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DREAMS FROM 2003 1 of 2


1/2/03: 9:30AM: Wake groggy at 8:35AM when Dana calls to pick up antlers, and remember two dreams: 1) I'm in an Army-like unit which is having a race, and I'm in the first race, where they give me the inside track, but I don't have a chance of winning, though in my fantasies I sail through the course with no difficulty. The symmetry works out nicely: three races will give three winners, and then the three winners will have a final race to determine the unit champion. 2) I'm definitely buttoning up my military jacket in a john with many windows around, and though I'm the only one wearing a jacket, it's somehow proper because I'm somewhat in authority, but will lower myself enough to peek into the mirror to see how my shape is coming even though one of the men comes into the john to use the urinals. The vague khaki color of the jacket is present, though the first dream isn't all that detailed.

1/3/03: 9:17AM: I'm in a contest with a partner, and I'm to read a list of quotation numbers---no, more like the order-number of cities that have quotations written about them, with #1 being New York City---to my partner from the highest number to the lowest (which are #2 and #1) and he has to repeat the numbers back to me in the order I read them to him. It starts like #79, #67, and I think, "Good, it's going down in decrements of 12," #54, "Except the third one is a decrement of 13," and other numbers, but I wake before seeing how well my partner can do to win us a better prize.

1/18/03: 6:30AM: I'm racing down subway stairs because I hear the train coming, and I'm supposed to meet Susan MacMahon in the first car. It's pulling in as I reach the platform, and I scan the first few cars as they speed past, but can't make out anyone. I dash toward the front of the train and finally see Susan standing in the front doorway, but she seems not to see me. I overestimate the time the doors will be open and they CLOSE before I can get in, even though I try thrusting my hand into the diminishing opening, and I shout "Susan" and she hears me, now opposite me inside the car while I'm standing on the darkened platform, and I motion forward, mouthing "meet me at the station we're going to" which is something like Atlantic Avenue, three or four stops from Clark Street where we were supposed to meet, and she motions and mouths something back at me, which I can't quite determine, so I'm not convinced we'll meet where we're supposed to meet. No dreams with the four or five doxycycline sleeping pills previously, and it's a coincidence(?) that I have this the first time I try diphenhydramine this cycle, waking up at 6:30 and not sleeping more.

2/2/03: Dream 1: Dennis and I are sleeping at 320 E. 70th and hear fire alarm. I go onto fire escape and see lots of smoke and say "Though I see no fire, we'd better leave." Pee at 10:50PM. Dream 2 forgotten. Pee at 5:10 and then have Dream 3: Dad and I should be somewhere at 1:30PM, but he leaves and it's 1:40 and I know it's too late to get there at all.

2/7/03: I'm looking at porno from a TV reflected in a mirror above Dennis's bed, and he's playing with himself and with me, and I'm playing with myself and with him, and I say, "Who's having porno with whom?" and I take his big cock WAY down my throat, and wake with an erection that I decide to cum with.

2/16/03: Take Viagra #7 at 12:10AM today, watch TV and start j/o about 1:30 and get to bidi-bed at 3:48AM. 7:10AM pee, and record dream of sculptor, like Michelangelo, SCRAPING DOWN an old marble bust (really, only a HEAD) to make a POWDER for molding into a NEW marble statue, and the eyeball of the head is colored brown, so that when the scraping gets down to the eyeball, streaks of color can be seen in the emulsion that collects the powder into a clayey mass.

3/05/03: First night of no coughing with my cold of eleven days, but two almost-fever dreams: 1) A government-like test of an underwater detonation of possibly a nuclear weapon produces an intense light followed by a tremendous explosion, and in a second test, filmed and run in slow motion, we can determine that something like a torpedo in the water already hit the front of the submarine and may have caused an instantaneous fire in the control room milliseconds before the actual bomb hit, with its obliterating white light, and then everyone watching gasps as, seemingly in real time, an enormous fist of roiling smoke erupts from the water and arcs through the air like an incoming meteor, causing us to wonder what might happen when this explosion-front hits the surface of the earth hundreds, or even thousands, of miles away. 2) I'm in Akron, late for a test that's supposed to start at 2PM, and I'm not even sure which direction to go when I'm on a hilltop looking over a somewhat London, or maybe Glasgow-from-the-cemetery view, so I ask someone, as if in a foreign language, "University?" and they point in an unexpected direction. I wander down streets that seem vaguely familiar, until I see an enormous Capital-like cathedral that I seem to have entered before and visited a sunken nave fronting a stage-like altar area, so I think I know where I am, but then turn a corner and there's a mosque, rather like the image of the mosque in the foreground of the History Channel's story of the Petronas Towers last night, which I don't remember seeing in Akron (though I did see one in Paris). When I ask a strange-looking woman how to get to the University, she puzzles me by saying I'd first have to take a boat and then a circular-route bus, and the distance is made even more formidable when I encounter a couple of women who breezily inform me that they're returning to the University in their chartered helicopter, but I can't get up the courage to ask if I can come along, and they don't ask. It's now almost 2PM and I'm thinking it probably would even be better if I didn't get there at ALL and tried to make it up at a later date, rather than getting there late and trying to make up the lost time today. In the end, I flag down a number of taxis, rusty decrepit-looking things, two of which lurch to my side, but I have the idea the one across the street saw me first, so I go over and am appalled to see the inside thickly coated with a dusty mud that makes the back seat look like a muddy-floored cave, but I gamely try to step over the doorsill, since the door won't open, and wonder how I'm going to keep my clothes clean in this grimy interior, but I wake before I actually sit down and try to protect my cleanliness. Don't sleep all that continuously this morning, looking at the clock at 3 and 4 and 5 and 6 and 7 and 8, but am at least grateful that I'm not coughing, though my nose is still producing an incredible amount of mucus ("I'm still full of snot," as I say to Spartacus later), mostly bloody when I check to see if it's infected-quality green, not. 9:20AM: Woke 5AM to pee, 7AM to recall dream, notes about 7:30AM, typed 9:20AM: I'm sightseeing with a group in what seems to be a park in Philadelphia, and I go up a side path to a rock under which the group is being told about local geology by the guide, and I sit on TOP of the rock above the group to listen to the talk, but then the rock breaks off, and when they try to put it back, I lift it myself into position while they put a brace under it. Then to a museum inside, or beside, the park, and get special attention after the group leaves, but when I look for the car where it was parked, it's gone, and I debate calling the tour service to see if they have cell-phone contact with the car to find out where it is to see how I can catch up, but then I'm in a cab that some other guy has taken to get home, and we drive past VERY DISTINCT blocks where there are separated ochre-brick three- and four-story detached houses, but when he gets off I'm nowhere near finding the car, but I wake without resolution.

3/11/03: 1) 5AM: I'm playing a hand of Bridge with only the ace of trumps (clubs); an ace, king, queen of a suit the bidder is void in, and a couple other face cards, but I can't defeat their contract in a long and detailed game. 2) 8AM: I look out my apartment window (which seems to look west, rather than north) to BLACK sky covered by ominous clouds. Then I'm in a Canadian museum, checking in two coats and the attendant says, "$12," and when I express amazement, he says "$15," and smiles and comes down to "$4," at which I reply that I'll pay HALF that and open my wallet and HE takes out a Canadian $2 bill, which I recognize is words only about $1.50 US. Look for the JOHN in what turns out to be the KITCHEN area, messy and greasy and steamy, and then find myself outside walking along the lowest level of an arena of seats that rises to my right, and encounter three costumed dancers from Tibet who precede me along the path along the unseen center of the arena, and they exit from a gate I can't follow them through, and then I wake up and write two notes before I forget.

3/16/03: 7:45AM: Another dream in the endless series of trying to get somewhere just before a performance and either not getting there at all, or finding an inferior viewpoint when I do get there. Could this be a pattern in my life itself? I have a ticket for a front-row seat in a certain area of a beach (like our first row tickets in SOME mezzanine for Paul Taylor at 3PM today) to watch the incoming surf, but when I finally reach the general area of the seating, the waves can be seen only from the side, though they're spectacular in their height and curl and greenness as I watch two gather and crash onto the sandy shore to my right, though I can't quite see how far up the sand the spume flows. But my ticket is for an area at another angle, and though someone says my seat may be already occupied, I say that I'll get the attendants to throw out the interloper, probably just a kid anyway. Go to the top of the hill to a long set of pavilions overlooking the beach, and keep asking for "Sapo Beach" which is printed on my ticket, and it's clear I'm in Italy when a gendarme tries to satisfy my English question with a heavily-accented English response that directs me more to the left and down the hill. Through a rug shop and another large hall with no exit in the back, and then finally to the area of the seats to see that the entire view is now screened by palm fronds, so there wouldn't be a good view from ANYWHERE in this area. Don't even attempt to find my seat and know I'm frustrated but can't tell what my response will be in the dream when I wake about 7:15 and tell myself the dream was so simple and direct that I'll have no trouble remembering it when I move to transcribe it. The temperature is supposed to reach 60° (why does THAT symbol print for ALT-248 and NOT the degree-circle? Nor does the alpha work, though the é does) today and now at 8AM I can sit barefooted with the still-shaded bedroom window slightly ajar and not feel the usual chill of winter from it. Maybe when I go through the cycle of seasons I'll finally feel that this is my home, rather than a vacation spot or an interlude which will be interrupted to return to my "real" home at 167 Hicks Street. Imagine moving many times when you're a kid!!

3/23/03: Went to bed 11:55PM after gorging on about a quart of ice cream during the day of the early morning when Pope died (see POPEDEAD). I'd slept only five hours the night before, had a brief nap when I also had a short dream (to prove I'd slept?) which I've forgotten. But woke about 7AM with a brief memory of a sequence in which I was talking to (or watching a television program of someone else talking to) a naked esthete, but was amused to see that, close up, I could see his hairy genitalia, and his long thick white cock seemed quite attractive, easily visible in the shadows of his lower body, as were NOT the genitals of the naked men and women in the opening 2-hour "Riverworld," making it very stagey and not too believable. Then a full-fledged dream of meeting a group of men for some kind of meeting or party, where two of them are quite attractive: Kim thick and hairy, his partner younger and more svelte, but both with piercing blue eyes and pleasant personalities so that when I asked how long they'd been in a relationship, it was only for a few months, and I addressed the group with a rather flowery paean to the joys of newly-found love: the way it makes the lovers radiant with pleasure and satisfaction, the way their beauty strikes the viewer as a product of their togetherness. Pleasant dream.

5/9/03: 9:35AM: I knew it was a WHILE since I'd recorded a dream, but hardly thought it would have been FORTY-SEVEN days, over a month and a half! But after the dinner at Alain Ducasse, unconnected as I think, I dream I'm looking at a small growth at the heel of my left palm, rather like the small bump that's always been there at the near-top of my left wrist-an-inch-toward-the-elbow: and I think it's a wart that I could chew off to get rid of, so I gnaw on the palpable bump, feeling bits being chewed off like the granules of wart removed from my left foot-bottom, gratified that it's not bleeding, though when I "finish sandpapering it with my teeth" there are small red particles that are easily chewed away, not to be replaced by more redness, and I think, in the dream, about the possibility of getting infected with gastrointestinal warts, if there even are such things, and decide it's not worth worrying about. Another fragment, something (only vaguely) sexual, that I've forgotten since.

5/10/03: 8:09AM: I'm typing some kind of script for a play that I've written, but I'm in an office of a publisher who has a computer expert, and I ask him how I can type a special character, ó, but it seems to be a superscript of a superscript, and when I enter the proper ALT-keys, it doesn't work, so I'm trying to wave him down to teach me how to do it. When he comes to my desk, however, he tells me that the pages are going to be changed drastically, because the "official script" has pages which are about 80% of the length of the pages I used, and for a moment I think I may have to retype everything, but then it IS a computer and I can just reformat and print out my original document. "Nothing" dream before waking for Paul's last morning here, at last.

5/11/03: 9:25AM: First TRAVEL dream in a long time: I'm in northern Canada, amazed by the attractiveness of the young male faces I encounter, thinking I should spend more time here, as I walk through a small town looking to purchase something. Woke with rather vivid memories of details of the people, the streets, and my activities, about 7AM, but forgot all details by now, sadly.

5/19/03 [start of SWISSALS dreams]: 5:42AM: Panoply from an early one with an Indian woman lying spread out with her cunt saying "Lick my pretty" (probably a reflection of the book of erotica for sale in the Kunstmuseum's shop) to the final "investigation of the block around our camp, in Canada, where I was a sort of guru in a summer camp, when I went into a department store and stood on the edge of a swimming pool with a lot of women sitting around it (obviously from the Frauenbad on the Limmat tour yesterday) only to find it rocking back and forth like a boat, almost tipping me into the water, then climbing up to try to get out, but finding the ledge past the workman who was pulling the ropes which tipped the boat too narrow, and seeing a small ladder (from Jacob's ladder in Chagall's stained glass?) I used only the tips of my fingers to work my way down the two or three stories to the ground below, marveling at the ease with which I clung to the finger-tip room of the rungs to lower myself to the ground, almost like floating. And then I got to the stone back-wall which turned out to be an exhibit area which was taken over by a group of Japanese judo artists who were running across a platform, bouncing off the edge of a pivot hung over past the end of the stage, and making extraordinary flips in the air, beautifully emphasized by their flowing huge fundoshi-type "diapers" which would flare out in the most amazing cloud-billows when the jump was well executed. Before that I had some kind of sorting of stamps in which I had pairs of kings in regalia to be sorted before a like image on a stamp of a higher value, and there were three or four sets of these which I was satisfied to be able to sort out. There were no real frustration dreams, though there was one hint at sexuality when I thought I had to circle around the group of admirers in my camp and go into my apartment alone and stretch out to jerk off, but somehow with the thought that they might be able to look in on me and admire me for what I was doing.

5/23/03: 6:15 DREAM: I'm riding on a subway in some outer borough of Queens or Brooklyn, on a route that I'd been on before and LEARNED that I had to STAY on this train (which is now rather more like a bus) until I rounded a particular crescent-shaped street with a certain configuration of buildings, maybe a school, which I knew meant I was getting close to a particular transit HUB in which I could make a simple two-train transfer that would get me to Borough Hall, close enough to home to walk. But, with a mysterious blank space, I got off the train BEFORE I should have, in a large train interchange, and I looked at the labels on some nearby platforms and KNEW they wouldn't help me, and then heard about an M leaving from a distant platform, and thought "The M stops at Court Street in the N and R station, so I could TAKE that," and I race up and down a few levels trying to find its platform (rather like racing up the hill yesterday to catch up with the group going to the chateaux), but see a train just leaving, and I seem to remember that the M has a VERY limited time in which it runs to my station, and I think I'm past that time, but I need to find a dispatcher who can tell me what train leaves when for someplace I know, or at least make a two-train transfer. As I'm moving up and down stairs, I DEFINITELY think to myself, "And, unfortunately, I know this isn't a DREAM, because I know what happened before I got here, and why, and I don't have anything that I have to get to at a particular time, so I have to DEAL with this because it IS real life and not a dream." But when I look around I realize that I've somehow gone out an exit and have to repay my subway token before even getting into the train COMPLEX to find more information. Don't even THINK of looking at a subway map, though there isn't any in evidence nearby. Go around a few doorways looking for the distinctive brick framework which would indicate the building-complex I'm looking for, and find some ways blocked, some locked, some barred by yellow construction tape, and somehow stumble into an office with people sitting at windows, and go to one window and say I'm sorry but I'm lost and just looking for SUBWAY information, and she smilingly refers me to a helpful-looking man at a desk, and he starts poring through books, even making a telephone call that doesn't answer anything, and has a sort of department-store catalog before him that's sectioned by neighborhoods, or economic classes, that features a small subway ROUTE-map as an inset in its pages, and this one doesn't work, and that one doesn't work, but he's still looking and hopes to find my answer. Once before, walking on the streets outside when I'd somehow "left the building," like Elvis, I looked at the passing traffic to VERIFY that there weren't taxis on these streets, and anyway the taxi fare, even without the promised increase, would be about $40 and it wasn't worth that just to get to my doorway, though I was almost tired enough to find the thought tempting. But I waited and waited for the right answer in the dream long enough that it finally just faded and I was lying in my bed in Zermatt.

5/24/03: 6:15: Curious dream about Algernon Blackwood, of all people, who was describing, either in person to me or in a magazine article, or to me who was WRITING a magazine article, about a particular story in which someone's "mesmerizing gaze" played a most important part, and it turned out to have been based on a real-life occurrence, and when he was casting about for a way to describe it, he decided on the "heroic monosyllable" form, which also had the benefit of "being easily understandable." I had a definite vision of the print in a New Yorker-type column of the last part of his narrative. While I was typing the above line, another entire dream returned to my memory: I was sorting through books in my apartment, and many of them had been put into blank storage for vidotapes which came in numbers of two, four, six, and eight, so that various series of books were stored in the appropriate-capacity containers. But some of the books I could definitely throw out, along with their now-obsolete containers, and I could actually see the possibility (to show how far the reality of a dream can deviate from the reality of reality) of condensing my book collection from three rather disparate shelves to TWO condensed shelves in perfect order, but I recall thinking that I really didn't WANT to throw out "Totor et Tristan" because of the memories it brought back of my learning to read---somehow it wasn't in French in the dream---and to verify that thought I went back to the first few chapters, consciously ignoring the preface which I wouldn't have read as a kid, and enjoyed re-reading the phrases that taught me various new words, and again I could very clearly SEE the layout of the page, with "framing comments" in smaller print around the simple-sentence learning phrase in larger, bolder print.

5/26/03: 6:27AM: MANY this morning: latest, in this strange new Dance Theater Workshop building, you can either be on one of five floors from the elevator, or you can be on an EXTENDED fifth floor, covering a large area where you have to walk to find someone. I'm returning to the elevator to go down and Kevin Bacon, older and plumper, comes out of a building and looks at me in a sexually intriguing way, and I think something may happen here. Before that, we were rehearsing for what may have been a revival of "Oklahoma," since the songs seem to have been already known, so that a review could depend only on HOW WELL a song was done, and we were all hoping for GREAT reviews which would launch our little semi-amateur company into the big leagues. Flocks of reviewers collected their cameras and fled to the phones to call in their reviews after a particularly successful number, but I thought a meditative single sung by a not very talented older woman slowed things down, and though I realized it was part of the score, I thought it could have been cut anyway. Other details of this dream have been forgotten, as were the dreams from yesterday, some rather sexual, about some teasing ways to cum, but they're gone now.

5/27/03: 4:15AM wake with dream, recorded while peeing: I'm in the Army, working in some sort of secretarial position, but I have an idea about how to improve things, and when some general comes to my boss's office, I say something like "We could improve channels of communication if the possibilities were WRITTEN DOWN so that anyone would know who to go to in order to communicate an idea to be implemented." The general beams and puts his hands on my arms, as if to embrace me, and I make some other comment, and he DOES embrace me, almost as a son, almost with the mysterious attraction that Colonel Davis in ROTC had for me, in that I could do no wrong, and any right was magnified beyond real merit. As in that situation, I felt increased confidence in my ability to advance, and said "People need to KNOW that they're appreciated, so that they can TRUST their superiors to hear ANY of their ideas, even those that might not work, without jeopardizing their superior's respect for them." Somehow I include an appreciation of HIS ability to accept such ideas, and our relationship becomes somehow INTIMATE with an ecstatic pleasure that transforms BOTH our abilities to function in our positions. Wake with a feeling of having had a GREAT, POSITIVE, ACTION-AFFIRMING experience. Finish typing this at 4:24AM.

5/28/03: 2:40 up to pee, dream forgotten. 4:41: Wake after VERY seductive dream, in a world I wouldn't mind living in forever: I was in some kind of organization, and some woman's father died, and she was TERRIBLY distraught, but everyone considered it perfectly normal that I would hug her, hold her close, and even SLEEP with her to comfort her in her time of loss, and her affection back to me was sweet, but not nearly so sweet as when her HUSBAND entered the picture and so appreciated my consoling his wife that he was very happy to suggest that HE come and sleep with the two of us, but ending up BETWEEN us, yet allowing me to spoon into him and put my hand on his wonderful soft-yet-strong chest while his wife cuddled him from the other side. I had the wit to sense where her hands were and not compete with my hands anywhere on his body, but he seemed perfectly open to lying with me almost openly sexually. Somehow without transition, maybe including the both of them, I was saying something like, "It's easy to verify that a man has become homosexual, because he actively enjoys sex with another man; a woman has become a lesbian when she actively enjoys sex with another woman; but when a man SAYS he's changed from being homosexual to heterosexual, it's slightly more complicated: even though he may even ENJOY sleeping with a woman, does he enjoy---or does he fantasize about enjoying---going to bed with a man?" They all seemed to listen to me with respect and affection---I'm, in typing, reminded of the aspect of RESPECT in a previous dream, too, both obviously engendered by Bob and Alison and Cheri talking---and SMIRKING---about Ken and me being gay, as if they didn't RESPECT us, as, for instance, David and Estrella might know we're gay, but they enjoy interacting with us and RESPECT us, where the others seem to DISRESPECT us for that reason.

5/29/03: Up at 4:40 with the vivid dream-memory of a brown-skinned man with an over-large chest sucking the STATUE of a cock, and then a sexy guy who's erect and wants to cum, but can't, and I feel like cuming too, so I do.

5/30/03: Dream of numbering important statements, either in groups of three or in three different languages, as we've seen so much everywhere in Switzerland, and they're on index cards as a possible aid to memorization in some very important, very scientific subject like cosmology, in which I was an acclaimed expert, working with someone at the absolute top of the field.

5/31/03: 4:35 dream: I'm on a large plot of ground in what seems to be the American middle west, and the ground needs to be broken up into little parcels by means of pieces of paper cut into strips (like the woman was doing with strips of bark around wooden frames in the "chip box" demonstration in Ballenburg the other day) and formed around clods of earth and then fastened with those gummed ring-reinforcers that used to be used on notebook paper that had been pulled from ring binders, breaking the holding rings. These formed little pedestals of soil, or even spheres set on the ground, and I marveled that these little reinforcers (reminding me now of the fragility of stamp hinges) could bind papers holding such large lumps of earth. Then, somehow, it was harvest time and the paper had vanished and the surface of the ground was free of planting but still contained fist-sized clumps of earth outlined on the surface. "Is it because it was so dry last year that the earth stuck together, and the plowing didn't break up these clumps, so the plants didn't get enough moisture---is that why this year's crop was poor?" The answer seemed to be yes, so I tried to help with NEXT year's crop by stamping on the ground with my heels, breaking up the lumps, and everyone thought that was a good idea and started doing it too.

6/1/03: 3:08: I'm preparing a radio program with an opera quiz, and there are people who have to be identified, including people whose first name coincided with their character's name, and one gift involves a yellow ribbon, clearly a reference to last night's wrapping of gift packages by the woman I could see in "The Crocodile" office. 8:16: Another dream: I've met someone who looks like an even sexier Bob Dukes, and we've had sex before, and I remember that he's VERY hot and turned on by odd circumstances and surroundings, so we're walking down a narrow street in what may even be Strasbourg, and I tell him in a low voice "I'd love to have sex with you, right here, right now," and he looks back at me with satisfied sexuality as we walk along, and I say "Oh, I'm so hot I'm getting hard already," and he huskily whispers "Let me see it," and I pull aside the blue jacket I'm holding in front of my crotch and can see in a mirror we're passing my semi-erect cock, and hope it's enough for him, and with a gleeful grin he puts down both hands and appears to be pulling out the edges of his foreskin from the tip of his semi-hard penis. We pass an entryway he seems to know and though the light's on we start to kiss, but then in an inner court I see two kids coming out of the building with their parents behind, and we dash out of the entryway for him to immediately enter another office building, but comes out quickly on a cell phone (or a simulated one), saying "Mr. Maloof, you gave me the wrong address for our meeting---" and then runs away laughing. He then goes down what looks to be the street entrance for a traffic tunnel like in the middle of Park Avenue, but it's filled with pedestrians, and I know he's put on a flashlight that momentarily illuminates their silhouettes in a dramatic frieze against the railings lining the defile and the row of buildings on the street-front opposite from me, and for a moment it's a lovely picture, but then the shadows of the people begin running up the defile, and when I reach the end they're all running toward me with their heads turned back, and what appears to be a small tiger or a large ocelot comes loping up the ramp towards me, and though he doesn't look fierce, everyone is in a panic, when another man (who might have been Bob, but he doesn't look like him now, yet he's another sexy con man) runs in front of him, explaining to the crowd "You have to capture their attention by looking straight into their eyes and never looking away," doing so, captivating the animal who continues running, and then he reached down and grabs the animal by the scruff of its neck, and it sort of melts into a harmless, though very large, kitten that holds little menace for the admiring people surrounding him.

6/3/03: 3:15: VERY erotic dream: I'm going into a baths, knowing where the action will be, feeling sexy, and someone has a HUGE cock which I try to touch, but he becomes very angry and says "Not the head, not the head" because he's about to cum, so I tweak the shaft, and squeeze the shaft, and lower and raise it, and he seems to trust me, and I get hard, and harder, and thrust to make me cum, and thrust harder, and harder, and wake with a GREAT erection, surprised that it's so early after I'd cum 5 days ago.

6/4/03: 7:30: I was in some kind of camp with children, and I look down at a lake to see one child drop into a deep arm of the lake, and wait breathlessly for bubbles to come to the top, and then her head, and we drag her out and dry her up with relief. Then we're somehow stranded, and kids have been there, without food, for about three days, and one little toddler creeps across a bed with apparent good cheer, and everyone feels grateful that no one's suffering. There were more details for that, and another segment, but it's forgotten now as I shit at about 8AM.

6/5/03: 4:02: Someone is making up a kind of program-guide by noting various operas and ballets on strips of paper which are glued to a brochure-type facsimile of the finished product, and we discuss ways of coding, like AA before operas so that they'll come before Ballets. Something else about a performance, or rehearsing for a performance, or SEEING a performance, occupied some time, but I forget the details now at 4:12AM. 8:18 after having gotten almost no added sleep, but remembered a dream during that time in which I was at a bathroom sink with a flip-top drain-opening through which an ENORMOUS cockroach with spread wings was trying to get out, and I ran water but it STILL managed to cling with one appendage or another to the lip of the drain, rattling like damp cardboard, and finally I turned on the hot water full and it flushed down, and by leaning forward I could SEE it whirling downward in a strangely-lit drain, until it hit a pile of clogged stuff at the bottom and vanished, much to my relief.

6/7/03: 5:20: I'm living, at something like my current age, in a place whose kitchen, at least, is laid out as at 1221 Dietz, and I'm doing something necessary in the line of work when I realize with a start that I'd put a tuna casserole in the oven quite a bit over an hour ago and haven't turned the oven off yet (or, to be precise, haven't "turned it over" yet, which is what, in the dream, I knew had to be done maybe a half-hour earlier), so I run to the stove and find it COLD. So Mom must have done something to it! I run to a kind of entrance-way where two women are standing about four steps up, about to leave the apartment, or what now seems more like a house, and Mom is talking to a man who may or may not be Dad, not really ready to listen to me, and I demand her attention, but she says she has to talk to the two women first, and I get angry and GRAB her thin wrist and almost DRAG her to the kitchen to demand to know WHERE she put my casserole. "In the cupboard." "In WHAT cupboard, WHERE?" with some asperity. "Where I keep the old peas." I'm not quite sure where this is, so I climb up on a chair and look into the top shelves of the cupboard on the far side of the kitchen table (if there was even a cupboard THERE at 1221, though I guess there WAS) and it's not quite full but has an array of partly used loaves of bread in their wrappers, some canned goods, unknown-contents packages, and stacked piles of bowls and pans and lids and dishes, none of which is my casserole! I look on a HIGHER, TOP, shelf, and it's not dusty, but obviously seldom-used, but with lots of half-eaten loosely-closed packages of cookies, potato chips, and candies, and I'm starting to wonder if there's something wrong with MOM to hide away such junk food, but my casserole is clearly not there. I'm off the chair and look into other cupboards on the other side of the sink, but they have their usual dishes and supplies of sugar and flour and canned goods, and I look into the pot-and-pan storage at the SIDES of the stove, in the refrigerator again, and just CAN'T find my casserole---could she have thrown it OUT? I'm about to confront her angrily when I wake. Just remembered another fragment in which I'm sitting on a toilet, like now, and become aware of a stream of urine coming from above the lip of the toilet-bowl, below the lip of the toilet-seat, and I sigh and realize I'll need a LOT of toilet paper to sop up the slop before I leave, so Ken won't suspect I've been so stupid (and short-cocked) to MISS the toilet bowl when I peed.

6/8/03: 8:30: Prince Charles is lying in a bed across from me, who am (COULD that be right?) sitting in a chair in a state of puzzlement until it's clear that it IS Prince Charles, who's fallen on ice, forward, and cut his cheek, which causes the blood on the sheet of his pillowless bed, but it's not serious, so there's no real concern, but WHY am I HERE? Then, without transition, I'm in a "body mass" in which the "chief attractive man" is twiddlng my toe with a delighted smile on his face, and I make a remark about how wonderful it IS to be "in a man pile, where you can't tell who's doing what to whom." There's a lot more play with attractive smiling men (maybe the group of men-waiters at Auberge de l'Ill last night?), but then it changes to a subway station with the typical signs, puzzling, of trains 2 and 3 available on ONE platform, and train 4 and 5 available on a platform above or below, but I don't know which is coming in next or which I'm to take, and all platforms are JAMMED with people waiting for trains, until it becomes more clear that people are waiting patiently to file OUT of the station, because construction has reduced the exits to very narrow, one-person-at-a-time stairways up which people make their way with extreme slowness, at one point applauding a knot of people who unravel and succeed in vacating the platform, making it marginally less crowded.

6/9/03: 5:06: I'm with Bob Rosinek, and he wants to lie on me even AFTER we've had sex, and he wants to try for a second shot, rubbing his cock between my legs, and I reach down to squeeze his nipples and he moans in appreciation. Just as I begin to get hard I wake.

6/11/03: Dream at 4:44AM: Brief but VIVID, GUSTATORY dream about being home for a day or two after a trip, and PICKING MY NOSE to find that what had been hard-stuffed sides have become filled with soft, easy-to-remove clumps that I can TASTE, and DO taste, and they're "healthy snot" rather than "blood-filled dried scabs", and, as in real life, I ENJOY the actual TASTE of the al dente lumps in the middle and wetter, slimier fringes at the edges.

6/15/03: 12:46: Woke at 12:45 with dream: I'm traveling in an Asian country like Vietnam or Thailand, and have to follow a path that forms a circle northward, on which I should pick up various things, like in a scavenger hunt, though I'm supposed to ask a native for something that I could obviously get myself, like a certain leaf from a plant. Other details forgotten. Then at 2:22 I try to remember a second dream, and though the memory comes close, I can't think of it while I type now peeing on the john with the nightlight on. Think "Sleeping pill makes my lower shins tingle," but then recall that I only PUT OUT, but did not take, a sleeping pill.

6/19/03: 3:16: I'm working on an odd index which will be in a tiny box at the bottom of the first page, and I have to work from an author's handwritten list that includes about 20 items written in tiny script on a piece of paper. Maybe 15 names, then a concentrated middle section that contains a list of technical terms like "shift," "left," "right," "center," all on page 1. The manuscript is only about two pages, and everything is rather self-evident, but I have to ask whether my little boxed index will have a title, like "Term definitions," and whether there should be two or three index-entries for IT, like "Term definitions," "Definitions, term," and "Table of term definitions," or "Index of term definitions," or "List of term definitions," and I'm afraid the author's concentration on his OWN terms will make it difficult for me to explain the reasons and logic for MY terms.

6/20/03: 7:08: EXTRAORDINARY sequence of dreams that included 1) trying to have sex with three extremely long cocks and four WOMEN, 2) an ELABORATE dental procedure I forgot to pay for, 3) familiar rock-hopping to get through a way home, and 4) a coven of female singers, centered around a cabalistic set of performances in GREENLAND. I guess it STARTED with the sex (now I start on it at 7:15AM), when a darkly attractive man assumed I was staying at HIS place for the night, and in the dream I was STONGLY reminded of my disappointment with myself that I didn't accept Dror's invitation to stay overnight, and, based on that, I resigned myself to saying yes, and my discomfort was heightened when shown a picture of three naked women, the middle one of which I thought was "Ava Gardner, who was NEVER shown with bare breasts," but it turned out to be someone else, and the bottom, older, fatter, woman was some incarnation of Shirley(?) [Louise] Anderson(?) [Fletcher] who was Nurse Ratched in "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest." Then the photo came to life and some squat sexy Italian man was trying to excite the bottom woman by playing with her flaccid, wrinkled nipples, and I could feel myself getting SLIGHTLY hard at the sight of his extremely long and sexy cock getting harder and longer, and I merely endured myself there until another sexy guy started sucking on his cock and he turned his ass toward me in an obvious request for me to fuck him, which I was not, in this world, about to do. Feeling extremely embarrassed, I was astounded (in retrospect, not in the dream, where it seemed perfectly normal) to be in a dental chair enduring the final phases of an EXTREMELY difficult and complicated dental procedure in the back of my mouth, which was finishing by the dentist, who was vaguely like Dr. Auerbach and a male version of the very attractive Dr. DeMatteo, by a rotary stiff pad on the end of a dental drill smoothing out the flesh on my upper and lower mouth surfaces, which didn't hurt, even felt comforting, though I assumed I was THOROUGHLY deadened, and then he finished with what I felt to be a flat cotton swab to take up the blood and fragments of skin, but I tried to move it around, and finally he let ME take out what turned out to be the end of a long long white string, like a soft dental floss which was unraveling from a spiral of solider material. Then, I was in his office looking at a poster, debating when to tell him that I didn't have the cash in my checking account to pay him then, but I knew he wouldn't mind if I waited to pay him later, and the POSTER was of a number of singers, a VERY old gray-haired woman who had a VERY famous name, who had taught a somewhat younger woman that I knew vaguely, who had taught Barbara Lea, with which fact I impressed people who were gathered at the foot of the poster, admiring the excellence of the coven of singers who'd gathered in GREENLAND to participate in some vaguely occult ceremony-performance. THEN I left the room and saw a VERY short woman, large head in a babushka, rolling in on rollers under VERY pygmy-like feet, and I thought SHE might be Barbara Lea, but of course Barbara wasn't that short. THEN I was outside, going south to my apartment in Manhattan, and came to a VERY familiar wall of stone, broken down in spots where I had to jump across, and ending in puddles with stones just under the surface that I could JUST jump to if only the young guys coming from the other direction would let me have the space to jump and splash a bit without getting mad at me. Not NEARLY all the odd details, particularly about the singers.

6/22/03: 6:48AM: I'd been working at IBM for a short time after a LONG time away (as if I'd gone back to work, say, a year ago), but I'd been away on a series of long vacations and returned to an office that I didn't quite recognize. To add to the "usualness" of the IBM-work dream, it was preceded by a "subway frustration" dream in which I had to get to work, but didn't know the route or the time, but just after 9AM, with some relief, I found myself in walking distance of the office, and then, without transition, I was IN the office looking for my old desk. I found the general area where I was (this might have been based on the huge "Japanese Stock Exchange" photo by some modern artist I saw at the Guggenheim Bilbao yesterday) seated before, but as close as I could locate the location of my old desk---an old beat-up wooden one in rows and columns of similar ones---I found only a trio of chairs around an empty space as if a small writing group, or judging committee, had taken over the area. No one I recognized was at any adjoining desk, so I went to the "front of the room" which had formerly been occupied by rows of offices of senior members of the department and their secretaries. As in other dreams I looked for familiar managers: a large bald guy whose name I don't remember who moved from programming to computer-department management or maintenance, and only after a few minutes I thought "I bet they'd know Herman Washington." But the offices had been taken down, or rearranged, and where an old secretary had been, at the left end of the rank, I opened the door to find a tiny medical, or dental, office, with three nurses arranged in chairs, their arms folded in anticipation of an emergency, or at least a patient, and I went to the center nurse, apparently in charge, and asked where the secretary was moved to whose office HAD been here. She suspiciously thought I was trying to pull a fast one, and had never worked here before and was possibly trying to steal something, so she followed me into the hallway, saying I should leave or she'd call the office police, and I kept moving away, and when she kept following and ill-advisedly put her hand in front of my face, I grabbed her thin, bony right hand and BIT HARD on her two middle knuckles, not drawing blood but feeling the tendons between the bones crunch, and she cried out in pain and said I was a terrible person, but I got rid of her. But I still couldn't find any people that I remembered, and I was concerned because I NOW had the memory that I'd worked there for two months before, without getting paid, and had put some half-completed work away in storage before I left, and now I had to convince them to pay for the two months' previous work AND find my current work, if only to prove that I HAD worked there recently, and sadly I had no way of working things out, and I knew I'd have a bunch of bills to pay soon, and could only hope that a check from the company would clear the bank quickly so I could pay the bills that were due soon (rather like my current bill/money position at THIS moment).

6/23/03: 5:34AM: I'm in college (but as someone in his 30s or 40s) connected with a group that wants to make a name for itself on campus, so we decide to put on plays. A small advertisement (like Village Playwrights) gets us LOTS of volunteers for acting, screenwriting, costumes, stagehands, and even extras, with different people in charge of each group. I think I should get the names of all the people from each leader so that I can write a school-paper article that would appear in the same issue with ads for the production, and I talk to a former editor, who's really rather cute, about the possibility of getting a cut-rate for the ad if the article is also published, taking that duty away from the newspaper staff, but the former editor says HE wouldn't do it that way, nor, probably, would the current editor. Then there's a problem with the writing: a rewriter of a Chekhov short story, the source of our play, wants to describe the play as written by HIM, but with a small group in authority we get him to admit that it IS a rewrite job, and the program should read: Written by Anton Chekhov, Adapted by Whoever Didit. When I'm talking with school authorities in the auditorium, I can hear a chorus singing in the background (and wake with the song "Seeing is Believing" from "Aspects of Love" echoing in my head), and marvel that we've gotten so far already. It looks like it's going to be a great production. 9:17AM wake with an IBM dream: I'm returning from a trip (again!) and am supposed to talk to the main analyst, John Someone, about a new kind of time-analysis program. He's standing in the middle of a group of programmers who are eating their lunches standing up, and I ask if I can talk to him, so he separates himself from the group and is a full head taller than I am, and I'm surprised I never noticed he was so tall. "You did the job-card program," he observes, and I ask something like "When did you stop using it?" He looks surprised and says "Oh, we're still using it." I say "I thought maybe it would be used for expensive things, like machine time, but not for personnel time." "There was always a problem with people filling them out." "Yes, I'm embarrassed to say I was one of them. Was I supposed to fill them out for the week I've been back?" He looks at me with the obvious affirmative answer. Then it turns out I have to finish the job by October 15, which I jot down in my little travel notebook, incongruously in my hands at IBM, at which time he's going in to a hospital, Grigson, for some kind of operation, "And then I'll be rehabilitating for a number of months," he says, indicating a strength-recovery program that involves curling small weights to exercise his biceps. I'm curious what the operation is for, but I don't know him well enough to ask, and he doesn't seem about to volunteer the information.

6/26/03: 9:03AM: I'm coming to a subway platform and seeing a #2 long train coming in and leaving, and then a short #5 that I try running for, but it pulls out before I can get there, so I clearly DID sleep.

6/30/03: Up 4:54 with fragments of odd dream of two women, probably on TV, who live together and help each other sweetly. Details forgotten. Then a Gwyneth Paltrow-type is addicted to a small pink dragon-toy which she leaves on a shelf in a shop, and someone ELSE leaves a small GREEN dragon-toy and takes HERS by mistake, and we know there's going to be emotional trauma at the loss of her talisman.

7/5/03: 11:59PM: I'm taking a boat-trip with a small group of people, though I'm traveling alone, and strike up a conversation with Katharine Hepburn (yes, I KNOW she died a few days ago!). We're going someplace like the Indian Ocean, on our way, maybe, around the southern tip of Africa, and we haven't had our sleeping posts assigned yet. We're watching a TV program, or maybe some local entertainment on the ship, and she's sitting behind me with her arm stretched out to my shoulder, and my left arm is resting on the back of my sofa, with my hand somewhere on her neck. Then she says, "Sorry, I'm going to have an early night; sorry not to be with you," and I respond "But we'll have breakfast together in the morning?" thinking that our tables will be assigned then, and we'll be able to chat through the entire trip. She might know that too, for she pauses, and then says "That would be nice." As she goes off, a group of young men are playing basketball nearby, and a wild shot comes caroming past us, and the stewardesses come out with little white desks which will somehow be converted into our sleeping stations on this deck, and one of them talks about receiving the last two passengers the next morning: "And she's traveling with a little"---I think I hear "cug," but she must have said "cub," for a young boy, and I wonder if there might not be someone cute to look at during meals during the trip. Felt ill (from stamps in the heat?) during the evening and went to bed just before 11PM, lying comfortably in the air-conditioned bedroom while the rest of the apartment sweltered before the living room AC has been installed, maybe tomorrow?

7/15/03: 7:40AM: A NEW type of frustration-dream: financial! I've gotten a bill from some governmental health agency for $804, reduced for some reason from the stated figure of $811, and it's due at the end of this month, which means I won't have the money for it in any easily available account, but I MUST pay it, so I resolve the problem by thinking "I'll ask John if he can postpone for another month his $700 typing payment. If he says OK, I can pay the bill from my current funds; if he says no, I'll have to ask Shelley or Mildred if she can loan me the money for a month. Look at the form and the envelope in which it came, and there's a little slip inserted in the envelope-address slot which I take out and look at, and it seems that I sent them some kind of form that opened me to this charge---and I NOW think it might be connected with the letters that I've been getting from Herman on Helen's estate, saying that my social security number was needed for some federal IRS estate form, and also something on the appraiser's form that checked off that the estate was liable to an OHIO estate tax, so there's going to be some diminution of the $175,000 I calculated I might get from her estate---and I have as yet no idea when some of it may be coming. I had absolutely no question of the REALITY of the bill in the dream itself: no feeling that this might be a dream, I could FEEL the bill in my hands and KNOW that the charge was in some way justified, so I HAD to find the money to pay it. Slept later than usual (to fill out the page) this morning thanks to the newly-trimmed window blind shutting out a bit more light, and my body being tired (and slightly sore) from the first time back to the gym in exactly TWO MONTHS yesterday, the first day it was opened after its summer "maintenance" closure, though I had to report that there was very little steam in the steam room to the attendant, and finish typing this at 7:45, at length!

8/13/03 [Typed next day]: Distinct picture of a greenish-gray-yellow ocean-surface that a large group of us have boated on to get to a mysterious-looking flat-topped rock looming up from inconceivable depths to almost break the surface about five or six feet under. The surface is calm, but the clarity is such that there are really no details visible of the structure or composition of the rock. We think we might be able to swim with it as a support, but there's no thought of snorkeling because there appears to be nothing whatsoever, beside the rock itself, to look at in or under the water.

8/14/03: 7:40AM: Vague memory (even vaguer than yesterday's ocean-rock) of having some association with a crime figure with whom I'm having dinner, and somehow I'm to be blamed for something that they don't look favorably upon, and a dim feeling of fear, possibly even terror, lingers over the arrangements for the dinner and the eating thereof. Don't seem to be connected with the last dinners in actual memory: the Beard of Tuesday night, Sherryl's "final" birthday dinner tonight at Aix, or the next-scheduled dinner with Mildred at 66. Something also about a list, with seven-word slots for descriptions at the top, and I figure it means something like "Go-Diner" or "Have-Eat" or other significant phrases for the title.

8/23/02: 8AM: Vague memory of being back in my library at 167 Hicks and taking books from a table in front of my bookcase to see that a plant on the bookcase was sending out long green leaves despite being almost completely removed from any light source. Also, there seemed to be TWO plants that were doing well, so it seems to be related to my thoughts of transplanting my OWN plants here at 101 Clark---at SOME time!

8/24/03: 8:50AM: Woke with memories of THREE, but now? 1) earliest is only a fragment of "something about the water," but not more. 2) latest was about the military: I was in training to take over a unit (maybe based on the internship of the shaman on last night's TV program "The Hunter and the Hunted," part of "Before We Ruled the World"), and marveled at the natural ease with which the present leader, very much like Colonel Davis from ROTC at Akron University, worked and addressed his men and led his unit. But then wondered why Captain Cook seemed to be still a captain. 3) PART of the latest was driving back in a car full of cadets, enjoying the last of our leave, but then I'm reminded of a separate 4) when I got into a car parked at a choice corner parking space to put in a long, scrolled piece of paper or fabric, and then checking to see that the doors across were locked (one of the locks was bent toward the back, oddly), and a car passing by was hoping I'd vacate my space, but when it was clear I wasn't, he only called out "Great parking spot" and drove on. I got out and locked the doors on the street-side---and the rest is totally forgotten!

8/28/03: 7:30AM: Seemingly ENDLESS dream about a cruise with a small group of strangers through a part of the world I'd been to SOME places before but not others, and we seemed to know LITTLE about where (or when) we were going to specific destinations. Many SEGMENTS to the dream-trip: 1) Food: we'd gotten a doggy-bag of sandwiches, or maybe just rolls---or waffles, to be precise---about 5:30 in the morning, but we didn't eat them then because no one was hungry, though hours later we heard that we weren't to be having a REAL meal until 2:30PM, and at one point someone said "Who ate one of my waffles?" and no one owned up, but I couldn't even remember where I PUT mine, knowing I wasn't hungry when I got them, but---in the fridge? in my bag? in my storage locker? 1a) then elegantly-uniformed, coiffed, and made-up stewards and stewardesses carried trays of foods and gourmet desserts past us, down a central corridor: I specifically remember a tray of chocolate cake-squares with white and pink and red icings of great thickness, studded with shards of coconut and nuts to make them pictorial masterpieces, though the joke among us (started by me) was that this array of food was for THEM and not for us. 2) Itinerary: no central maps or cruise-routes were available to us, but at one point I unfolded a detailed map and said I'd been there and there along the Mediterranean, but it turned out we were in the Black Sea and I'd seen none of the ports before, and I'd left my detailed-marked maps, of places I'd been, at home. 3) Transportation: primarily we were in a boat, sometimes seemingly small when we were rocked by waves in a coming storm that seemed VERY ominous, with huge waves crashing against rocks near our shore, and another time when we seemed to be threading a VERY narrow channel with small canoes and pleasure craft crowding us from each side; at other times unknowably large, since we didn't even know where the bridge, or the dining room, or the library, or any other public areas were except the almost prison-like room in which we milled about, unknowing. But another section was across a steppe-like desert in either a bus or a train, though we seemed, in the dream, more to float above whatever mode of transportation had been allotted to that part of the trip, and in no case was there any guide who told us where we were, or how long this phase would last, or what the next steps might be expected to be. 4) Details: no notion of clothing, weather, sleeping quarters, characterization of other passengers occupied the dream, only the idea that it was one long, complicated morning that condensed the questions and problems of an entire trip into a fragmented, informationless stretch of time. At least I wasn't guiding it, so I felt no frustrated sense of responsibility for NOT knowing any of the coming details, but the unknown future was anticipated with neither the dread of the unknown or unpleasant, nor the thrill of impending adventure or discovery. And I lay in bed, alternately awake and aware of cuddling under the sheet for protection against the air conditioner, and the clock time which vaguely announced that I was in bed almost nine hours, having gotten to bed early and full from Aix at about 10:30; or sleeping and adding to the details of the fragmented voyage.

9/01/03: 8:44AM: 1) I'm amazed at how long my hair is, looking in a mirror, and it's rather feminine flowing like a nun's veil, framing my head, and somehow the mirror tilts so that I'm looking at the top of my head, aware of pinks spots of balding coming through, but amazed at the gap between the hair on the back of my head and the two long tufts growing from my back! I realized the tufts on the back were so long because they weren't cut by the barber, being below my collar-line, so I had to trim them myself, but first, experimentally, I tugged on them to see if I could PULL them out, and one whole tuft comes out surprisingly easily, but I'm concerned about the broken skin, and look in dismay as dark blood starts seeping from the bruised hole where the tuft had been pulled. 2) I'm on a trip with my blue bag, which seems smaller, with about eight small red ribbons attached around the sides, and then in the lobby I see piles of luggage that had gotten mixed up, and THERE are my possessions around my larger bag, and this was someone else's, and I look through MY stuff to see some of it wrecked: a picture that I'd packed because I wanted the frame now had a broken frame, so I discarded it; some larger items had been packed into a flat box which was nowhere to be seen, and I started juggling piles of stuff, thinking that I'd probably have to buy a bigger container to take them with me, and I only started wondering where most of my OWN toiletries and clothes and souvenirs were, except it was beginning to dawn on me that I really didn't remember where I'd been, or what I'd bought during this particular trip, so I really didn't even know what I'd lost, and wondered vaguely whether the trip insurance, or the air-flight which mixed up the bags, or the hotel in which we were now staying, would cover the losses and damages and how I'd go about claiming my losses if I couldn't enumerate them or even produce the receipts for them. Woke with some relief that I didn't have THAT to worry about, probably beginning to subliminally worry about my Florida trip at the end of October, now that it's officially September and I'll have to start making concrete plans for travel NEXT MONTH with the many people I'll be visiting.

9/2/03: 3:13AM: Wake after bidi-sex 3 hours before, with vivid memory, lost now, of visual ads for musicals, in a kiosk, arranged in a pyramid with plastic covers emphasizing important elements, one displaying awards and the cast, but the other says the first uses false advertising. So much was forgotten!

9/3/03: 8:10AM: 1) I'm either at IBM, or Columbia, and three of us students are meeting with our teacher, or faculty advisor, and as we conclude our talk it becomes clear that all four of us are POLISH, which we'd never realized before, and we joke and laugh about it at great length. 2) I'm graduating from Columbia, in some office I'd never been in before, and one of the three women in a back room is making alterations to a jacket on a sewing machine, and it's not clear whether the other two are sitting at desks or sewing machines. They sell jackets for $60, and I'm not sure if alterations are included, or if I have to make an appointment for a time for an alteration. I try to ask one of the women who's not currently sewing, but I have a hard time making her understand that I want to ask if I need an appointment. When I finally get through to her, she asks "today or tomorrow?" "Well, today, since I'm here," and she laughs and says the times are all taken, and that tomorrow is very expensive. It begins to seem like a Catch-22 situation, when a male workman appears and whispers: "You can get a jacket for $24 on Wall Street (which seems to be just across the East River from us, despite the seeming fact that we're at Columbia University, not Brooklyn Heights)." "What's the address?" And he tells me as I scrabble in my bag for a piece of paper and pen, but not finding a blank paper, I pull out a crumpled newspaper (rather like Ken's scrappy note at Bistro St. Marks for my "Kissing Jessica Stein" note) and jot down the address in very small print, very messily, so I hope I can remember it as well, and then he says "And you should take a gift, to make it easier and get better service---for the alterations---you should take one, maybe two, grapefruit." "Grapefruit?!" "Yeah." "What kind?" "Either GoGo, or Prenderbabylonian (neither of which I'd have the vaguest prior knowledge of)." "Or you can take---" naming something even more obscure that I had even less hope of getting. Without transition I found myself somewhere in lower Manhattan, asking directions of a pushcart hot-dog vendor, when I notice he's got juices, and there are small stacks of grapefruit on top of his cooler inside the pushcart, and I ask what kind of grapefruit those are. He gives some enigmatic answer and I buy one very large, expensive one, with a blurred name in purple stamped onto the soft yellow flesh, and two smaller ones, rather less than spherical in their oblong lumpiness, and I can't read the names I'd written on the now-even-more-blurred newspaper scrap, and I begin to despair of getting anything done in the short time remaining when I wake up with my typical snore, dried-out nostril (usually only one), and note the time and go pee and finish this at 8:23AM, not up yet.

9/26/03: 10:30AM: Woke at 8:10AM hard from a dream: I'd been kissing someone with a slight hardness on his upper lip, rather like a tiny beak, which gave an unusual texture to his kisses, and then I reached down to his fat cock and grabbed it whole-fistedly to pump it back and forth, reaching a fine state of hardness which prompted me to get very hard, and he began to protest that he was too close to coming, which of course excited me even more. We went back to kissing to lessen the total-genital contact, then back to stroking his sensuous cock while kissing his beaky mouth. Woke pleasantly aroused and mused that it had been quite a while (looking back, it's been 23 days) since I'd had a dream worth recording. There had been fragments, two or three, between times, that I thought vaguely about and then dismissed as not being worth going to the keyboard about. But now that the pressures of the indexing are almost over, I got back to my journal proofreading yesterday, reading about Stephen Waite's and Paul Bosten's excitements under my sadistic ministerings, and that probably supplied the fuel for the heat of the dream, which I remember enough of to finish this page at 10:40AM, ready to get into the rest of my productive day.

9/28/03: 12:15PM: Memory of a Julia Roberts-lookalike typing my journals, and I've given her a paper like a large postcard which has writing that I want entered, but the back has an acronym of something like the word SPIRIT written from right to left, rotated 90, and we neither of us can figure how she's going to type this, but I suspect she'll just use the space and rotate it so that she can type it, not filling the space on each line.

9/30/03: 5:35AM: I'm working on an archeological dig, seemingly in Alaska, of a fossil dinosaur that we know is located in a volume that occupies the upper third of a cube, the lower half of which has been excavated to permit closer extraction of the buried artifact. I show people around, explaining how we're proceeding, but I'm not really sure when we're going to hit the first piece of the actual body. We're living in tents, and I'm glad I don't have to be there all the time, as it's not really clear if I'm WORKING with them, or watching a television program about them, or on a tour which permits me to look at them. Somehow connected with my nebulous trip to Florida that Paul shook by saying he has other plans that won't let me stay with him the whole time.