering around an interesting tourist, me, and I wonder how this section of town has managed to remain so OBSCURE: there aren't even rectangular grids of streets, only paths through park-like terrain, and I wonder where all this could be hidden on a map: maybe in Van Cortland Park that we passed last week. 2) Come upstairs at 167 Hicks and my door has rugs and brooms around it, propping (blocking) it open. Into doorway and see that the shades have been torn down, all the sheets and pillowcases and furniture covers have been stripped as if they're being changed or cleaned, and I wonder WHAT John A. is now doing to OUR apartment? 3) On MY bed is a beautiful Italian actress, posing for a motion-picture camera between her spread knees, crotch covered by a SHEER black silk strip (am I thinking of Tony's panties?) which really doesn't obscure her slits above and below, and she casually poses her fingers beside one plump mons AS IF to cover it, but being ASIDE the hillock only draws attention to its plump roundness and the photographer is delighted.

7/10/91: 8:55AM 1) UP and elegant residential-street hill with (again!) Jackie Kennedy, to eat in a restaurant (like with Sherryl tomorrow?) and AFTER we're coming down, she puts her hand, not in my ARM but between my LEGS, wriggling her fingers comfortably and "making sure I know they're THERE." Down this steep hill through tight FLAPS in the tunnel that the street's become, two from the sides and sometimes one from the top we have to push aside, and at bottom we're walking with sun low at out backs, lighting EXTRAORDINARY textures in symmetric smoke/clouds from below, as if flowing through alpine valleys, bottom of v-shape RIGHT overhead, brain-convolution lit in coiling magnificence, blue-white to pink as we walk toward greater glory ahead of us, where the clouds extrude from the tube of the valley, rippling in fantastic undulations.

7/11/91: 9:15AM: 1) I'm shopping in Macys/Bloomingdales and get in elevator at 5th floor and told to get off at 3rd, then at 3rd told to go to 1st, but, distracted, I MISS 1st and door opens on vacant concrete-block-wall corridor in basement where a worker on the elevator wanted to go, and I wait for it to go back up to 1. 2) Also SOMETHING About kids offering me money to write computer subprograms (like indexing: well-paid).

7/12/91: 10AM 1) Riding in a car with sexy Frenchman who rubs MY cock and I wake deliciously hard. 2) In a French restaurant/repair shop (3 story) and a) tour group photographs famous writing room as I sit IN it reading a book SHOWING a photo of the room with its ebonite knickknacks that I'm IN. b) tour the shop where "some famous apartment houses wait 22 years to have their window -frames redone" (like new frames on "Trump Plaza" Hotel yesterday?) c) I walk onto wooden benches, see a new tunnel DOWN one flight as a secretary looks on, and I jump from a narrow plank to a widen plank, tumbling both down, and a kid helps me put the top of one of the platforms back on "with tabs" to hold the top-boards in place as a lid around the box which is the base.

7/13/91: 8:55AM 1) I'm leaving my army-training camp tomorrow, and not even concerned about a FLIGHT twelve hours away---GREAT! But I get into my old barracks for my luggage and it's not there, then see by a road out the window that I'm in the wrong village---just hope ALL my stuff can fit into TWO big suitcases, one for each arm. 2) Something about a PERFORMANCE, or PROGRAM to attend? 10:30AM 3) I've invited 3-4 people over for cards or games or slides, but wake to find the small red oriental rug under my bedroom (at 1221 Dietz) air conditioner WET. Put it on the sink to dry, and into kitchen to find wall- SWITCH in a frame that slides down the wall, turning it OFF, and there's WATER flowing across the floor to roll down 1221's cellar stairs. A guy tries to help, and Joe EASTER has asthma attack and takes a pill that makes him tight and HIGH, and I'm tearing wallboard away that covers the sink pipes. Since it's Saturday I know "Peterson" isn't at BPC Management, but look for his phone number ANYWAY, carrying around SHOULDER bag that my phone/address book isn't in! Pass lovely red-flowered blue-leafed twin branches in pink-watered milk- bottle-vase on the living-room floor and I admire their delicate beauty. Other guests dither around NOT helping me with my leak. Odd feeling to the dream.

7/14/91: 10AM 1) A baby is born, cries as it comes through the birth channel, and I think "Good, it's healthy," but as it flops completely onto the table, the top of its head seems stumpy and slightly pointed, and it has funny gill- like folds around its neck, and the nurse gasps and runs off with it to destroy it. 2) I'm leaving a crowded lecture, wait for an elevator that takes only TWO people, and so I go down a flight of stairs to a large central atrium for the escalator from the second to first floor, and its got an UNCOVERED handrail, with the turning mechanism so visible that I figure it must be dangerous to get tangled into, and a FAST descent with DIPS, like an amusement-park slide, and a final LIFT over a fence that sends me SOARING gently into the air. I try it again for the fun of it, and the operator SLOWS it down for me, and moves the mattress at the foot of it over, and she laughs as I shake her hand and say I'd done it fast-speed FIRST. Also THINK of changing end of "King Lear" to something more upbeat, THEN think, "No, have someone PRESENT it once, RECORD it, and play RECORDING for those who CHOOSE to stay and hear ONE possible ALTERNATIVE MODERNIZED version after 400 years of its history as it is written.

7/15/91: 7:50 1) Some woman DEMANDS to tongue-kiss me, so I let her do it, responding as idly as I can, methodically, getting no kick out of it. There was another dream later, but forgot it as I was recording the first one, and then dozed until 10AM and none of the memory returned to me, so I'll just finish this day off with the last line on the page.

7/16/91 (only found 8/3/91): 8AM: I'm at Bill's in Maine, playing one of his opera-music tapes for a guest, and HE comes on. I say, "If Bill says I can let you hear this, you're in for a treat." Then Arno and Bill are on either side of me as I caress the lengths of their bodies, and EACH curls a leg around my chest, and I say "ONE person couldn't do this!" They're both in smooth-starched khakis, and I get wonderfully hard with the slow sensuousness of it all.

7/17/91: 8:40: Eating TASTY combo of cake and ice cream (finishing a dessert I missed at Tout Va Bien?), then trying to take sauce from neighbor's dessert and MY glass has a LEAK that sprays what I get back into HIS plate. Try 2-3 times and it's a BIG mess, and one LAST time will EMPTY the rest of his and leave MINE almost FIZZLESS.

7/18/91: 8:35: I'm at a travel agent's meeting with Spartacus, and guy in back is introduced as "Medvedenkozolnerzak." I ask for a card and read the CYRILLIC letters that say approximately that, and everyone has to leave the room into a huge "middle back-garden area of the block" area with trees and a stream and an elevated CABIN with "Travel Agent" on a sign on it. It's locked, but there's a small meeting in the basement still going on at 1AM and I get in and try to talk with the busy boss. Then it closes completely and I must leave without getting the information I need to start my job as a travel agent.

7/19/91: 7:35: I'm showering in the gym, looking at a boy in the next metal-sided shower stall, and a dark-skinned guy comes into MY stall, then slips UNDER the partition to offer his ass to the guy next door kneeling on the floor with a lovely erection he's teasing into full bloom. I'm watching when a GIRL, dressed, appears in my line of view, making fun of my peeping over. I try to ignore her but she forces her opinions on me, joined by one, then two, then three friends. I pretend to be "one of them" and fascinated by their talk, much to their disgusted amusement. But finally I dress and leave, having NOT given them the satisfaction of "proving" I was a "pervert."

7/20/91: 8:35: Barbara Lea, Maureen Duffy, Wyndy Rentschler and I are on a CAMPING trip (and I just FINISHED a letter to Michael and Delores about CAMPING on Alcedo Volcano!), staying overnight in a motel, me with an older guy who's sitting on a sofa that I'm trapped behind, smoking a cigar and talking with two or three other older men who seem to be guests at the same motel. I've got some crazy idea that I have to get to borrow Barbara Lea's key to her current room 3 so that I can get into my room 4 for tomorrow to open the closet to see how my jacket with hang without getting its sleeve caught up in the locking mechanism. Disconnected dream, but detailed in its pink sofa, narrow motel hallways, and my determination to get the key to "presolve" any problems when I move into another room tomorrow night.

7/21/91: 8:30: I'm attending, somewhat against my will, a consciousness- expansion seminar like est, and SOME leaders expect me to do what THEY want, but I respond, "I do what I do when I do it," and they're FORCED to LOVE it. Then I get sexually involved with a big-boned guy, teasing and caressing and kissing, then play with a SMALLER DOLL of his body, stimulating it. But he's not easy to get to cum. Then they'd flown through Singapore about the same time last year I'D gone through it (like "Miss Saigon" last week?), then into another room I must pack to leave the next morning, so I decide to REPACK rather than UNPACK before going to sleep on my LAST night of my vacation.

7/22/91: 9AM: I'm following a CUTE blond wearing soft white form-fitting shorts (like Axl Rose in "Guns and Roses" last night), and he's embarrassed to be excited by someone, and I take courage to reach out to grab his cock, and in my dream I FEEL his warm fleshy cylinder in my right hand, and then slip it under his thigh-line short-bottom and pull the foreskin back from the bulbous white cock-head. Lovely TACTILITY in the dream!

7/23/91: 9:20: A guy a LEAST a foot taller than me "returns" to my place and hugs me from the back and looks forward to sex with me. He seems to KNOW about my taste so well I feel comfortable with him. Feel his hardening cock through his black silk suit-trousers. Wake and fantasize about finding someone and getting a series of HIV tests negative and BEING KISSING passionately along with having sex.

7/24/91: 7:15 (after having gotten to bed at 1:40): I'm attending an IMPORTANT interview and my TEETH are SNAPPING open and closed. I can PULL them apart, but EACH time I leave go I CLATTER. BRUXISM indexed last night and EXTRACTION coming up. VERY disturbing, PAINFUL dream, after COMPUTER foul-up, too! [But I'm typing this AFTER my tooth was extracted Friday and it WASN'T that bad!]

7/25/91: 5:30: 1) An astronaut named "Tap" is being trained to open HIS letters ONLY, which seem to be sent to a mailbox on the porch-post of 1221 Dietz Ave. There are TWO door-latches that have to be wrapped in PAPER before being squeezed into their sockets to WORK properly, though I know the repairman is about to arrive. Odd dream. 2) 7:10: Flying home from Mexico, we make three QUICK stops on beaches, pilot saying "Believe it or not, we're ready for takeoff AGAIN." 3) 8:55: Four of us, two VERY fat, are eating in a restaurant and a party comes in asking to sit at the table that has a memorial stone for Emma Zolnerzak in it. One thinks it's NEXT to us, but THEY know it's the table in the corner, and I feel the bulk of the stone UNDER the table to VERIFY that it's there. I say, "I'm Bob, Emma's son," and blue-faced woman (like powdered Black on subway last night) says briskly and somehow dismissively, "I'm Bruce," and shakes my hand briefly.

7/26/91: 8:10: I'm testing my program at IBM and an operator says my printout of diagnostic-tracing messages has been SUPPRESSED since it's running so long. But how do I know HOW I went through the program? There's ONE line per test case and I try to estimate how MANY I have by flipping through the input deck, knowing there are four tests/card at the end after program cards and octal corrections, and figure I should be about at end of 360 cases at the half-hour point, but it still goes on, loop-mode indicator off, but THEN the operator says, "Should you be trying to access the BALLOON?" She asks this, pointing to a tiny yellow-bulbed gizmo on a shelf at eye-level on the front control panel. "No," I say, and ask to get off---at least I got to the END of the program at last and can find most of the still-remaining errors.

7/27/91: Sleep 8:40PM-11:40, read 11:50-3, sleep 3-9:20. 1) 7:35: I'm cleaning bookcases on the sidewalk and some idiot picks up my Torah and a red-covered book and takes an ENORMOUS convincing to leave it (including "Could I take your CAR when you washed it in the street?"). THEN I'm inside with DAD, home for ONE WEEK, and I tell him I'm going out tonight (Friday) with friends, and he says he hopes WE can spend some time together, and I say, "You're here a whole WEEK, of COURSE we'll have time together." 2) 9:25: I'm staying in a vacation house with a woman who's in charge of a writing project I've been working on---she's a combination of Helen Arnett and Frances Sternhagen---and she asks to see something of what I've done. So I go into my bedroom and get out five or six packets of original data and copies of what I've done so far and bring them into the living room, rather like that at 1221 Dietz. I thumb through a project on beetles, decide against reading that as a sample, pass up something VERY narrowly science-specialty, and open a carton that has something to do with a bird, contained in a box like the one I have my foreign stamped envelopes in: about 1' x 1.5' x 2' with a torn-flap among the four that fold to close the carton, and I look inside to see a BIRD coming to life: a small, slightly iridescent, brown-violet bird with sleepy eyes and a tiny beak that hardly utters peeps, but it seems to be coming out of a sleep (I guess I figured it would have died by now?) now and tries to get out of the box as I keep putting down one flap after another to keep it penned in, but it seems always to skitter or fly to the only open section, where I have to catch him with my hand (as I did when he actually escaped to the floor of the room), and I can FEEL the tactility of his feathers and desperately struggling body, trying NOT to break its wings or feel or neck, and feel just AWFUL about it, but I MUST get it back into the box, and I still haven't managed when I wake!

7/28/91: 8:30: I'm staying with a priest who has a bathroom in his bedroom in this summer-complex, but it's full as I want to go to bed, so I look out window and see a phalanx of maidens in white dresses and flowers in their hair rummaging through the trash barrels on the street and strewing any FLOWERS they find on all the streets as city beautification, and I feel like weeping with joy.

7/31/91: 6:55AM: I've been riding on a train (this first part is like a flashback within the dream) on which Hitler has been riding, and as he's captured at a turnstile-type entrance-gate, I'm called to help restrain him (I seem to be in the military, and I see myself in this restraining action as if in a newsreel, and UNKNOWN to me at the time, I forget to bring my suitcase off the train). The dream then shifts to the next morning, when I wake up in a kind of barracks, and I feel my teeth all furry and my face needing to be washed, and I get out of my bunk bed and fumble with shorts dumped at the foot of the bed, but they turn into a silk slip that the military female from the bunk above had dropped there. I find my own shorts, put them on, and make my way to a small room, like a dormitory room, which is the john, but when I walk inside I find that all the toilets, like round metal-encased wells resembling machine-gun emplacements, are disgustingly full, many of them with overflowing excrement fouling the narrow flanges where one puts one's feet. I'd found a sliver of soap and a used-but-still-usable towel in the doorway which I appropriated for my use, but it dawns on me that I hadn't put my suitcase under the bunk bed or in the adjoining closet---I must have left it on the train last night! At this point a female sanitary inspector is heard behind me, complaining to her attending group that "This is shameful and must be cleared up at once." As the group moves out of the john, I find myself walking along corridors next to some kind of officer (I can't identify the round emblems he wears on his shirt-collar tips, so I guess he might be British and only assume he's an officer, hoping to err on the safe side) whose aide has a radio which is announcing the capture of Hitler on a train the previous evening. "Excuse me, sir," I begin tentatively with the presumed officer, "I heard that announcement. Is that a two-way radio with which you could communicate back to the train and ask about the suitcase I left on it?" He doesn't seem to quite understand, and as I'm explaining it to him, feeling more and more feeble in my grasp of the steps between that capture and now, the dream shifts to my sitting in the right front seat of a car being driven through a dark countryside: I can see the car's headlights illuminating the white centerline of a rolling country road with trees on either side and very few buildings, and I really don't know where we are. The woman driver seems to have been the sanitary officer from earlier in the day, and she's saying, "You could travel all over the United State and Europe by train, but I still don't see how you could locate your suitcase: it would have always been transported to some other destination by the train on which you left it." I try to remember whether I'd checked it, and would still have the baggage-tag for it, but now I'm picturing it as if on an airplane, staying ON the airplane as it's sent from location to location, its trail getting increasingly vague and difficult to trace even as I speak to her, and I don't know where the car's going and I don't know where I'm going to spend the evening, and I wake to find it's 6:45AM, and I seem to have succeeded in programming myself to wake up early this morning, because I'd jerked off last night after drinking too much booze (especially the complementary Sambuca) last night, and gotten to bed at 1:40AM, thinking there's only 8:20 hours before John's arrival "at 10AM or even a bit earlier" this morning to look through my Antarctic slides, and I still haven't managed to arrange the separate groups of "Sydney and Blue Mountains, Canberra, Ayers Rock, Melbourne, and Tasmania" into which I'd labeled them the night before last when putting them away before the window-sash replacement yesterday and dinner with Dennis last night quite altered my plans (originally altered when I got to the idea to see "Six Degrees of Separation" last night, which led to the thought of "going out" even after they turned out to be sold out at the Brooklyn TKTS window at 2:30 after lunching on Hot Wings at McDonalds, following the buying of the five pretzels for $1 at the Greenmarket, and this seems to have turned into a diary page, now at 7:20AM, and I only have 2:40 hours to arrange the slides, have breakfast, and prepare for John Strong---at least I CAN nap before Dennis's birthday dinner tonight keeps me up late and boozed AGAIN. Type page later!

8/1/91: 7AM: I'm wandering through movie set made into a tour-area, and someone asks me, "Is that house real?" I say, "Sure LOOKS like it." Dennis follows behind us, ineffectually trading money: "$10 for one Louis? No, no, ten Louis for $1, MAYBE 8 Louis for $1. Then we're to an enormous house made tiny by foreshortening in a pleasant Disneyesque quality of fun and luxuriance.

8/2/91: 9:10AM: I'm working in an office with a woman who wants me to love her and a man whom I want to love me. It's late Friday, and SHE asks me to go home with her so she can show me her new dress, and HE says, "Let's go out." I say YES to him, THEN must refuse her. We three sit silently for a bit, then I say to her, "I said FLIPLY, for fun, 'yes' when you invited me home, but I thought you were KIDDING and I'd had a 'previous commitment'." To hide her tears, she says "Give me a big kiss," and I kiss and hug her VERY tightly, her small torso enveloped by my arms, and I HOPE I'm not leading HER on---she MUST know my sexual preference for me, and HOPE I'm not angering the handsome FELLOW! Sad, pitying feeling for her, hoping not to antagonize him.8/4/91: 10AM: I'm playing cards and THINK I have 2s, 3s, and 6s, so I think to win by LOSING all my tricks. But as I get rid of a Q, I see I have another Q and an ACE! What can I do? Hope the LAST lead is Ace of Trumps so I drop Ace.8/6/91: 8:15: Plane C-7 364 is taking off, and SMOKE comes from RIGHT engine, so we taxi to runway-end and return on city streets, cars and trucks honking at us!

8/7/91: 9:35: I'm in a hotel where rooms have no partitions, so I try to JO in the john, but I keep spurting WHITE fluid and not coming. Think to do it in BED, but it's all OPEN. Find shoes and a shirt that Miles left, but they don't fit me. Can the hotel return them to him? Woman's crotch-stare disgusts me, as one who goes for a smoke in the john AMUSES me. My radio plays jazzy music and I sort through miniature candy bars and drop opened wrappers into short-sighted girl's basket. The dream was filled with incredible circumstantial DETAILS.

8/8/91: 7:35: Guy with the face of the stern big-muscled gym-guy (who I later saw sitting morosely at Cranberry's) comes into my hospital room, naked, shaking out the knot in his long cock, and when it stands out erect before him, I wonder how it could have been SOFT enough to tie the knot in in the first place! He goes to the window to my left, talking softly to himself, fingering his dick to keep it hard, and I wonder how he's gone through all the corridors without anyone arresting him, or at least turning him off. The episode happens twice, and then he seems to notice me in bed for the first time and comes over to suck my cock, and again I wonder why the passing nurses and doctors in the hallways don't see him. Then he moves up to my chin and starts kissing my chin and mustache, and I feel him beginning to suck on my BREATH, and I WAKE on my back, stiff, feeling that I've just had a minor sleep apnea, sucking in air and turning on my side to relax before writing the note before getting out of bed at 8.

8/9/91: 5:55: Repeat dream: this time I'm CUMMING and emitting tiny plasticky white beadlets like pallid fish roe, again and again, with pleasure mixed with mystified observation of these seeping orbicules.

8/10/91: 9:20: There's a PARTY at my HUGE place, where it and I am not ready, and Bob Rosinek is telling a story, and there's champagne in a snow-cooled ice bucket. I have piles of things to put away while people are already arriving.

8/11/91: 8:40: I'm at Joel Agee's family's house, and I get FURIOUS with him when he accuses me of being ANGRY at him, telling me to stand without talking while they finish dinner. Then he wants to fix coffee. THEN he says HE may have been wrong, that there really "may have been a twinge" if he'd fucked his FATHER, not his wife, and his SON was acting like a woman, too, so maybe I'm not ALL in the wrong---about WHATEVER it was we were talking about ORIGINALLY!

8/12/91: 1) 8:35: High-school males due for conscription, one sad that he'll be warring in only four months. 2) 10:05: I'm watching an opera performance standing near a snack bar, chewing on HARD candy that I momentarily think might include some of my broken teeth, so I take the clump out of my mouth to check, and there are no tooth-fragments there. The attendant waves me aside so that I can use a black-bag-lined cylindrical waste receptacle behind me. Wandering percussionists clank, bing, whiz, and roar nearby, then their leader says "The bus is COMING, so get those instruments down the aisle QUICKLY."

8/13/91: 5:25: Somewhere on a SOUTHERN trip, taking wood from a storage pile to burn, with the image of an oriental woman kneeling to reverence the kerbstone of her hometown on her return from her trip.

8/15/91: 6:10: Lucille Ball's face is flush with the mottled bark of a pine tree in some "previews of coming attractions" in movies in a foreign land I'm in.

8/16/91: 6:10: "Paul (Bosten) died, but I had keys to his apartment, in this house, so I scheduled The Club here, knowing that when the other owner found us, I'd explain it as I'm doing now and it'll be OK." People see us, passing on stairs outside, and some are startled, some ignore us, and some join us. Later, a WOMAN says, "I love post-coital touch," and when I say, "Oh, so do I," she LEAPS to kiss me and I hope to sleep later. Long and hard she pounded on her pudenda, making me think of a guy jerking off. Other handsome younger guys might join us, I hoped, and HOSTS did finally accept my letting everyone in.

8/18/91: 7:45: Lost FIVE teeth, some bloody IBM-typewriter balls, and try to rinse them off to clean them to take them home. Then doing "the slow drag" with people I don't know, sloping across a crowded dance floor TOTALLY bent over backward, almost scuttling like a crab with my elbows on the floor.

8/20/91: 9AM: Dennis and I are jerking off to a TV set in front and in back of us and we play games and joke about what we're doing and where we're looking while we're doing it. I wake hard and think to play, but last night was TOO good.

8/21/91: 8:40: I'm trying to prove or disprove a one-paragraph disclaimer, thinking I might have some kind of investigative scoop if I can prove it to be right or wrong. COINCIDENCE: Wanted to watch THREE programs on Tuesday PM and DIDN'T want to go out, and SUSAN gets sick and cancels dinner!

8/22/91: 9:10: Two handsome actors have set up their dressing rooms in the JOHN of the school building in which they're performing, but I've got to piss, so I pass the first actor putting on makeup before a portable lit mirror and try to start pissing before the second one gets back, but I hear him behind me, looking at me, and I FINALLY let go a strong stream over to the manhole cover, wetting the entire top, and I hear "Wow!" behind me; I'm pleased that I may have turned him ON!

8/24/91: 9:40: I've got three days left on a tour of Melbourne or Buenos Aires, and decide to END tour in Rio or Sydney. Travel the subway, knowing that the beautiful beach I'm looking forward to revisiting is WEST. There's also something with a VERY supportive rich woman!

8/25/91: 11:30: Mom and I are in kitchen at 1221 Dietz and I try to help by spilling out liquid in bottom of ice-cube tray, but I find it's lemon juice that she's put in to soak out stains in bottom of the tray AND from the kitchen sink. I check (nonexistent) cabinet to right of doorway leading back to the dining room, and turn on "shower" inside before opening the doors to find the glasses and the shelves inside PRISTINE. Turn off water and shut cabinet and get Ajax for BATHROOM sink, and she just stares wordlessly at me in mild disbelief. 1221 Dietz's bathroom cabinet melds at dream-end into my current Hicks St. cabinet, which DOES need cleaning.

8/27/91: 3:50AM: Incredible (MGM-COLOR!) travel-tent EXPLODED under immense chenille spread, which I help tie down, almost tipping it; it WHEELS AWAY through the sky like a gigantic Japanese parasol in the wind, while I search for an empty bed in this summer hotel, and woman leads me next-door to an absent ballerina's bed. Then a NEW tent has "color fuzz" designs for "Call Me Mister," laser-disk colored lips and gowns for ladies, as people VOTE, including "C for lite-milk" party.

8/28/91: 8:28AM! I'm in the Actualism office with LOTS of people around: we're trying to see how income, donations, and students are related. I figure: have four lines, green for income, blue for the number of students, red for the number of classes taken, and white for donations, plotted from 1971 to 1991 by six-months' intervals. The coordinator's desk contains "tapes" that have lists of raw data that fit out computer, too. But no one wants to listen to me. Then I'm in bed, reading, as someone looks at my watch and I think they're cruising me. Then out to MILITARY camp with FAMILIES and TENTS gone, ready to go home. Stare at a guy with his pectoral hair shaved into the shape of a woman's brassiere. To a village-square where the Actualism office is now LOCKED, and I wait on a bench outside, watching the dark-Asiatic Indian man manning Rod McKeown's bookshop, sitting on an eroded wooden "Actualism" seat, looking at the locked door, and I sit and wait for it to open.

8/29/91: 3AM: Odd guy RATHER like Gene Crofts has a LARGE erection springing from a MOUND of balls. After he cums, and I insist on playing with his sensitive cock-head, it RETRACTS inside his balls, saying it's PROTECTED there, always with pre-cum oozing to "protect" his cock-slit. It sips in and out a few times as he giggles in a combination of delight and embarrassment.

8/30/91: 7:15: 1) Great sex with two lovers in their bed, sucking and playing. 2) Floating from the deck of an ocean liner over dim coral-heads below water- surface, tiny flies flittering over the calm surface, making for some islands that I can see near the shore of the continent. 3) Lots of paraders (Mexican?) wearing WHITE straw boaters with red, white, and blue hatbands around them.

8/31/91: 10AM: I'm playing some kind of gambling game with the dealer/croupier inside a glass-enclosed "office" or booth. I refuse to play anymore because I lost once, and the tokens I thought were negligible turn out to cost $18,000! I just want to cash in how much I have left, depressed I don't even know how much I've lost. They're reluctant, but I insist, and finally I'm sent to a cashier's area where stewardesses are showing beautifully lithographed travel brochures, dance programs, menus, and photos of decorations outside elegant Oriental hotels. They try to push some off on me (rather than throwing them away), but I'm interested only in taking my money and leaving, fearful even the CASHIERS might be pulling a fast one because I didn't realize what STAKES I had been GAMBLING with, and they could simply charge ANYTHING up to my CREDIT-card limit, or maybe even ABOVE. Depressing but lavish dream: LIKE 9/1 NY Times article!

9/3/91: about 3AM 1) At some sort of black male cat-house where the men in groups, wanting to be chosen, first stand against the walls, then lie on beds, and finally line a spiral staircase in white djellabas as I pass down the "middle" of the stairs, feeling their chests and legs and cocks, and when I feel a cactus-limb even larger than Bob Rosinek's, I grapple it out of its covering, suck it until it increases to about two feet in length and five inches in diameter, and then decide to slick-soft touch it along its length until he groans and comes in a narrow spurt, shouting "Take it," as if he's embarrassed to be SEEN cuming, and then GOUTS of cum, VERY sexy, and I wake to feel a short-lived prostate-ache that seemed to have been caused by pushing my semi-hard cock STRAIGHT into the mattress as I'm lying directly on my stomach. 5AM 2) I'm walking a LONG way with a "new friend," and pass, distantly, his house on a country lane, and when I ask "Could you tell me where I might urinate?" he takes out a LARGE set of keys, shaking them to isolate a small footlocker-type of brass key, handing me the whole clump, saying, "It's the house at the bend (indicating where the row of 6-8 houses turns sharply concave at a bend in the road), second door to left of center, which is my valet's house." I unlock the door, and just before I enter a Bill Mayhead-type fellow two doors down to the left unlocks HIS house and nods at me, saying, "Oh, you know Frank, too?" and I intend to ask "Frank" about the fellow two doors down, whom I know I remember from somewhere long ago, and then enter a HUGE room loaded with books and packages, and on a piano stool are sheaves of records (clearly they'd been tied with string or heavy rubber bands, because they retain a center-crimp though the restrains are gone) with distinctive blue-and-gold, green-and-gold, and yellow-and-gold album-covers which I know to have been "Pacific Records," which I'd bought many of. Then "Frank"'s maid, who resembles Don Maloof's Scots maid, says "Such a VARIED lot---I don't like THIS end," waving behind her to walls of hung, framed maps and architectural plans, "but over THERE (waving behind me), you could find ANYTHING of value." "Like a Monopoly game," I ask with a laugh, "No, Easy Money," says she, "No, I MEANT Monopoly," say I, SURE there must be one there, of historical significance, and I ask "Frank," "Could I have been here BEFORE?" He says, "Possibly, once." I think I could have met his neighbor here before, too. I wake THIS time to dribble a few drops of urine on the bed before I dash to the bathroom. 9:30 3) Two concurrent dreams: a) we want to watch a film that's not rewound, but the projectionist doesn't want to remove the film from the projector to a rewinding machine, where I could spin the reel quickly by hand, so it has to be run in reverse only about twice film-speed, very time consuming. b) A fantasy being filmed has me as a muscular extra with my pectorals hanging down like African dugs between my chest and my arms---from my armpits! What I HOPE is that they can be shoulder-pushed in front to LOOK like they're male-pectorals of enormous size. So I can STAR in the film as the bisexual ALIEN that saves the universe with his superior knowledge, goodness, and power!

9/4/91: 8:30: 1) Making categories of gay-male sex-ads, with an image of a cartoon-like nude (like Stephen's drawings) getting buzz-sawed for a cross- section illustration of buttocks, and the illustration ends with a hand jerking off a cock. 9AM 2) Looking at a listing for a compiler, starting in the middle (the crux) with a page of TXA MACROX, 4, listing that processes each instruction as it comes, with a preceding page setting up the parsing look, and the next page analyzing page-length to print adjoining program FLOWCHARTS.

9/5/91: 9:30: I'm in the second row of a Broadway super-spectacle, portentous framing lights and curtains unveiling tiers of chorus-members and sweeps of intense music, and then after intermission people from the back FILL the seats in front of me, a particularly tall gangly guy RIGHT in front, but after he gets up to dance, sinks WAY down so I can see over his head. Then, from the back, theatre is almost empty, and usher says "Maybe they know program was being changed, and this isn't very good in here." Then I'm sitting on side as audience helps embroider gold outlines on fish-curtain that rises dramatically!

9/6/91: 8:20: Multi-episode DETAILED dream: I'm an assistant in an office. My typing computer has six settings, but I find one that I can use for a particular (Spanish?) application, applying accents later, as I do on my TRS Model II. My boss's aide is a Lauren-Bahr-type woman who SEEMS hard but ALSO likes me. HER boss is earnest and TRYING so hard to do a good job. HE tries using her machine on the "Typeset" setting and it whirs loudly and jitters on the desk to the point of disintegration. I have MANY duties, but I manage to buy supplies and get errands run so that TODAY, at last, I can just go to lunch and EAT and not worry about "catching up" or "getting things off my list." Lots of professionals in the office, but I manage to show that I can do better work than all of them, and I seem much YOUNGER than they are, too (NOT something that happens so much anymore!). Clothing is important here, but I've JUST mastered "the look." This is very "new" but somehow VERY promising work, job, and position, rather like (unknowingly) programming at IBM had been when I just started working there. This may have been based on my starting to read the Scientific American issue on networking, where they describe the "generations" of computing starting in the 1960s, and I was working in computers in the 50s! Even before they thought to hold a box for the decade!

9/8/91: 9:08AM: Vague memory of waiting for Joe Easter for lunch in an office-building lobby, but he phones and says he's at the restaurant, and where am I??

9/10/91: 9:45: 1) I'm taking something out of a box for a very fashionable lady I'm working for (could this have been influenced by my recent finishing of the troubles of John Huffam in "Quincunx?"), and something slips out of the box that I fumble for, but it falls into the toilet-bowl with a plunk. I reach into the water to pull it out, and am disgusted to find that the bottom of the white ceramic is smeared with brown shit, and when I pull the glove out, it seems to release a huge turd into the water, and I'm sure the glove must look and smell horribly, and I hope I can wash it and dry it and return it to the box before she finds out about it. 2) Someone in authority at an office gets VERY angry with me when I turn on a radio, saying "Don't you DARE play that radio---particularly when you'll be LEAVING." I feel totally inferior to the voice. 3) I'm putting a record or a cassette onto the top component of a stack of very antiquated audio components at the top of an old and dirty bookcase, so that I have to be concerned that I don't bring cobwebs and filth down onto the turntables or into the spindles when I put on the record. Something has to be balanced exactly right at the edge of the dirty shelf to work properly, and I go down the stack of components, making sure each of the controls is properly on or off as needed to get the signal through the stack, rather like playing a tape on my television, having to turn on three machines and making sure the plug is in properly. The music begins to come through the speakers, and it's as if I'm in the kitchen of 1221 Dietz, there's a main speaker in the dining room, so I have to put it fairly loud so that I can hear it in the kitchen, and there are people working, who don't want to hear the music, in the living room, but the other speaker is out on the front porch, which has been made into another room (which I now think might show some significance, since when I went to photograph my house at 1221 with Marion, I couldn't take OUR front porch because it HAD been enclosed, so I took a picture of the Lear's house, next door, to show what ours had looked like), so I don't have to worry about these people complaining about the speakers transmitting the music too loudly. There were other dreams that I'd vaguely recalled, which vanished before I took down the notes, again thinking I should get a laptop, but even then I'd have to sit up in bed and turn on the lights and get my fingers together for typing. And I seem to have settled into the pattern of doing one of these pages a WEEK, which means that some of the fresh details that I MAY have remembered if I'd typed them DAILY, have since vanished in the fogs of memory, and I don't OFTEN have to spread out the last lines to get to the bottom as I've just done badly here!

9/13/91: 8:45 1) A Fleishman-like guy and a gay and I are smuggling a gurney, filled with something, out of a teaching hospital. We all get into the elevator and press "1" and worry about passing security at the entrance. I decide to go out first, quickly, and clear the entrance and leave the two of THEM to their fates. I succeed; I don't know if they do or not.

9/16/91: 8AM: The Matt-Dillon-lookalike downstairs has hair way down to his shoulders. Great sex with four humpy guys.

9/17/91: 9AM: In an enormous stamp album, the last page of a country that might be Italy has a special series of about thirty five "Men" from various years.

9/18/91: 5AM 1) LONG tray, "What part am I?" Scripts? LONG sheets of paper! I get assigned the role of the KING in Scene 25, and I'm elated. 7AM 2) Extremely involved movie-making: he's filming him filming the story. 9AM 3) Marge Mao and Bessy Chang and I are going survey of WHICH astrology do people follow; "Worth 1/2 hour for ONE check of Taipei clown to Chinese or Japanese?"

9/20/91: 3AM 1) Mom and Uncle Edward---looking very young in a white T-shirt; they're quarreling as if they were twenty years old. 2) Chicks disconsolately pecking at dead siblings in a road gutter as I pass, at first thinking them dead, and as I reflect on them, there's NOTHING sadder than a helpless baby fending hopelessly for itself, I would almost wish they HAD been dead and out of their aching misery. 3:10: Think mournfully there's a terrible PARALLEL in these two dreams; I'm sadder and more depressed than even on FULL stomach. 7:45 3) Box with rolls of thin paper, and an accordion-folded packet of very thin papers that are marked "DOUANE" in various rainbow-colors on the edges of the slips, which slip out of alignment as I flip through them, trying to shuffle them back into a neat rectangular pack. Then I think of teasy jerk-offs in bed as a KID, and I wake to jerk off as a MAN from 7:55 to 8:15 and have out-of-body fantasies of watching gym hunks and muscle builders jerking off too!

9/21/91: 6AM 1) "Star Trek" season premiere is "Caesar," and I'm watching it being telecast in an enormous studio where the section in which the audience sits is moved BACK to allow scope for the television cameras to shoot the three huge sets lined up before us, and I recognize Jim Moore (?) the thin, angular- faced IBM operator, as one of the actors. I'm in the SLAVE scene, and there's a slave-master holding onto my arm, and my right hand goes under his tunic and entwines his testicles in my fingers, and he gets curvingly hard right there on the set and I begin to stroke the skin over his rigid cock and he writhes with pleasure. 2) 8AM: I see my mailman in the post office with a FLAT envelope with my name and the slide-number of my missing box of slides on it, and I grab it in glee, but then think "It can't be the slides, because it's FLAT." 3) 9AM: I'm in a hotel with Delores Fernandez, and she shrieks with delight as she throws a thin swatch of veiling material over tiny scuttling insects in the hallway as we go toward the elevators, and she wraps them up and puts them into her large handbag. She drops things behind her in the thrill of the chase, and she goes after another quest, showing me what look to be the tops of weeds, but seem to be fat molting worms that shed their hairs like grasses shed their seeds, and she's delighted with her captures, but passing Chinese tourists look at us, and her in particular, with amazement and horror. There had been other dreams on other nights, but I wake too exhausted to even jot down notes, thinking again that it would be better to get a laptop that I could just open and type in the permanent notes, but I'm not willing to get REALLY out of my comfortable sleep state to write in any DETAIL, and I'm afraid that my scribbles won't be legible the next morning, so many times while I'm debating, so I just slip back into sleep and totally forget any of the dreams that I may have had before the final waking when I DO take down the notes I've transcribed HERE.

9/22/91: 9AM: I'd had a prior, extremely detailed, dream that I didn't want to forget, but I forgot it as the next opus swept through my brain and erased the previous one: I was somewhere on vacation, most likely somewhere upstate, since it had the feeling of various houses Michael and Dorothy and I visited when I went up for weekends with them to Elizaville. An early part of the dream had a house full of people partying and eating in room after room of a large rustic, but sparsely-furnished house with white wooden-sided rooms with colorful rag rugs on the floors. At one point I went around and around trying to find the kitchen for something to eat, and at another I went into what had been my bedroom (which had been crowded with beds very like the basement apartment in "Rocco and His Brothers" yesterday) and found that the teenager whose room it actually was had reset-up his computer-stereo-speaker arrays of brilliant purple in arcs across the side of the room with the window, now almost blocked with his equipment, and I wondered where my suitcase had been put which had been stored under my bed, now folded and vanished. I found it in two pieces in a corner of the room, my clothes still partially strapped into it, but a tie-rod across the bottom had snapped in two places: on one side the broken piece ended with a sieve-like camera-battery-size flange that would have seemed a weak joint to begin with; on the other side the rod itself seems to have become rusted and simply broken clean off. I figured that I could still find belts to hold the two sides together, and the grooves at the lips, provided I didn't have too much clothing to spread the lips apart from each other, would engage solidly enough to keep the single unit rigid until I got back to the city where I could buy a replacement. Suddenly we were all outside, dancing in the sunlight, and a short blonde hostess came running through the crowd with an oddly fashioned double bowl: a large crystal hemisphere in which was molded a doughnut of crystal that formed an "eye of honey" (like the Eye of Water in the DuPont Gardens near Kennett Square in Delaware) which overflowed from the center, ran evenly over the smooth surface of the doughnut into an ever-full reservoir on the perimeter, which never seemed to overflow. "Come, inhale the narcotic vapors from the burning honey," she sang to us, and we all danced after her to circle about the blazing Eye of Honey, and I wondered if this were habit-forming, or dangerous, but everyone was laughing and dancing, so clearly there was no danger. Afterwards, I was inside and this same hostess came dashing into the room in which I was sitting, crying out, "Warm your feet at the burning honey," and I tore off my shoes and socks and joined the rapidly- forming circle surrounding the crystal bowl she'd placed on the floor in the center of the room. Then I looked out the window and saw a parade of evenly- spaced trucks, one in the street and one, of small pickup trucks, on the sidewalk. "Let's go outside to watch!" I shouted, and without transition some of us were being conveyed, high above the middle of the street, on an elevated line with gossamer cars that seemed to offer us very little protection or support, and I was peripherally concerned whether the effects of the honey- narcotic were making our minds careless of the perils of this amusement-park ride we seemed to find ourselves on. I looked off to the right and saw circus acts coming to their spectacular conclusions as my car, or more properly platform, raced past their stations at the side of the road: an acrobat flipped off a trapeze and plummeted to earth, to be caught at the ground on a thin bed of rubber: at the last moment of his fall, about two feet off the ground, he grabbed a metal rod which seemed to arrest his descent, allowing his body to bounce quickly, twice, off the rubber bed and come to a safe stop. Next, almost too quickly for my eyes to follow, a clown act concluded with a dummy being catapulted into the air from the ground while the audience gasped, thinking that a clown had been caught by mistake in an apparatus which hurled him to the roof of the tent. Quickly, beside the accelerating train on which we rode, and now Michael Blackburn was seated to my left, dazzled by the acts which accompanied us, a running basketball-player lofted his ball toward a far- distant hoop, oversized so that the shot sank easily, as a stilt-walker glided smoothly alongside our sixty-mile-per-hour velocity. Then the level elevated train segmented into individual ride-cars on an enormous octopus-like ride centered around the pole supporting the tallest tent, swinging us more than a hundred feet off the ground in a dizzying arc that forced me to grab the sides of the car, hoping I wouldn't be sick as it threatened to weave backwards as an added thrill. As I was thankful I was strapped in, I glanced over to Michael, who seemed to be having difficulties retaining his seat, sliding sideways and downwards beneath him, and I screamed, "Michael, you haven't strapped yourself in?" as he tranquilly slid sideways out of his seat, extended his arms as if in flight, gave me a confident smile, and continued smiling steadily, benignly, up at me as he plummeted, spread-eagled, while a rising arm of the ride hid the final stages of his fall. I frantically hoped he would be caught and saved by another element of the ride, or fall onto a cushioned part of the circus-floor below. As my angle of vision changed, I saw, far below, his outstretched form, face down, surrounded with a darker halo of frightening moisture, his face distorted by its contact with the unyielding floor.

9/23/91: 8:45 1) Three of us in a car, car ahead swerving back and forth, and it's filled with four 5- or 6-year-old girls in frilly dresses, ONE of which is DRIVING. Driver of our car refuses to pass, lets others pass US, and we WAIT for crash. 2) I'm in a new job and my HUGE female boss a) encounters another woman whose two dogs run away JUST as she gets onto an elevator as we get on ANOTHER elevator, b) addresses the opening of a conference in Spanish as I DON'T know when MY talk is scheduled, or even what it's ABOUT, c) takes me to my office where there's not enough chairs. THEN all the GUYS in my office seem to be in ASTRONAUT training, and we're in a circle crouched to run back to our office and when I get the signal to "peel off," I CAN'T run fast enough and my boss gets mad at the GROUP and makes us SIT and dismisses us all at ONCE. Two doors crash at hallway entrance and the RAMP under our SMALLER door is pulled up---it HAD been a FOLDING CHAIR.

9/25/91: 10:15: I seem to be living a real-life mystery story: get a warning (that I somehow TRUST) to stay away from a certain PLACE as dangerous, but when I investigate, it seems to be the WOMAN whose NAME is connected with that place is trying to do me harm.9/26/91: 5:10: Masters (somehow INDIAN, but all are WHITE) have died, and SERVANTS are holding a commemorative, celebratory PARADE, and I'm TOUCHED seeing the bands, from the back, descending a hill, playing beautifully, then it's a MURDER, and I "change to a detective" and DEBATE using what I've heard as a WITNESS, yet decide it's OK, and I go across a parade route lined with SKATING SOLDIERS to investigate a house---that turns out to be on the Akron University campus, but as STUDENTS are stepping across barbed-wire security fences, I decide I can do that, too, even though I (as an investigator) am wearing LEATHER trousers. Coach Andy Maluke, who knows me as a STUDENT, is yelling out in my direction. Section on RELIGION, as HINDUS say they love EVERYONE, no matter if they're black/white, male/female, straight/gay, and I'm touched and very impressed.

10/1/91: 5:30 (at Garnet Hill): ANOTHER spectacular series: 1) Getting caught in enemy crossfire at 95th St and Second Avenue, SEXY flayed-chested guy behind me almost panicking, but I say we can "act like natives" and slip away into the city rather than be killed as soldiers before and behind us have been. And I look forward to traveling with him and hugging his huge body to comfort him. 2) In a car, Lan-Hu and two others are introduced as Laotian stars in the movie "The Yellow ? [something-or-other]," starring Robert Mitchum ("The Yellow SKY" starred Gregory Peck and Richard Widmark), around 1948 (and that WAS dated 1948!), and they're now working in California, ready to serve me. 3) Another "intro-based" (as yesterday was on NAMES of people or streets) star system that LANGSHEIM (?) ran over a few pages next to photos from some L movie, probably coming near parallel with Lan-Hu, visible on the left of the poster on the wall, the same handsome square face behind the bar.

10/2/91: 6:10: AGAIN loads: 1) I'm attending a "modern" concert where Schubert's First is conducted by Otto Laszlo (NOT from Akron University NOR the skin-care guy) on LEFT side (MY side) for 3-4 violins, one flute, 2-3 horns, but it SOUNDS just as good as with FULL orchestra. Then at intermission he nods to people and woman says, giggling, "I had lunch on him, so to speak," and collapses on the floor with sexual laughter. A woman like Berta Steiner, dressed like a Berlin 30s whore, returns MY postcard response to "Lysistrata" for "Services-Unusual" that turns into MASSAGE message. And with silver Christmas decorations on it like a Maloof Christmas card. I wonder how she knew it was ME until I seem to recall that in a PREVIOUS part of this dream I'd HANDED her my card when I walked next to her, recognizing her from her photo. Second musical piece turned into a jazz session with a few musicians clustered around his drum-set, on which he's proved he can use "Mingus's feather touch," while REST of the orchestra plays without their conductor, from behind glass. At ANOTHER point he gradually retreats up an empty, stony side aisle like a church hallway while I get out of my seat and sit on a curb so I can WATCH him recede and return, and he waves conspiratorially and winks at me! I enjoy concert (I read Pina Bausch review last night) without really enjoying the MUSIC. Joe knocks over lamp as HE returns to bed after WAKING me with bathroom LIGHT in my FACE about 4AM last night! Bed 9:30-5:30, 10-5, 10:30-6, 10:50-5:50, and 11:30 to this at 6:20. Now, shitting, at usual, first of two or THREE times per day while Joe shits usually NONE. LATER RECORD: ALSO bit of getting CHECK in the mail: $953 McGraw-Hill and one from another company with a strange "Actualism Receipt" format with "lesser of $85.52 or $94.20." Try to read scribbled notes at END of Garnet-Hill notebook: Basic fantasies for the ultimately-felt cum, realized in GLORIOUS focus, films TURNING on guys to the MAXIMUM for NEW films and orgasms---a real-life fantasy fulfilled! And maybe I'd better have my OWN machine and RENT it, as BHV does, for $100/week, but usually it's ALL MINE! 10/?/91: SOME night at Garnet Hill? Chair-form watering-pan in which the bottom lip overflows to plastic bottle-washer-filled under floor, offset by joices by three feet from the regular floor, WET, like bathroom floor or the plant-stand after watering.

10/3/91: 7:40: AGAIN elaborate: 1) I go into elegant nightclub, with reservations for me and Dennis, and find him in lounge at TINY table, thinking we'll have to eat THERE. I have on VERY tight-butted brown suit that I pose and show off to attract waiters, and he says we can go to the INNER dining room, and I cock my finger to Dennis to beckon him over to us, while headwaiter STOOPS from his seven-foot height to HUG Dennis: they'd been in a PLAY together. "Would you like to watch the warm-up group?" he asks, and seats us in a VIP lounge before taking us to dinner table, as a largish group warms up and a singing comedian starts. 2) I'm hovering over a mystery-program scene in which hero's sister has figured out an elaborate solution from Tai-Chi "stones" in a particular patterned cement, like exhibit in woods at Storm King, and RAPIDLY goes through a Japanese stone-naming sequence, something like "Kyu-Cho, Chu-Lem---, to audience's GREAT applause. Someone says "Someone's coming," and all turn as "G-Yo!" is screamed hoarsely in fear---so "present" that I'm awakened in fear and trembling---was it a dream, did someone shout from upstairs or downstairs? And then I get up to piss, write the note, and debate going back to sleep, since my schedule is WAY off after the days at Garnet Hill and the "trying-to-catch-up" days after getting back.

10/6/91: 8:50AM: SDP revived from an old deck of cards, and I can't quite remember whether the general ending control card was blank or 777, and how to do post-processor labeling. There's an antique plastic-envelope enclosed SDP Manual from a drawer, which I slip out to examine, and there are PHOTOGRAPHS of myself and other developers and testers, with a write-up by a Systems Representative that says "Oldest and most valuable program still in use, now as Release 10." I feel so PROUD! But the END of the dream is tense: there are pauses in the processing, control switches have to be simulated in some way that I can't understand, cards have to be punched, and much of it is obsolete and has to be simulated in some way, but it finally seems to actually WORK! 10:40AM: I'm riding a bike "south" beside crowded traffic lane, knowing I'll be able to turn off on connecting ramp and turn left just below where I am now.

10/7/91: 8:30 1) Another "eat lunch fast so I can plan to get to both ends of the amusement park for the roller coaster and the sky-ride/Ferris-wheel rides" dream. 2) Adding some kind of computer-stored annotations----and the ONE time I DON'T take the phone to the john it RINGS as I'm shitting---with a wrong number!!!---to a formatted book, like a yearbook, and editor seems concerned that my NUMEROUS contributions are taking up MORE than the average share of space! 3) Recall another fragment in which I seem to be studying my hair in the mirror and it's VERY long, straight, flat-to-my-head, and uniformly DARK BROWN. Maybe I'm just remembering the gay Indian in "Honored by the Moon" last night?

10/8/91: 8AM: Extraordinarily detailed, frustrating sequence: I'm riding back into Akron on a bus coming to the transfer-point of Exchange and Brown Streets, and I ask for a transfer, which the driver gives to me after a hassle, and then someone whispers that it costs $12.75. I can't believe it and try to hide the fact that I should pay for it, but when I look at it, I find that the destinations ON Brown Street are marked with what look like EXIT fares, and I presume they accept the transfer on the bus, then charge you when you get off. I get some kind of yellow receipt written, as a third copy, with light blue markings that I don't understand, and I debate throwing it away as having been given to me by mistake, but it might be important, so I keep it. Then I can't quite remember when we get to Spicer Street, or somewhere NEAR Exchange, to see where I get off, and then suddenly the bus has stopped COMPLETELY, in some kind of standing bus-barn, for the night, and I beg to be let back on because I'd left my suitcase onboard. Two elderly teenagers let me on with reluctance, sneering and yelling at me, and I find my opened large round blue/gray shoulder bag, and look through to find my leather Army gloves and woolen glove liners missing, so I ask them were they are and somehow I'm led back into a "laboratory" area where there are tables, desks, and experiments set up, and they've soaked my leather outers in water, but I can dry them off, and find that I have ONE of the woolen liners, and get back to their bus-seats to find that they have FIVE liners, and I look at the one that I HAVE, and say "It's easy to determine which is MINE, of the five of which four are yours, because mine has a HOLE in the next-to-thumb finger." They look at me with skeptical malice while I fumble through the five, also damp, and find what seems to be mine, but they seem reluctant to let me have it. Then I see that their sopping wet leather outers have had some of the fingers cut away, bloody threads oozing wet, and I can't (and don't WANT to) figure out what they've DONE to them. Back to my bag, which is now on a bed in someone else's dormitory-like room, and find to my surprise that my jacket is now on a hanger, but looking closely I see that it's the room's inhabitant's jacket which just LOOKS like mine, as well as are the shirts that are NICER than mine, on hangers, and I put them aside and ruffle through my clothes in the open shoulder bag to make sure I have everything, and I'm amazed by how much I have and how little room it takes, and I wake vaguely, thinking I've just got to ASSUME I have collected everything, and get on with the REST of the dream, but as I wake FULLY I decide it's easier to get to the computer and TYPE THIS rather than taking notes. End at 8:17AM.

10/9/91: 8:30: Clearly influenced by last night's "Columbus" sight of Cuba's gold-flowing river, I'm watching a director worried about PERFECT presentation of the flow, contents, and appearance of a similar river he's filming, and his script-pages are annotated and have been sent to be checked for accuracy. Or he may be a TEACHER of directing films, worried about how his CLASS would respond to the challenge of such a film, like Dennis's description of his upcoming classes at Roundabout Theatre. Wake frazzled and jot quick notes.

10/12/91: 8:20: I'm visiting a house on Fire Island that has a VERY expensive pay-TV system, so they say I have to find something ELSE to entertain myself with. My oriental host gives me the number of a handsome fellow who drove me from town, but the pen won't work when I finally try to write down the numbers. I think he says 54 199 199, but I'm not sure he MEANS 199 TWICE. Maybe I'll just PAY $10 for a TV movie! Some question about the NEIGHBORHOOD, too. Then a Lauren-Bahr type takes the place of Marilyn Ochiogrosso in saying that my CURRENT index must be finished SOMEHOW, even if I don't have the final pages, because she's GOT to get SOMETHING out. [When we finally talk 10/16, I'm relieved to hear the job will WAIT for all/better pages until my 11/14 return!]

10/14/91: 8:15 [I had bacon last night] I'm preparing breakfast for my hosts, who are busy on many projects, one even has to go out and phone back, and as a phone rings I'm taking bacon into the dining room to make toast and I SPILL grease on the floor AS my host's lover does the SAME THING. I pick up TWO phones and someone ELSE is on one line, saying my friend hasn't come in YET, and then HE has to pick up another phone. BUSY dream! I'd also gotten out an old mayonnaise jar from the dream-refrigerator and TOLD him I'd HAD it, so he knew HE wouldn't get salmonellosis from its being dated 1986. I really get PARANOID before trip to hide FEAR of flying, which is more of a HABIT, now, than anything else. Why can't I anticipate trips with JOY when I'm by myself?

10/15/91: 9AM: I'm walking with a companion toward an amusement park in the thick woods outside some (European?) town [I'm reminded then and now of St. Germain-en-Laye, and the woods between the chateau and the mid-summer festival on the outskirts of town], and I have two thoughts: 1) We just know it's down this Route 6, but not how FAR, and 2) How idyllic and "old-American" this woods-walk and amusement park would seem to be. No shadows from Susan's "warning" yet!" [See Notebook-595 for connected trip-comments re these dreams.]

10/16/91: 7:15: Mom is just about to arrive on a visit and I'm cleaning up a knick-knack corner when I realize I have to "bury" a small stack of porno magazines [some old-fashioned like the ones seen recently in the Hudson Street gay-nostalgia porno shop] so that she won't be shocked by them, so I gather them up and put them under a stack of last year's Christmas cards in green and red, and as I put them on the left of the top shelf, something tumbles down behind the bookshelf, but I figure I can take care of it after Mom leaves, because now she won't see the porno. As I back off, the whole corner seems dedicated to Christmas decorations: there's a plastic-crinkle green wreath with a bright red velvet ribbon, a little to the left is a branch of false-snowed tree twigs festooned with lit fairy-lights, little boxes of decorations and Christmas figurines, and the corner seems to hold my collection of cocktail glasses and trays of liquor glasses with shiny decanters that I have to dust off before she arrives, and I realize in the dream that I have to take my blue (current) sheets off the bed to change them for clean sheets for her (as I have to clean them for Tony and Bob on Friday), and I have to vacuum (as I have to do, too, today), and then I'd be ready for her arrival. Wake and know there are many connections with today, and get the idea that my apprehension about the trip might be connected, again, with the CONTROL that I have to give over to someone else, this time for MOST of my trip: the part Susan's panicked over!

10/22/91: Two VERY explicit dreams: 1) a woman SORT of like Vicki and I are dining in a Chinzan-so type restaurant on the river and there are slow drum-like sounds, two "thick" ones and 5-6 "thin" (lighter and softer, or less distinct) sounds. We look around mildly and wonder "What was that?" Then there are two or three SWIFT LATERAL SHIFTS of the entire restaurant, and I think "Earthquake" and fear that our area will be catapulted into the river three stories below. It stops, but I fear these are only fore-shocks and say to Vicki, "Let's go toward the back, QUICK," hoping not to start a panic in the other diners who would obstruct us. We start moving back, no more sounds or shakes, and dream ends. Later 2) I'm in a kind of maze of rooms, like in a Dungeons and Dragons layout, and many "enemies" slink past but seem to ignore me, but I find many "allies" who seem to be gay, and I feel comfortable. Once a group of five or six guys comes out of a prison-like building. But they seem to "like" each other, and I give signals that I'm gay too, and they leave me alone. Then I'm in a room with 4-5 humpy guys and one short fellow seems very proud of his calves, standing sideways on his toes and flexing for himself and me. I reach down to clasp them (am I thinking of gold-haloed legs on the darkly tanned boy at the airport yesterday?) and he melts into my hands. His body is very short and compact, but his chest is covered with extremely short (1/4 inch)) black curly hairs, and I plunge my face and mouth into them and nuzzle his tits, getting us hard with my lips and tongue and teeth, and his crotch becomes palpable to my left fingers. I'd seen he had a very small cock, but when I felt it, it was opening, expanding, hard and juicy, so I clasped it and pulled it downwards and he groaned with pleasure and I curled my fingers around its length and it started spurting thin white fluid again and again and again, till I marveled at his production when he passed 10-15 spurts, paused, then launched another 3-4 thin jets: a VERY tactual dream---the calf muscles, the chest hair, the hard bony cock. Wake hard in dark.

10/23/91: 5AM: Wake with dreams: 1) Climbing through attic of apartment with wiring in a terrible shambles (sort of a simile to Alzheimer's?) I have a sexy adventure, but I forget what it was. 2) Meet someone like Stephen Waite, who's still unpaired, and I try to get together a group for sex, but it gets very complex, ending driving down a street where a) Stephen's vest of ice is too large and inflexible to permit him to drive, so someone NEXT to him moves the gas pedals while I reach in from the other side to steer, and I manage to stop the bike (!) in the right place, parking it on the sidewalk while all four of us "get out" and part, except for me and Stephen, who then attaches a basket to a wire from the upstairs balcony for charming Miss X, who comes down as he pulleys the basket UP to her, and everyone laughs at the inane charm of the circumstances. I'm sure we'll have pleasant sex afterwards.

10/25/91: Wake about 5AM with a strongly sexual dream I don't recall.

10/27/91: Immense dream of inventive man whose car was wrecked when he parked it at the corner on a hill and it slid backward into an intersection where it was demolished by a truck. It was his work area, and I retrieved two objects, one of which I forget, the other was a tiny rubber-plastic toy that loped and leapt and crept forward at random moments, and I turned it over to find plastic cage within cage, separating little lips like labia to reveal inner workings that contributed to its varying gait. I felt privileged to meet and help him.

11/4/91: A combination of Susan McMahon and Delores Fernandez (they're close ANYWAY, I should recall) is with me on a trip to what may be Paris. We stay in what HAD been an inexpensive hotel for which I BELIEVE I've reserved for $40 per night, but it LOOKS redone and VERY elegant and she's worried it'll be too expensive. PREVIOUS bit had me riding on TOP of a two-passenger elevator going up and down in an office building in which I wanted to reach floor 8, but kept getting on EXPRESS elevator that went to a fashion photographer's penthouse on 28. At the hotel I ASK about a famous restaurant and get TAXIED to it: it too is VERY elegantly redone, and a "My Fair Lady" type production number has elegant couples in evening clothes promenading down grand staircases to the "Luxury Dining Room" to symphonic strings, which shifts to a jazzier sound as the LOWER passengers descend on an ESCALATOR to a cafeteria that's STILL trying to be very elegant. At the entrance to a shop I give an odd SPASM of a jerk and knock over an amethyst crystal with a barnacle (from the top of the turtle yesterday) on a wand, breaking it into three pieces. I'm aghast, but say it was an ACCIDENT as the doorman holds up the three pieces to me REPEATEDLY, and I say, "Well, what can I DO, REPAIR it?" Jerk about suddenly waiting on line, and again in a lobby, and these elegant old women look at me with withering disdain. When I waken, tossed in bed by the boat's rocking, I realize my DREAM body is experiencing the shocks my PHYSICAL body are undergoing---not a FIRST (like feeling cold when I'm cold, having to pee when I have to pee), but surely the most DRASTIC.

11/5/91: Wake at 6:15, with dream: I'm watching an elaborate opera with viewers on enormous vertical walls of seats that move up and down. It's very modern music, and some predict it'll be great, some that it'll be awful, and some say it's a kind of elaborate hoax or ruse just to get publicity for author or composer or the Arts Center that's putting it on. Then there's a mysterious segment in which a painting or manuscript is completed or verified by superimposing two pieces and getting a photographic negative of the solution, in tripartite sections. More to it, and it seemed wonderful and rich when I woke in the dark, but had no energy to transcribe it then.

11/5/91: At 11:30PM, bed early, I dream, odd since BOTH main characters are dead: Bruce Lieber is somehow John Lennon's BROTHER, and they're staying upstairs from us (Mom, Rita, and I in about 1957, though Rita isn't 10 but about 14), and I've wanted to get Rita a DATE with John Lennon through Bruce Lieber, for her birthday, which is now LONG past. I think I've had a dream LIKE this before, because there's a FAMILIAR sense of "If I can just do THIS, THEN I can ask Bruce Lieber for a date with John Lennon for Rita." GET "this" done this time, but I have something ELSE to do, but get the angry report from Mom that Rita's CRYING about it, and I'd better do SOMETHING FAST. I feel TERRIBLY guilty and start upstairs to FIND Bruce Lieber when I wake up.

11/7/91: 2:20AM: Frustration dream: I'm riding on a crosstown bus on W. 100th St. in northern Manhattan, when "last stop" is announced. On getting off, I see conductor handing out transfers to Second Avenue, Third Avenue, and Fourth Avenue lines. It occurs to me I could go UP Second Avenue line to do one errand at East 220th Street, so I ask for a transfer. "I'm all out," she says shortly. "But I NEED one," I protest. "I'll go get one," she lies, and leaves. I wait and wait, and complain to local newsstand operator, who can't do anything. Well, maybe I can walk to 121 W. 100th St., where Bernice Cousins HAD been moving OUT, but now I can check on---what WAS it? And in this DOUBLE frustration I wake to pee. Recall SECOND dream fragment: I'm having a VERY late lunch in the IBM cafeteria (like at Henri's, yesterday?) and my "moral supervisor" says, "Remember, you have duty July 4, I have duty December 25, and we have to find someone for January 1. I agree, though puzzled as to what I DO as this is my first time as some sort of supervisory "watchman," and hope I can get off by the 9PM FIREWORKS so I can watch them without shirking my duty. Also, he mentions to Sherryl, he has to know her HOURLY whereabouts! We both think this is rather stringent for a mere TEACHER at IBM, but it seems to be becoming a kind of esoteric, important, SCHOOL. She stumbles, saying, "Well, I was maybe going to see my Mother this weekend, or my brother upstate---," and the dream ends in unresolved problematic frustration. 5:40AM Dream 3: Some guy and I are trying to take a 5-6 year-old boy away from his parents and home to develop into some kind of seer or prophet, but the parents want him home and have taught him to say "Please don't take me away. I want to stay home with my parents." We try toys and tricks and games, but still he refuses. We don't want to try force. We ask anyone we can: how can we best do this? It shifts slightly when I ask some sexy guy, "How can I get someone to think of ONE WORD I want him to say. Call it thought transference." The task seems to be of great difficulty. It shifts again to trying to get some authoritarian WOMEN to approve a PROJECT we want to do, and getting Juan Carlos's advice on how best to do it: bribery, good food, sex with Juan Carlos?

11/10/91: 4:10AM: Three sets of dream summaries: 1) slicing, molding, and measuring male sexual performance, 2) spiders at party, and 3) outrageous opera. To start with 3): AGAIN I have a reserved seat HIGH in an old opera house, but I go downstairs through a side entrance and into a "lower orchestra," where sight-lines are SO bad that many seats are empty: a) in the CENTER front, where seating is on sofas turned perpendicular to the stage, so you have to crane your head and neck sideways, b) on the sides, where construction girders, set outcroppings, TV camera ramps and emplacements, and arrays of microphones totally obstruct the view, and c) further back, where screens and elements of the set block a view meant to be seen from ABOVE. I look at some single seats, but the opera's already started and the number of people I'd have to step in front of in the narrow row is too formidable, so when I see a woman seated on the step in an AISLE, I notice cushions on a section divider that do NOT obstruct the view from behind because the aisle stretches behind, so I sit on a cushion and turn to the stage to see the end of what I hope is the FIRST spectacular effect, as huge aluminum balloon with streamers hanging down, representing a ZEPPELIN taking off, is ascending into the flies with such SPECTACULAR effect that I expect to hear audience applause, but I don't. This is followed by a TRAIN and a bus, coming from opposite sides of the stage, meeting in the center and both roaring into the audience on special ramps built over the audience, and the SOUND effects (like the helicopter in "Miss Saigon") are truly convincing of size, weight, and power. Then two SPEEDBOATS start from the stage, obviously miniature, and roar audiovisually in rivers along each side of the train/bus ramp, and I think, "Oh, 'Boats, Trains, and Planes,' like the movie comedy with John Candy." The sounds of the boats go Doppler JUST as they pass MY seat, and I wonder if it's chance, or they can somehow arrange it for EVERY seat in the house. But AS these effects culminate, MY seat starts rolling BACKWARD and UPWARD as each main stage-effect widens and deepens the view, until I'm pulled back JUST about to where my original subscription seat was! The opera is an old Korngold or Friml antiquated piece with set songs and a stupid plot, and as a duet finishes and the curtains close for intermission, the two old women next to me say to me, "You could become pregnant here, because, as you know, the plot device here is that HE is pregnant!" I don't remember that, OR the women, but they remember ME, because the nearer one asks, "How was your trip to Greece?" "My trip to GREECE! Well, SINCE then, I can ALSO tell you about my trips by train from London to Hong Kong, my trip to China, my trip to the Antarctic, and my RECENT trip to the Galapagos!" My talk is interrupted by well-dressed volunteer society usherettes handing out a contest/lottery/opera-support brochure that involves paying money to solve an illustrated mystery in the pages of a brochure you'd buy, with a large cash prize for the first correct solution. I debate contributing and trying to solve the puzzle when I wake and find, gratefully, that it's 4:05 and I can start my day! 2) About the spiders, starts with my going from the dining room at 1221 Dietz into the kitchen, and being stopped by Mom's shocked glance to (her) upper right, and in (my) upper LEFT of the doorway is an ENORMOUS spider whose legs and body seem to be made from bent BANANAS (so it MUST be a tarantula?). I react rather calmly, and I'm suddenly sitting in a living room at a party and, on the coffee table in front of me, a fat BLACK spider has been pinioned by a hand-barbell, and a remark LATER says he was permanently deformed "like an arm numbed from having been slept upon." It's my and Mom's apartment, and a long, lobster-like creature scuttles across the coffee table and we apologize to our guests, saying we've NEVER had such a problem with spiders. There are also FLIES, in clouds, in places, and we're both spraying furiously, and I go into her bedroom at 1221 Dietz and she's spraying and I suggest it might be more effective if we SHUT her DOOR after we spray, so all the flies can't escape the spray by leaving the room. Afterwards, in the kitchen, there were two large SPLOTCHES of blood or catsup on the white tile floor, alongside an array of long-to-short catsup LINES, and I remark that it's QUITE unusual to have TWO adjoining catsup accidents, too. 1) In some sort of medical experiment the psychologist is sucking off the HUGE veined cock of an older male patient, who is in such a frenzy to cum that he's plunging his cock in and out of an inexperienced mouth so that the saliva and precum is mixed with BLOOD from cock-lacerations and the mouth of the doctor. We exclaim over the oddity of this experiment, and at the moment of orgasm the cock is cut off by an enormous cleaver that takes off the front part of the legs in a huge half-wedge, and a similar cleaver from the back cuts through the buttocks and the prostate, leaving an anatomical SECTION of the desired physiology at the moment of orgasm. It's very CLEANLY done, no blood, and the wedge-surfaces are clapped with wax or varnish to keep them intact. This wedge is later somehow made into a mold for a series of sex machines that can be fitted onto various bodies and legs for MOTION studies like in Masters and Johnson. Somehow sexy and medical, prurient and scientific, all at the same time. Unknown date, from p.29: Stop at 4.53AM, after dream of being MUGGED in a California park!

11/20/91: 9AM: I'm packing from a vacation at 1221 Dietz, and DAD says he wants to KEEP my blue shoulder bag! I'm inclined to say no, but (either at END of dream or in half-daze on AWAKENING) I decide I could SURELY let him have it, since he seems to WANT it so BADLY.

11/26/91: 1) In dark before 7AM: Frustration! Going to a gay and lesbian meeting in a basement under a HUGE apartment complex in Queens: 37-75 type house-number with many entrances on different streets. Into large elevator, directed by a green down-arrow, and a recorded voice (after a LONG descent) announces a "Single-drop mode," which DROPS the floor out from under us as we scramble to keep our composures. We eventually get off in an ENORMOUS underground area, filled with bars, and I go to the wrong disco, the wrong convention center, and at length see a sign for the "passage to the meeting halls" which I go down, and by this time it's about half an hour late for the start of the meeting, and the guy at the door says "$5 entrance fee," and I realize that I left my wallet in the coat that I hung just outside the elevator, which I've now completely forgotten the location of! I wander over to a parking-lot attendant's office, which has a wire mesh covering the upper half of the opening and a shelf projecting over the bottom half-door, like at the post office, and I try to find out WHERE I put my coat, at WHICH entrance, and I wake feeling total frustration. 2) 8AM: SEXY dream with a John Crano who looks rather like he did in high school, except that with his clothes off he has a somewhat less hairy body than I remember he had, and the curves are most appealing. He's eager for sex, and I go into my CURRENT bedroom, which looks in the dream as if it's hundreds of years old, with yellowing crumbling boxes piled around the light switch on the wall, and I undress but for my bathrobe and my T-shirt and go out on my CRUTCHES (and just YESTERDAY I thought, "I've never dreamed I was on crutches!") to continue with him, but he's dressing to go to work and calmly says, "Want to do it again tomorrow? OK, I'll come BACK!"

12/4/91: 9:14 John wakes by phoning: 1) I have a square computer-printed ticket to the "White Theatre at 856 8th Avenue, at 96th Street" for an AIDS benefit by the Gay Men's Chorus at 8:30, and it looks like I won't make it on time, but then I figure these benefits never start on time anyway. I started by going by subway up 6th Avenue, but I left the station, by mistake, at 23rd Street, and I look west and see the Variety Photoplays Theatre, and I figure that's at 7th Avenue, and that subway will take me closer to where I want to go, so I'll just go cross town one block and pay another token (I'm not on crutches, but it seems the crutch-mentality is operating at some level) to save walking farther when I get off uptown. Then I'm on a platform that's somehow connected to the selling floor of a large department store like Bloomingdales, and I realize that "this platform is for the bus," and that I've LEFT the lower-level platform on which I should have stayed to catch my subway, but I figure that I can keep going to the BROADWAY line, which will be even CLOSER to 8th Avenue at 96th Street, and in my confusion I try to picture the intersection of 96th and Broadway to find where the theatre is, and seem to recall something like the Edison or the Riverside that's been converted BACK from a supermarket or real-estate office into a theatre again. Then 2) I'm somehow off the subway-system altogether, but still figure I can make the performance by rushing across an elegant block that's now lined with tall, expensive apartment buildings fronted with expanses of grass and flowerbeds, and I can see what looks to be a high-class prostitute posing in an outlandish flowered and caped swimshit (THAT's a great typo for swinsuit!---and then I look at what I typed AGAIN for swimsuit!!), and I marvel at the change in what had been a Harlem-slum block. I pass a playground in this neighborhood, and some of the teenagers are there on a date, but they're all meticulously groomed and flawlessly dressed in semi-transparent or very revealing sports clothes that show LOTS of flesh: women look nearly naked from the back with only skin-creases showing where the straps are that keep the tiny areas of cloth covering the fronts of their bodies, and the men show muscles and slabs of leg and thigh and chest that I try hard not to keep staring at, thinking that this new generation really looks GOOD. Three or four rich couples are languidly fingering the playground equipment, to the envy and possible anger of a street-tough on a swing, shirtless body underfed but prominently abdominaled and streaked seductively with play-dirt. He starts getting up to menace them, it seems, and the dream shifts again 3) to a cast of BRITISH accents who menace the smaller kids at their school: "Fuck you, you've got to obey me," and "Get me a gift that's bigger than your head." They're trying to act adult but seem taken from one of the black-and-white British films from the early 40s that I've been watching on TV lately: too "early" to be "properly" menacing: British "safe" punks as opposed to the current American deadly ones.

12/5/91: 9:10AM: I'm in a hotel, but go out into the hall to see if I can find a humidifier. See one, dusty and unused, in a corner near my room, but when I ask a bellboy if I can take it, he obviously thinks I intend to STEAL it and says I can't have it. Back to my room to see two beds and chests of drawers full of stuff piled on top, including lots of bottles of liquor on something like a bar. There are loud neighbors going into the next room when I finally locate my section-entrance, and I close my door fast so that I won't get much of their sound. The handle is about chest level, and when I close it from inside I see that the keys (which I left in the door) are inserted from above, downward, and when I take them out of the keyhole, there's a strange optical illusion of a DIME floating above the place where the keyhole had been, and I guess it's some kind of modern security (or beautification) system.

12/9/91: 8AM: I'm in a hotel room for a trip that goes overseas for three days and returns to California and then COLORADO and NYC. I look at a restaurant in upstate New York and wonder if I'd eaten breakfast there before, and manager asks how many I am, and I say one, and he hollers at waiters sitting at round tables for one in back room for loafing. Brochure of days of trip gives listing of what we're seeing, confused because SOME places we're in 2 DIFFERENT days.

12/10/91: 7AM: I'm trying to climb a large wall comprised of huge wooden components that I end up INSIDE, dreading toppling them and falling within them among the enormous hurtful elements of the wall. I gingerly climb down, frustrated, though there's no sense that my foot, at 11AM, is part of problem.

12/11/91: 8:15: A new friend and I are meeting and walking at a gay outing in an amusement park, and we enjoy walking hand in hand (this probably stems from the bit in "Dear America: Letters Home from Vietnam" that I saw last night with the episode of the POWs walking handcuffed together with a fantasied brush of lovers between adjoining wrists). I say "Do you like rides?" and he says "Yes," so we walk to where the roller coaster HAD been set up in previous years, in the "northern part" of the park, and there's an old-style building we don't recognize as having been there before, though it doesn't look as if it's been added recently: a "Bran" apartment building. We see the dark shape of a large hanger-like building where some of the rides had been before. It had been about midnight before, and I wondered if the rides would still be operating, and now it's early-morning dawn as we enter the gates of a new (and clearly expensive and exclusive) apartment complex of townhouses randomly distributed about graveled paths, ponds, and fountains, and there's a shapeless dwarf (he could have come from the photograph, yesterday in the DTW calendar in the mail, of a dwarf as a dancing member of one of the upcoming troupes) slumped on a park bench, which my friend points out to me as "knowing us," though he seems to be asleep and more IGNORING us. Another young punkish guard accosts us, and his speech impediment makes it hard to understand him, but he seems to be talking about a recreation room we can look into through an enormous plate-glass window in which same-sex couples are lounging exhaustedly on sofas set around the cavernous room, and he seems to indicate that they'd been up all night at a gay dance, and we try to step on the soggy-bottomed stakes across a closed entranceway, and he unchains the door and holds it open for us (as the guy with a box did for me yesterday at my front door on my return from HIP). He seems to be saying where we can go and what we can see when I wake.

12/12/91: 9:15: I'm working at IBM, printing a storage dump, changing column- widths and formats with a double-bottom printer-button with a larger one on top forming a T with their intersections, and they took my time-slot away from me. There's also a segment where I'm spitting enormous wads into a wastebasket lined with a black plastic bag. More details, but I forget them by now, 12/15.

12/18/91: 8:45: 1) I'm giving a talk to a HUGE IBM group about HISTORY of billing systems, and I'm BOMBING---NO reactions from them. 2) We leave the talk at NIGHT and I have to get back to Akron University campus, and get told which way to walk, and walk LONG dark city streets, knowing the blocks are so long because the campus blocked off many streets. Two "old place" dreams! WHY does my nose and throat feel so DRY and SORE almost EVERY morning?

12/23/91: 8:45: John A. and I are driving somewhere, and he's lost his brochures, having only two slips of paper left, and he had a book on Gamesmanship and a large travel book he'd had to pay for. We look around for them but have to leave without them.

12/26/91: 8:50: At a movie at the Thalia with Sherryl and SHE reminds me I left my CRUTCHES there last night. "Why not look for them now?" They're NOT at the coat rack where I'd left them (like last night at Vasata), and I'm given entrance to a LARGE storage room with furniture, old books, clothes, and LOTS of crutches, but all OLD and dirty and battered. I look and look, try picking up some rubber pieces to renovate the best of the rubberless older ones, and stay over forth minutes, so crowds are leaving so NEW ones are filing in and I STILL haven't found mine, and debate not using them at ALL anymore.

12/27/91: 10:25: I'm at Joanne Woodward's (as she was in the "recycle" ad on Channel 13 last night) and she's showing off her 1) pirate-ship-telescope, suspended in a glass showcase that revolves, and 2) two other scientific magnifying instruments, and 3) telling us to WATCH the guests making their own alcoholic punch with prunes, which seems to be set up to MAXIMIZE spillage!

12/28/91: 9:20: Rita and I are at a shoe shop, and she tries on a pair of VERY large sandals, laughing as she points to the thong-joint in the middle of her foot that makes it look like it's gift-wrapped, and I point to a woman who's modeling high yellow Wellington-type boots, saying they're VERY uncomfortable (which I realize afterwards isn't actually true). Rita and I compare our suntans and I'm surprised that I'm DARKER Than she is, but realize I've been to the Galapagos where it's SUMMER and she's in the Florida WINTER now.

12/29/91: 8:30: 1) I look into the bathroom mirror at 1221 Dietz and my left eye has a red stye with a soft-white center on its lower lid, and the pupil is very dry and dirty-pocked-egg-white looking, actually adhering to the eyelids when I try to pull them away from the eye. I'm concerned and hope that I can CURE it without losing my vision. 10:29: 2) I'm talking to Marilyn Occhiogrosso on the phone and she LOVES my index, so she "has no WORDS to say how good it is," and I blabber on about how EASY it was for me to do it PERFECTLY, and she'll send me ANOTHER index in 4-5 days, and I say "Good, I can finish what I'm working on NOW in that time and give you good turnaround times again."

12/30/91: 10:30: I'm working for IBM and just ran a test and got a computer DUMP, which doesn't even have all the BCD translated and printed below, so I'll have a lot of work to even find where I stopped and what happened to the test, but I don't yet have the time to look at it---I guess that's reflected in all the things I wanted to do this morning (1.Phone Chase, 2.Phone Pavitt, 3.Have breakfast early, 4.Sponge-bath, 5.Finish solid-state index, 6.Start Cardiology pages) when I just want to catch up on the dream-pages and videomovie watching.

12/31/91: 8:20: 1) Boiling horse's head for university exhibit, 2) Riding with Shelley (out of town at the moment), to intersection and she ALMOST hits crashing car, saying "I need two STRONG feet for TWO brake pedals!" 10:30: 3) Bob Karwowski has bought tour and air tickets for me for January 3-4 to Alabama and I ask if he wants one or two checks from me to him back for it.