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DREAMS of 2009 3 of 3

 

FRIDAY, 8/28/09: 8:10AM: It wasn't EXACTLY a dream, but it wasn't NOT a dream, either. I was awake much of the time, but the elements were certainly dream-like. I was in a very messy bedroom that I had to clean up before a certain time, and even though the time grew closer, and there was a lot to do, I didn't really do anything but worry about all the things that had to be done---rather like my current situation in life. Piles of things on the bed I had to put into their proper places (like the stuff in my living room now ); junk on the floor had to be picked up before I could even vacuum, and then my vacuum was only a thin metal tube which pushed scraps of paper aside and made only the narrowest inroads into what looked like areas of sawdust that refused to be vacuumed up completely. Extra chairs I thought to put, folded, into the closet (which was paradoxically in the kitchen) where one folded chair already leaned against the wall, with space for another to be put next to it. Other items of furniture had to be moved into their proper places when the floor was cleared of other junk. Other people in the room made my work more difficult, but, again, mostly what I did was LOOK at the messes and debate how to handle them without really TOUCHING them. Again, just like life. Nothing was resolved in the dream, and I looked at the clock again at 9:43AM, marveling that I had to get up and type this before going to HIP to give blood for my lipids and urine for my water retention.

SUNDAY, 8/30/09: 8:31AM: Two dreams: 1) I'm eating in a restaurant at 113th Street on the east side with a fixed menu, getting in just after noon to find only two people eating already, and I'm given a table for one next to them and immediately a green salad is placed on the table. I have tickets for an event at Lincoln Center in an hour, and I have to eat, get to my apartment in Brooklyn Heights to pick up my ticket, and get back into Manhattan for the show. After I finish my salad, there's a soup, which I slurp down quickly, and that's followed by something with Jello in it, and I'm wondering how many course there's going to be. 2) Somewhat connected, but later, I'm in Tris's apartment and have to get to a City tour, and suddenly realize I have TWO tickets for an event at 3PM, and it's just about 1:30. Tell Tris he should come with me, since his wife, who's Carmela Soprano, wouldn't want to leave the apartment. Tris comes up with the suggestion that we get a helicopter from here to get to the United Nations, where the tour starts. That's a good idea, but he keeps talking to his wife, not really getting ready, and I'm threatening to have HIM pay for the tickets if we don't get out to the helicopter on time. He almost gets mad and I realize I've gone too far. But then I have to pee, so I go into their bathroom and lift the lid on a dirty toilet and find bits of unflushed shit surrounded by vividly colored red and black beetles crawling all over the bowl of the toilet. Manage to pee, close the lid, and the lid is crawling with enormous, extremely detailed black ants. Wake up before I get out of the bathroom, have to pee, and type this to 8:42AM. Go back to bed.

TUESDAY, 9/1/09: 9:23AM: Vague memory of a dream that involved arrays of photographs of people, either as a game plan or a memory mnemonic.

WEDNESDAY, 9/2/09: 9:50AM: 1) [Remembered at 10:20AM:] Dream that I scratch at my head and come away with a small, moving bedbug. Wake and feel itchy in other places, so I search the sheet to find nothing but one questionable tiny red mark that might be blood. Also remember that I'd dreamed a few days ago of dislodging a small lump from the corner of my eye that turns out to be an extra-large bedbug---a REAL nightmare. 2) [No memory yet at 10:25AM.] 3) Tris and his whole family are coming to my place for lunch, and I have to put MANY things away so they can do what THEY have to do without being inconvenienced by my stuff: a) some kind of Christmas tree has to be left in place until I can take off ornaments that are like my inch-long metal paper-clasps, that can be put in a small box and stored on a shelf until I put them on next year; when I remove them I can throw the tree out; b) stuff on the floor of their bedroom, and the hallway leading to it (as at 1221 Dietz), has to be shifted to the hallway leading to MY bedroom, so as to be out of their way; c) stuff on their bed (which is like my bed at 101 Clark) has to be taken off so that a sheet can be spread on it so they can put on the bed whatever they like; d) dirty dishes in the kitchen have to be at least put in the sink so they can have their lunch on cleared spaces. But when I hear drilling sounds, I go out on the front porch to find they're drilling holes in the sides of the porch to put up various plaques and knickknacks they've decided to add for their own reasons; they seem content to remain outside, and I think, in relief, that maybe they're really using my place more like a hotel, used only in the evenings for sleeping, having lunch in restaurants outside, so that I don't have to worry about them returning during the day. This dream was very detailed and seemed to go on a long time. There were two OTHER dreams, detailed memories of which I had when I woke at 5ish and 7ish, but, try as I might now, I can't remember either of them. My mind sifted through various possible topics from yesterday, like gardens, food, fatigue, travel, friends, schedules, writing, photographs, but nothing came back by 10:05AM.

THURSDAY, 9/3/09: 5AM: First part of dream: an engineering teacher proposes to make a scroll at the end of a piece of wood without using any actual cutting implement, but when he puts a tracery pattern onto the end of the wood, it seems clear that he intends to use SOME kind of cutting tool. Second part of dream: I'm in a class that's filling out forms, and my notebook has all the proper pages until we're asked for the application form on page 50, and my notebook is missing all pages between 38 and 55, but the person behind me helpfully hands me a sheaf of papers that he found in his notebook, and he doesn't need to fill them out and kindly gives them to me.

FRIDAY, 9/4/09: 9:25AM: Again a few dreams are forgotten, but the last involved some old collector-type, rather like Mr. Shoshana Shoshan, coming into my apartment with a big bag of papers that I dumped onto my bed to find that they seemed mostly to be old letters, rather than the "decals and stamps" that he'd described to me, and I figured I'd have to read them to see why he thought either that they were collectible or that I'd want them for some reason. But I thanked him, hoping for some interesting finds.

SATURDAY, 9/5/09: 1) 2:03AM: Mom is saying that there IS enough time to do the laundry before we leave, "And be sure not to put the clothes in before the tub is full." "How long will it take?" I insist on knowing. "Fifty minuters," she says, and I dash down to the basement to turn the hot water on full, not yet warmed up, and I never DO figure out how I do the laundry in the bathtub, though I imagine it uses a wringer and a series of rinse-tubs, as it did when I was a kid before we had an automatic washer. 2) 3:46AM: Odd fragment of wiping my ass with toilet paper after a shit, while standing in a bathtub (again!) and somehow identifying with, or at least thinking in terms of, Grandma. 3) 4:24AM: Breathing VERY deeply, thinking how odd it is that I'm awake a THIRD time, thinking it must be at LEAST 6AM, I type this and REALLY have to pee AGAIN! A regular, if not longer, pee to the slow count of 57. Look to see it's 73 degrees out, unusually warm for the past week. Drink some water this time ONLY. 4) Pee 5:53AM! To an unbelievable (somewhat faster) count to 110. It's 72 degrees.

SUNDAY, 9/6/09: 7:55AM: I'm living in the west, near a famous site that very few people visit. I organize a tour, so that people can find out what happened here (something about Indians? Jews? Settlers?) and write about it. I watch as someone writes some small paragraphs, as if he didn't understand the importance of what he'd just seen, and I sort of felt sorry for him---or for his ignorance.

MONDAY, 9/7/09: 7:55PM: Woke THINKING I'd had a dream that I'd forgotten, but figured it would come back during the day. But the agonized talk with Marj in her illness, and Tris's call about Carolyn's awful hospitalization, wiped any hope from my brain.

TUESDAY, 9/8/09: 5:52AM: I'm visiting northern India, where I drop in on a rich woman who's just gotten a very large sheet, and she says to me that this would make a perfect movie screen for the primitive group called the Sravana, who live up in the hills above this city. I know the path up the side of the mountain that leads to their village, excited to see the colorfully dressed men on the hillsides as the sun sets, and figure I can come back with my camera to take pictures another day. A group has gathered in their town square to view a performance, and I sit on the edge of the stage, which turns out to be the audition area for a play. Language cards are passed out for people to play parts in that language, and I'm given an English card, but I don't want it, and three people try to explain to me that it's rare to find anyone who speaks English to play a part, and finally they find an educated young man to tell me what's going on, but I just ask for the female leader that my friend mentioned. I take the sheet to her, and say it could be hung on this corner balcony overlooking a main intersection, and the projector can be on the balcony of the opposite building, making the entire street available for the audience. Sadly, she insists that the intersection must be open to traffic, and starts building up a dirt mound at the side of the road, intending to put the projector at the foot of the mound, making a VERY slanted screen, and I protest that the movie will be impossible to see at that angle AND there's no room for the audience at the narrow side of the road, but she insists it be done that way, and I go along with her, hoping to change her mind when she sees how bad the image will be projected in her method. This is truly an exotically beautiful, little visited, part of northeastern India, maybe even in Assam or Bangladesh.

WEDNESDAY, 9/9/09: 12:55AM: I'm visiting Mom, who's trying to get rid of some donuts. I look at three VERY soft chocolate-covered donuts on a plate and ask how many she wants, and finally she'll only give me one.

THURSDAY, 9/10/09: 1) 6:05AM: Two phases to the dream: in the first part, I'm sitting in a chair listening to some kind of presentation---lecture or class or "infomercial"---and next to me is a lanky body of a young guy in a suit and leather shoes who is stretched out with much of his body gently resting against mine: at one point our heads even touch as we almost loll in our seats lazily, arms touching along their lengths, legs parallel and grazing each other, shoes in contact. When the presentation is over, he recommends a double feature showing for one day only, somewhere, and I listen with some interest, but figure he's just too young to be concerned with someone as much older as I am. He talks with someone his own age, yet still seems to be holding his door slightly ajar for me to express some desire to be with him. I dismiss that thought as I walk on a street toward some subway entrance, and he runs past me at an extraordinary speed, maybe toward the same destination, but definitely not interested in slowing and regaining any kind of verbal or physical contact with me. In the second phase I'm still looking for some kind of public transportation---not so much to get anywhere like HOME, but just to get out of this industrial-commercial neighborhood where there's no reason to BE at this point in the early evening. But I realize more and more that I'm not close to ANY public transportation, and am back with a familiar quandary: do I walk way WEST and get to my usual subway line, or do I go a long distance NORTH or SOUTH to encounter a seldom-running BUS that will take me---to what now seems to be home on Dietz Avenue in Akron, and I'm thinking about the circuitous route of the Brown Street bus! I now find myself, having walked west for a few blocks, at an intersection which is TOTALLY flooded with rushing brown waters: as I look in all directions, the water is at least two feet deep at the most shallow, and it's so deep that it actually appears to rise above the horizon---but that must just be some trick of perspective, I tell myself. A dark-skinned woman, nicely dressed, is near me faced with the same quandary, but she seems determined to cross some less-deep part of this intersection. I completely give up and try to retrace my steps, and without transition find myself in my CAR, driving down a street jammed with traffic, coming up behind groups of cars stopped for a red light with such speed that I really have to PUSH down on the brake pedal to even SLOW my car, fearing I won't be able to stop before crashing into the back of their cars, but the light changes and they begin to move through the intersection so that I can continue safely for a bit before they slow down ahead of me and AGAIN I have to strain to slow my car down in any way, and I think that I MUST get my brakes fixed. I'm driving east now, thinking of maps of the island of Manhattan, trying to decide where to turn in which direction to get to my midtown-East-side apartment. Finally see below me two-way traffic on a street that is a main artery, but when I turn to try to find an entrance to the street, I find I'm on a high concrete abutment with suitcases or jerry cans blocking the only turn that could have led to the street below, and there's no way of getting down there. I don't even have room to turn my car around, as the way I got to this point seems to have vanished. "This is just unbelievable," I think in some form in my mind, and wake up with great relief to find that I DON'T have to figure another solution to remove myself from this awful nightmare. Pee at 6:05 and type this to 6:24AM! 2) 9AM: Start Actualism to get back to sleep, but nap and have another dream: I'm shopping in a pharmacy for two small items, again to use my Chase Visa card, but I pause at the checkout counter, searching through my shoulder bag to find my items, and with embarrassment come up with a small checking device used by the store clerks to, maybe, remove a tag from something, which I inadvertently put into my bag. He smiles and says that this often happens. I root around more and come up with the two items, but he's vanished, and to my right a woman appears, brandishing a sales slip that she says I must sign, since she's going off duty. I apologize and sign for my purchase, and find myself at the southern end of what looks to be Eighth Avenue, and I look around for a bus stop since I want to have lunch in the IBM cafeteria on 57th Street, but I don't know if the bus stops this far south on Eighth Avenue. Pass a few people talking with each other, but I don't want to interrupt them to ask if the bus stops around here. Keep walking north, looking for a bus-stop sign, and looking over my shoulder to see if a bus is approaching. Then I notice it seems preternaturally dark, even though, mysteriously, now it's about 4PM, though I started my walk at something like 10AM. Also, in the south, the sun is very low in the sky, and, even more fantastically, there's also a full moon visible in the sky, and I wonder how a FULL moon can appear in the same sky with the sun---and there's even a vague image, or reflection, or ghost, of a THIRD orb in the sky, a ghost second moon. At the same time, people are rushing south, past me on the sidewalk, some carrying large objects, like a female student who needs the whole sidewalk to clear so that she can pass carrying a small stack of three-foot-wide boxes. I'm puzzled about all these odd juxtapositions when I wake.

FRIDAY, 9/11/09: 6:27AM: I've been chosen to go on a flying-saucer introductory ride. It's conducted in great secrecy, but we all go to the airport and get into a special flying suit that, itself, is shaped like a saucer. No, that's not the case, because in the dim light we can SEE others on the ship, and when we're told that "stewardesses" have to be watched closely, and their hair must be clipped if there are tell-tale movements of even a hair on their head. We take off and supposedly move in VERY erratic ways: stopping, changing directions suddenly, rotating in one spot, but I can't remember what the ACTUAL sensations were when we were "actually flying." When we land, we're told that one of my group, which includes only Uncle Edward and myself, has to volunteer to ride again for some scientific reason. Uncle Edward dismisses himself, saying he doesn't want to do it again, so I'm chosen by default. I've left the area and am somehow moving back toward it when I, for some reason, contact Joe Easter on the phone, who's somehow just been on a flight. I say I must talk to him. He's reluctant, saying he's only got a couple of minutes because he has to catch a special air taxi that will return him to his apartment somewhere north of New York City. But I insist, saying that I'm just three minutes from where he is, and we should meet as close to the entrance to the saucer as possible, so I can talk to him immediately. He finally agrees, and he actually comes into the exit chamber as I'm leaving the saucer (this is confusing; this is a dream; this is the way I remember the dream). I ask if he's flown before and he says yes. I say, "You mean it actually flies. One possibility is that we never leave the ground and the whole thing is just a psychological experiment to see if we can be convince we're flying when we're not." "Well," he says reluctantly, "I had the same trepidation I had before I fly, but we took off, we definitely took off, and changed directions, and rotated, and landed, and I'm sure we flew." As we're talking, I move past two displays I hadn't noticed before: a sort of TV screen, more like a fluorescent-tube display, shows egg-shaped passengers on two flights: in one they're grouped in one side of the cabin, moving around, in another they're even distributed about the cabin. Then someone says that, in case of emergency, it's even possible to have TWO people ride in ONE suit and transfer from one ship to another, even in outer space, in perfect safety. I ask someone about this, and they admit that it would be rather uncomfortable, because of the closeness two people would have to endure to be in one suit, but it was physically possible, and, yes, the suit was air-tight enough so that two people could be transported in the vacuum of space. I don't know what to believe, and even though Joe said he had to be at his waiting air taxi at 3PM, which had been only seven minutes ago by my watch, he's been around for more than seven minutes and is still talking to me. I feel very honored to have been asked to fly once, and particularly now, when I'm scheduled to fly again for a reason that's still unknown to me. But I'm mystified about why I can't remember the actual SENSATIONS of my first flight: DID we accelerate, as usual, for takeoff? Did we stop, and turn sharp corners, because I don't recall having done so, yet can't really recall WHAT it felt like---like it was in a dream itself, and then I woke and marveled at the "newness" of the topic of the dream. Peed and typed this on my desktop until 6:42AM.

SATURDAY, 9/12/09: 6:10AM: I've been contacted by some kind of political pollster, and have been told that particular kinds of answers must be handled in a certain way, but I forget the details now.

MONDAY, 9/14/09: 1) 3:25AM: a) I'm walking in a dense forest, mostly on logs that raise me two or three feet above the actual forest floor, and look down to notice tiny pink flowers of intricate geometry, like crustacean shells, and delicate shades of pink and red coloration. I bend to look at a few examples, impressed by their breathtaking beauty, lifting them to look at their details, wondering if I could take a few to categorize them, but have no way of protecting their fragility from being destroyed by removing them in any way. b) Maybe in a dream, maybe in waking, I get the wish-impression that I have a lover somewhere in the world, waiting to meet me, and then we'll be together for the rest of our lives. c) I'm walking in the back yard of a house, maybe like Dennis's that I visited in Chula Vista, preparing to take a shower in the little house in the rear of the yard, and open the door to hear a squawk of surprise from Dennis, who'd fallen asleep on the toilet, slouched backward and sideways as if on an easy chair or sofa, and my entry startled him awake. 2) 6:43AM: It's late afternoon on a Saturday, and I'm preparing to study for an algebra test Monday morning, and go to my old briefcase and find my notebook that seems to verify my impression that we've been through most of the book and will be tested on the final chapters, and I start with the idea that we've gone through maybe the first two hundred pages and have only maybe seventy pages yet to be read and tested on, but when I open the book I'm mortified to see that there are more than a HUNDRED pages yet to be read, and I figure I'll have to call Charles and cancel any plans that we may have had for Sunday, because I'll have to spend that time reading the rest of the book. As I page through the last part, I'm pleased to find that many of the final chapters are more in the line of literary presentations of applications of geometry to real life, not really mathematics, so they'll be easier to read as fiction rather than studied as mathematical formulas and theorems. So I try to find the boundary between the last math section and the first application section, and I'm pleased to see that most of what I have left is in the latter, which I can read as a novel tonight before getting into the math part tomorrow morning when I'm fresh---but I'm still rather daunted by the number of pages I have to get through in just these two days, sorry that I hadn't started preparing sooner for the test.

WEDNESDAY, 9/16/09: 6AM: Concerned about showing St. Petersburg images with my new projector, of course I dream that I'm putting things together just after 1PM when I discover I haven't brought my COMPUTER along. Tell everyone (just three guys waiting at this point) I'll be back in about ten minutes, and return to find two sleeping, and one in another room, in a bathrobe, reading a magazine.

THURSDAY, 9/17/09: 3:02AM: I'm on a high GRATE, and my bag falls over and SHOES spill out, but I don't LOSE any. "What if one falls through?" "You'll never get it, the coat-room girl leaves at 2PM Friday." "Phone her." "Don't have her number." Rush home with panicked girl in HUGE rainstorm---I walk home barefoot? IMPORTANT man wanting shoes will FORCE someone to ask her to bring HIS shoes. "Tell them to tell her to bring MINE then, too." HUGE wind-and-rain storm; girl complains, "Why must SHOES be locked away in safe---no one will steal THEM---just change the system!"

FRIDAY, 9/18/09: 5:23AM: Dream of "Prof Room" which groups serial plays or movies.

SATURDAY, 9/19/09: 6:53AM: "Relative sizes" dream: an M-sheet is SHORTER, ones later in the alphabet are shorter still; female elephants are smaller than males; other items arranged to fill smaller sheets.

SUNDAY, 9/20/09: 1) 6:23AM: Jean-Jacques and I have just been to the Metropolitan Opera on a rainy evening, and there's a huge line of people waiting for a taxi inside one of the back exits. We move quickly forward, and finally we're next out the door, but find ourselves in a sea of blackness with various pools of water from the rain underfoot. We can see the headlights of the cab coming toward us, but there's no real curb, just varying depths of water in unknown locations, sometimes as much as two inches deep, and we curse the street for not having good drainage. Finally the taxi curves around so that we each get in on our own side, and Jean-Jacques directs the driver to "2 West 57th and 2 West 56th: mine is the entrance to my building, but he has to go in to the entrance next door to his building, since the real lobby is around the corner on the wrong side of the street on Long Street." I'm not quite sure why he's calling Broadway Long Street, but the driver must know that it's Broadway since it separates East from West in Manhattan along that stretch of it [not factually true, of course, but dream-true]. Then I'm in the hallway of an upper floor, and it seems that every elegant entrance off the hall leads to the apartment of one of a member of a large family which sometimes gathers for a common breakfast in one of the sumptuous apartments off the hall (maybe this is influenced by the ad in the Times yesterday for the newly renovated Apthorp "whole block" apartment building). I feel like I've been thrown back in time. 2) 8:47AM: I'm looking at the measurements of a tiny apartment, or maybe a cabin on a ship, and am told that the "23" is square FEET, not square yards, but I think that six feet long will admit a cot just under four feet wide, and what more does anyone need?

TUESDAY, 9/22/09: 9:14AM: I'm in a park at a Dutch (still) picnic, and some of the guys are shirtless and fairly good looking, and I'm trying unobtrusively to take pictures of the ones that please me most. There's some gimmick about slips of paper (again) that reflect an active or passive mode, and some have no "first slip" that implies some kind of special condition. At one point a heavy-set blond sitting in the chair in front of me rises to the top of his seat-back and slides down into my lap, intentionally, and looks at me as if I'm supposed to be pleased with his action, but I just think he's too heavy and want him to get off me. Something more about food, but I'm in and out of a doze and some of the circumstances seem to come as much from my waking mind as from my sleeping mind. Other details forgotten now at 9:19 and I'm woozy from the valium I took about four hours ago.

WEDNESDAY, 9/23/09: 4:24AM: A research experiment on genetics reveals that two black women contributed an important gene to a world-famous white person: no one can be sure WHICH black woman gave the gene, but one of them did. A third black woman had something to do with another contribution to the lineage, but her contribution is less certain. Other details forgotten.

LABRADOR DREAMS

FRIDAY, 9/25/09: 7:37AM: I wake about 5:30 to pee, and then really don't get back to sleep, and then think to get up and shower, but Steve's in the bathroom, so I just type: I'm on a kind of vacation in a large house with many people in it, but it's raining very hard out, so there's nothing to do but sit inside and try to entertain ourselves. At one point I think of caressing a partly dressed masculine body, and gently undressing it as far as he'll permit, and then just touching and feeling it where I want, and others would join in, but then a sort of question arises: What if he gets aroused? I wouldn't mind, but maybe others would, and it seems not to be a viable exercise. Then I'm sitting at a table with food sort of scattered over it, and I reach out with a fork to take various things to taste and eat, but there are two women next to me who are either making fun of me or don't like me. I keep pushing two green beans around, thinking to eat them, but they seem to laugh that I would want to eat them, but then they laugh when I DON'T eat them, and I'm not sure what I'm "supposed" to do, but this is supposed to be an idyllic situation in which people do what they want without caring what others think---of course, provided you don't hurt anyone. I sort of figure we should be DOING something, but again I see that it's raining very hard out, and even though we might be in an area of great natural beauty, it just doesn't seem to make sense to go outside. We're not sleepy, so we don't need to sleep (and it's like I feel when I look at my watch and see that it's 6-something, and then 7-something, and it's not QUITE time to get up, but it could be---and then I'm aware of a rather rancid smell from my body, and I figure I'd better take a shower, but then when I get up I find that Steve's in the bathroom, and I type for a bit, then go in and have a pee while he's in the shower, and I'd sort of like to increase the temperature of the room, but it's not worth the effort to find how to do that---though there's the thermostat, I think on the wall---and I turn it from 18 degrees up to 20 degrees. Then the water in the shower stops and the door opens to let out the steam. The dream went on and on, and I figured to capture at least some of it. The two women, young and boyishly attractive, sitting on either side of me at the sort-of-dining table, seemed somehow attached to me, or wanted to be attached to me, or found me curious enough to retain their interest, but I couldn't figure out if they liked me, or couldn't figure me out, or wanted to tease me in some way: they would lean in close as if to confide some intimate detail, but then they'd start laughing and move apart as if they wanted to embarrass me in some way, and were embarrassed that they though they'd succeeded, or HADN'T succeeded. As I say, I couldn't figure them out, it was as if they were making fun of me, in an affectionate way, just because they had nothing better to do. And, of course, it seemed to furnish parallels with this trip: not knowing exactly what to do when. Now at 7:53AM I'll go in for my shower.

SATURDAY, 9/26/09: 1) 2:41AM: Dream of playing Taipei and having to take E1 off before E2, and telling someone how to play. 2) 6:07AM: I'm watching a TV documentary about how sharks clean themselves, going deeper and deeper into very dark water, until they hit the clean sandy bottom against which they slide their bodies, and the commentator says that it's almost impossible to describe what pleasure they must feel as they rub their sensitive skins against the abrasive sand to clear away the incrustations of small creatures that cling to their bodies. Then there's an artistic recreation of what the mechanism must feel like, where a gossamer box made out of filaments of the thinnest material, with the connections apparently made out of something like the softest cotton, and the structure crushes down into a circle of gentle abrasion, like a powder puff that collapses into a soft rubbing device. I wake and do some interdream interpretations on it.

SUNDAY, 9/27/09: 7:22AM: Woke in the middle of the night in the throes of an erotic dream. Dennis's brother (of course not his older brother, but a younger, sexier one) is staying with me, and he's erect and tempting, and I finally grab his penis and he immediately throbs into an orgasm which I find very pleasing. Then we play and I get aroused, and I'm thinking of bringing us both off when I wake, semi-aroused, and wonder at the situation.

TUESDAY, 9/29/09: 6:04AM: I'm moving into an apartment building on West 57th Street that seems already to be occupied by Joe Easter and Dennis, and I'm wondering who's going to be living above and below who. Not much else remembered.

THURSDAY, 10/1/09: 1) 4:08AM: Rather a repeat of a dream from months ago: I'm watching what seems to be a CD-in-development of the last part of a trilogy similar to the "Star Wars" trilogy, in which many different versions of endings are put on one CD in order to test consumer reactions to various possible climaxes. Some of them are dead ends, however, and have to be noted as "not to be used" so that time isn't wasted going to these segments again. Chapters are indicated by icons on a computer screen, rather than first-frames of movies as on regular CDs. Many are duplicated, and another map has to be kept to show which can be eliminated from the final version without losing any of the continuity. Some are labeled "Previews," others are "Summaries," others are "Condensations," each having its own specific purpose, but some of the excerpts don't live up to their billing, and have to be noted as defective in some way or another. Some are two-hour entire episodes, whereas others are five- to ten-minute "teaser" trailers or promos, and some are even blank, rather like the "page under construction" configuration on my website. The length of the dream seems to be hours that include watching whole movies, but the details from those movies aren't really registered in the dream. All the icons are highly colored miniatures of some important segment of the content. Their interconnectedness is even more complex than I've done justice to in this description. 2) 7:44AM: I'm at some party in the Village with a lot of drag queens, and I want to go to the john, but can't find a working one---get to a bathroom and think I see a john in the corner, but someone forces himself in front of me, saying, "I just want to pee," but it turns out to be the only toilet in the place. I leave, thinking to be able to get home before I have to shit, and find myself at a familiar corner when I have to go down a precipice before I get to the street below. This place seems to have been recently raided, and everyone has to stay where they are, so there are masses of people on fire escapes who can't go up or down. I try to get to a place next door, but that doesn't work either, and I'm in the familiar position of being lost and can't find my way home. Before the end, there were dramatic climaxes with drag queens begging me to kiss them goodbye, seeming to weep great tears in their queenly charade. I woke with a pressure to shit to find Steve in the john.

FRIDAY, 10/2/09: 1) 12:14AM: I'm working for IBM, and have to turn in a form saying when I have to be wakened for guard duty (as in the Army; this IS a dream). I find that the phone extension of the person I have to contact is busy, so I have to wait for him to get off the phone so I can tell him what time I want to be wakened. Maybe in a half-awake state, I think that there's also a $60 rebate on wine for that day's work, which is obviously influenced by the free bottle of wine I got for this evening's dinner. 2) 3:54AM: The shadowy upper management of the motion-picture industry is cutting out many of its major stars through an arbitrary-seeming system that just makes a former star vanish forever. Some observers on the periphery of the industry insist that this is a method for the industry to commit suicide, but the Draconian method continues: a name comes up for consideration as a kind of entry in an enormous reference book, and, if the person is to be cut, the page simply vanishes and all the pages are renumbered so there isn't any way even to show that that page had existed before. Some of the top names are disappearing, some who no one would think would ever vanish, and they'd be just gone. It appears totally arbitrary and heartless, yet no one can do a thing about it. 3) Typed at 12:54PM from dream at around 6AM: I'm part of a very small audience at a play that seems to be spoofing, or duplicating, grade-D horror films, with people getting their heads cut off (difficult on a live stage) and their noses ripped off (too bloody for any close-ups). The actors surged around us as we cringed, and some left, until there seemed to be only one or two of us left as the last atrocities took place: an enormous green "extraterrestrial" head was pierced with an arrow and deflated grotesquely, and another extremely tall figure was decapitated and then the body was being mutilated as I woke and wondered where the hell THAT came from.

SATURDAY, 10/3/09: 1) 1:39AM: I'm trying to square a very odd hand of cards: each card is a square plastic piece about a quarter of an inch thick, so that a hand of eight cards is about two inches thick and impossible to align without arranging each card in the right order in the stack. Twos are wild, and two cards have single twos, some have twos followed by some modifier, which would then have to be added algebraically to yield something like Two and the Five of Diamonds/Hearts Twice, completely lunatic but also a real task. 2) WHERE DOES THIS COME FROM? I'm watching a movie (but am also in it) of Holocaust atrocities: lines of women who are shot in the head if they moan, and shot if they mourn the ones who were shot. Children lined up to be shot en masse. The same, ugly, banal, shit-smelling atrocities in hundreds of movies both produced and filmed at the time. Then I'm ACTING in a movie where I'm trying to get my younger brother safely away from the monsters who are trying to kill him, and at one point I'm weeping in desperation because we can't seem to get away, and one part of my mind is thinking that I'm acting so convincingly that I'm bound to be nominated for, and win, many awards for acting, because I'm not weeping for myself, I'm weeping for my brother. And we're running, and covered in dirt, and bleeding from falling, and hungry and tired and hopeless, and the feeling in the dream goes on and on even when the images stop, and continue after I wake up and know I have to record all of this, and don't want to do it, yet have to circle back to the same, horrible, inexorable thought: WHERE IS THIS COMING FROM? 3) 6:30AM: I'm in final negotiations for payment for an index to a book that's involved in some kind of litigation. A woman sitting across from me is worried about a woman involved on the "other side" of the transaction, and I glance over to tell her that the woman in question is lying down on the bench on which she and her partner are sitting. "Which way is she facing?" the woman across from me asks nervously. "Her head is pointed in this direction," I reply, ready to add that her FACE is also pointed in her direction, but she seems calmed by my statement. At the end, all seems to be OK, and I address my chief adversary and say something like, "At least there's no doubt about the authenticity of the index." She almost sneers at me as she says it's not as simple as I seem to think it is, and implies that if she finds I've done anything outside the requirements of the agreement, my whole fee might be in jeopardy, as well as my entire reputation. I fold up a faded carbon of the double-page agreement I signed, put it into my briefcase, and say I have nothing to worry about. She seems to personally dislike and distrust me, for reasons I can't identify. I go back to a desktop filled with papers, some of which I could have sorted out and left in my office, but I decide just to bundle up everything and stuff it into my briefcase (much as I've done on this trip by stuffing everything into my shoulder bag), take it home, and sort it out there, bringing any books needed back to the office when they're required.

SUNDAY, 10/4/09: 1) 12:55AM: I'm dining in Rockefeller Center, in an elaborate new multi-dining room under the ice rink. I don't have a reservation, but they say they can seat me immediately in the "simple" restaurant. While I'm waiting, I pass through an elegant hallway off which open two enormous white doors: one to "The Fantasy" which is done in light blue and seems to have enormous spaces between enormous tables, most of them empty, but a few have one or two lonely-looking people seeming to be waiting for one additional guest. A quarter-turn away are two HUGE white doors leading to "The Castle," but they never open so I never see inside. In MY section, they've taken away a larger table for four, which reveals that the table had been put around a funny MESA in the floor---ALL the tables had been put around mesas in the floor---so that a SINGLE table, put on top, would require the chair to be put on one SIDE of the mesa, imposing an impossible angle on the sitter. They try one chair after another, some higher, some lower, but all of them are quite impossible. In the meantime, a party of four has been seated and is EATING already while I'm still waiting. Talk to a waitress who says this has never happened before. Then they put up another kind of table that doesn't seem to have the right CHAIRS for it: either I'm sitting with the table-edge at my chin, or I can't fit my knees under the table. I look at a wooden dais about four inches high, and JUST as I'm thinking the thought, a maitre'd rushes past saying, "We'll put the table on the dais, and then it will be at the perfect height." They rush to do this, but somehow the correct chair STILL isn't available. I think I could have been eating an HOUR ago if I'd chosen one of the fancier, and way more expensive (though this place really isn't cheap) places, but I'd been told "simpler was better," and tried to eat that way. I thought of just stalking off in indignation, but where else would I go without a reservation at this, now late, hour and get service? Try a few other fruitless alternatives and wake, dazzled by the sheer frustration of the dream. 2) 4:15AM: I'm watering plants that are arranged in large rectangles both inside and outside a house: inside, it's rather like the plants in pots along white plastic trays as at 167 Hicks, but as I get to the less-tended side, the plants are more overgrown and full of bugs that scurry about when the water hits the soil, and at the end the plants have actually died and only dried husks take up the water and shelter enormous waterbugs and roaches and vermin. In an interlude, I see a huge transparent tub of candle wax: a small wick burns in a vast crater of melted wax. At one early point, it had flowed over the side of the vat, but the heat of the plastic walls keeps the wax on the outside soft and malleable, so that I can easily pull off large clumps and put it back into the molten mass in the center, where it slowly melts back into the fluidity of the whole vat, and I'm pleased at the efficiency of the setup. Later, I'm outside watering great expanses of dry-leaf-covered plants and soil, and, since it has been largely untended, enormous bugs flee the water, and the rousted denizens grow larger to include earthworms, slugs, turtles, and loggerhead turtles that start an exodus across Dietz Avenue, running faster as someone comes down Dietz and cuts through a division: those farther across the street hurry to hide across the street, while others still on this side of the street return to where they'd been hiding, and I'm wondering how I can eradicate completely this squirming, teeming, disgusting mass of life that my neglect has fostered the growth of. 3) 6:45AM: I'm looking at a guidebook for Brooklyn and see an entry for The Hut, on Montague and Ellis (or Ellen), a shady spot for homosexuals. I'm planning to go somewhere past there and take a look at it either on the way there or on the way back. Someone questions whether I'm going to take all my stuff there, and there's a strange sequence in which I'm riding on a bus and put lots of shirts and jackets on a hanger and hang it on a---what's the bar that standees hang onto?---rod, intending to pick it up when I return from The Hut, presumably on this same bus. Echoes of this trip abound, of course, but I hope to find some equivalent to The Hut in Brooklyn when I return.

MONDAY, 10/5/09: 1) 12:24AM: I'm playing with a very large, thick deck of cards, and some annoying opponent is saying that the odds of getting a run of 2-10 in one suit are hundreds of billions to one. I'm saying that doesn't matter, because it won't happen, so why are we even bothering to talk about it. But he insists we must have some kind of written contract that must pay someone who gets that run hundreds of billions of dollars. I just say that's silly, because even if someone DID get that run, no one in this room would EVER have the ability to pay it off, and what would be done then, kill him? 2) 3:18AM: We're returning from a trip and pass a mailbox in which is an envelope in which we're to leave our tip. The first time I looked, there was a simple $10 bill inside, but now there was something like $60, which implied that someone left much more than $10, and I'm tempted to add the contents of my wallet, about $140, but think again and figure I might need $50 for myself, so I only put in $90 more, bunching it up so no one can recognize that only one person had given so much. I feel good about it. [No relation to this trip whatsoever.] 3) 6:30AM: ANOTHER ONE-OFF DOOZEY: I'm walking down a street in Manhattan and come to a section of sidewalk that looks like it's just been laid in fresh cement. A workman points to a small sign on a storefront that he says means, "Don't walk here," but I've never seen anything like it and think I can get around it by walking on a round curb-like structure obviously patterned on the black-coated hollow tree trunks used on La Poile to enable a vehicle to turn off the road onto a private driveway, and can yet serve as a rain gutter. I'm about halfway across when it mushily collapses under my feet and I sink into the gunk up to my ankles and fall forward onto my knees in a caustic substance that I can feel through my trousers. There are head-shaking comments of "We warned you," and "You're in for it now" as I try to get to my feet and somehow find myself in a bus which carries a number of people who have made the same mistake I did. One has a burn around one eye, another is bandaged about the lower legs, and others are in various stages of what might be convalescence. At first I think this is some kind of con: they present me with a round canister filled with tubes of black tar-like substance that they say I must mix with a yellowish grease to make a topical medication. I get the canister, but blobs of black fall from open holes, and the yellowish grease squirts out of broken gaskets, and they look at it and say, "This never happened before," and "What did you DO?" and I have no idea what happens next. I try to mix them together, but they don't quite mix. I try to wipe each off and return them to their proper places in the canister, but that doesn't work. And my legs are starting to burn worse. They talk of propylene and neothane and other chemicals, and of how terribly expensive and time-consuming this is going to be, involving endless hospital care and self-medication and disability for months. More and more technical terms are used, I get more and more concerned, and finally wake with great relief to understand that I've come up with an ENTIRELY NEW NIGHTMARE.

TUESDAY, 10/6/09: 1) 2:29AM: I'm in some royal Asian nursery, and a newborn infant amuses everyone by being able to twirl his diaper rapidly to indicate the number of days to his 25th anniversary celebration, then blindingly fast, the number of days to his CHILD's 25th anniversary celebration. Then I'm the ruler, addressing his people, standing on a small platform holding onto Rob Saley's shoulder. When I pause, he says I can hold onto the head of my wife, who doesn't want to stand in that position for a long time, and I find a way to balance on my own. Other segments of the dream are forgotten now. 2) 5:52AM: I'm on the lot of a silent-movie filming in Hollywood, and some production people are checking that the photograph of two boats contains the entire lengths of both boats. Someone else is concerned about the next two pictures in this series coming out before the sound revolution will hit. It's like watching a low-key, old-fashioned movie.

WEDNESDAY, 10/7/09: 1) 12:21AM: Some parts of this may have been "thought" rather than dreamed: "extended" into some sort of "wishful thinking" rather than purely remembered as occurring in a dream. I'm a principal dancer with a ballet company as large and important as American Ballet Theater or New York City Ballet. I'm rehearsing one of my major solos in front of a large number of the company, including the principal choreographer, not someone who echoes Balanchine or Martins or Baryshnikov, but more like someone from the trip, like Bill Lishman or Paul Quarrington. I'm going through my movements and I suddenly stop, stunned, saying, "It's like my mind blanked in the middle of what I was doing, and I couldn't think of the very next position or step." Various observers try to bluster into an analysis of what had happened, but I have a particular idea in mind, somehow, which is reflected in my question, "Was I about to perform some particularly SEXUAL or SEDUCTIVE movement?" And clearly the answer is yes, and everyone realizes that it is yes, but they don't seem to put the same significance on that fact as I do. Almost as a way of deflecting the question from myself, I say, "I think it might have something to do with (and here I name another very famous male dancer, or an amalgam of famous dancers, but not necessarily THE most famous, but maybe an amalgam of Beloserkovsky and, well, Baryshnikov after he had "aged down" from being an extremely famous dancer) someone ELSE'S stopping yesterday before doing a particular step, or moving into a particular position, and here someone adds, "Yes, legs spread far apart, body thrown backward in a very sexually open manner" and other elements of orgasmic, rather than choreographic, positions and evocations. But other onlookers pooh-pooh that idea as being too abstract, too "mental" to apply to my situation, but, with mainly my half-awake mind, I want to pursue that possibility when I become SO aware of my thinking mind that I have to realize I am much more awake at this point than I am dreaming. So I lay thinking about it and have to get up to transcribe what I remember. 2) 5:49AM: Charles is reading from a volume of my short fiction while I'm categorizing huge unsorted volumes of many types. He clearly doesn't care for what he's reading, sharing his dislike with John, who's attending to some other related task at a desk nearby. He specifically refers to something called DEFWIT in one work, and when he asks how it's going to be filled in (it seems to be some sort of label for a sentence or definition which will be added from a master dictionary when this piece of fiction is transferred to the website), John agrees that he's pointed this out to me before, and I insisted, as I continue to insist, that the system will handle it properly and the website reader won't have the problems that the pre-website readers, like themselves, are having now. But, I observe, Charles doesn't like the basic reading itself, and he sort of agrees, and I counter by saying that OF COURSE not everyone will like everything on the site, but I want everything there, so that readers will have a CHOICE about what type of writing to continue reading, and what type of writing they just don't care like enough to pursue. In the meantime, I'm taking batches of writing and assigning them level-numbers in one of an array of huge piles of manuscripts. The top number defines the area, whether it's for writing, or receipts, or photos, or souvenirs, or one of many other kinds of item. Once its area-number has been defined, its LEVEL in the area is added to the end: 1 means it's a self-contained piece that essentially goes nowhere, 2 means it connects with a limited number of pieces in the same area, 3 means that it has connections with many other areas, and 4 means that it closes in on itself so that it essentially "ends in infinity," as many other pieces do, and in effect has an infinite number of connections, like multiple universes in a (what's the physicist's NAME who came up with the theory of multi-universes being generated every Planck time for every possible outcome?) NAME universe. Or numbers for levels denoting SIMILAR function. 3) 6:02AM: I'm showering standing in an old bathtub like the original tub at 1221 Dietz with very narrowly spaced supporting legs which give the possibility of tipping the tub over if too much weight is put on one side of the tub. I'm showering without a shower curtain, and am amazed by how dirty I am, particularly around the ass, where my washcloth comes out BROWN from pieces of shit that I've not wiped away for a number of days, and the water not yet down the drain is increasingly discolored and filled with little flecks, some of which are moving, and I'm concerned that I have some kind of degenerative disease and my intestines are rotting away, and bacteria living there are becoming so engorged with rot that they're visible to the naked eye, wriggling as they're rinsed from my anal crevice. Some are as big as the flies which swarmed on the shit under my feet in the room in which we were working in the previous dream, and I thought, in that dream, and I just MUST clean the place up before it becomes impossible to work in. Dreadful image!

THURSDAY, 10/8/09: 6:33AM: 1) I'm visiting Grandpa and Grandma Vallish, and Grandma isn't willing to give anything to the family, and Grandpa, when I ask him, absolutely refuses to sell a small stamp album he has that I suspect has some old and valuable stamps, and he insists that I never talk about it again. I'm sorry about that. 2) Oh, what the HELL was the second one: something about sex, but rather unusual.

FRIDAY, 10/9/09: 1) 1:25AM: I'm an onlooker as a group of revolutionaries in some small foreign country fights against a despot. The despot knows who they are, and how they communicate, and thinks of them as 21, 22, 23, and 24. 22 and 24 are shooters, while 21 and 23 tell 22 and 24 who to shoot. As if I'm watching a TV program about them, I fear that the despot will simply wait until the four of them are on the same airplane, and have an "accident" destroy the plane and its passengers. But that would make it too clear that the despot plotted the downfall of the four, and he has to be more sophisticated. Maybe one of them could be a spy for him and he could pick them off selectively. Then the details get hazy in my memory and I can't think of more to write. 2) 6:55AM: A group of philologists are sitting around thinking of the proper plurals for compound words like handful or spoonful. Some words come up in ordinary speech and others seem invented. Again, the transcription of the dream is more wrong than right, but at least the vaguest record of the dream is typed up.

END OF LABRADOR DREAMS

SATURDAY, 10/10/09: 1) 5:17AM: I'm one of about twenty soldiers in new helicopters manning posts that are divided into quadrants, so five of us occupy specific positions IN the quadrant we're assigned to, and these positions rotate in a specific order. The helicopter lands in dangerous territory, and we dash out onto the terrain in a prescribed position, which also changes with each landing so we're all subject to the same level of danger over time. Yet we never seem to be FIRED upon, so it may all be practice. The aim of the practice is to destroy or gather up little packets of color that are distributed throughout the fields on which we land: different colors signify food, or weapons, or maybe even prisoners, but it's all highly symbolic rather than realistic. Some soldiers, me included, try to be singled out for bravery by occupying dangerous positions for the longest time, but we're also condemned if we delay takeoff to the detriment of our mission. 2) 7:03AM: First remembered dream: I'm visiting someone close, maybe my sister, in her new country home, and in the back yard me and Spartacus are besieged by her new pets: first a fuzzy creature about the size of a large cat, but with carotene PRICKLES all over his belly, comes over to be tickled, and it just LOVES it, making sounds of appreciation between SAYING how much it loves to be tickled, and then an enormous cartoon-like creature with about 14 eyes comes over to be tickled on his very warty chin, also speaking, with an English accent, about how pleasant it is to be tickled. 3) A second dream: Someone like Tom Hanks, a Spartacus-like friend, and I are meeting a famous lawyer to get the background about a case he's handling for us, but he FARTS with a constant sputtering sound, like BBs dropping into a tin bucket, and he's mildly embarrassed by his noise, and I tell "Tom," who's astounded, that, in this, the lawyer is very much like Ken with audible farts, even though the farts are very different in character. 4) A third dream: Spartacus has come with me to my apartment as I'm returning from a trip, but I have to store my bags in the building lobby while he's still in the taxi, and then I can't find him in the crowds in front of the building, who seem to be attending a close-out sale in the middle of the street, and there are long lines of men and women waiting for dressing rooms to try on their new clothes, and I look and STILL can't find him, until, without transition, we're IN my apartment, and he's balanced a HUGE televison set on its side against a piece of furniture, and I say I wish he wouldn't do that, and in moving it, it CRASHES to the floor, and I shout in dismay and hope he hasn't broken the tube. Then we're trying to decide where to put it: I'm looking at a large blank wall in what might be a dining room, saying it had been here before, but he thought it should be in the bedroom, though he's reconsidering. Then someone like Suzie has wired up my hi-fi set better than it has ever been, and I ask Spartacus if he'd like to listen to it, but he says he'd rather solve the problem of television placement first. My apartment is enormous, with many large rooms, and the number of things to be attended to is equally enormous.

MONDAY, 10/12/09: 5:09AM: I'm programming for IBM (first of this kind of dream in a long time), and know I have to print out the results of EVERY location computation to figure how my final map is going to look. I'm glad that my new apartment has an "invisible" side room, so no one can see how I have to work. I end up with an enormous sheet of paper, and when someone asks how long it is, I think for a moment and say "600 feet," and she gasps in mock shock and says, "Almost half a mile." I let it go. But I'm VERY happy about the amount of money this will earn me when I really need it, since my "usual job," whatever that is, only gets me something like $10 an hour.

TUESDAY, 10/13/09: 1) 5:32AM: I've been assigned to put learning devices at a number of specified spots in a town that a tour will be visiting (rather influenced by the blue squares that came up on Google Earth when I looked at Akron and NYC yesterday), and it almost runs into a conflict with a show I'm supposed to see one night, but I think it will work out OK (like Rita's visit starting Thursday). 2) 9:04AM: I find myself having LEAPT off my balcony, floating in mid-air, frantically waving my arms to slow my descent, thinking instantly "This MUST be a dream," and I continue to very slowly descend, wondering if I'll smash at the bottom, but I wake before I even get NEAR the ground.

WEDNESDAY, 10/14/09: 9:15AM: Three fragments since dozing at 7:50AM: 1) Visiting Bill in Maine and asking to see if he's expanded out the back of his garage with his construction (of what, I'm not quite sure, maybe a toy-train setup) efforts. 2) I'm cooking tuna casserole in my oven, and roaches are streaming out, one of which I whap with a large box of matches I haven't owned in years. 3) Charles and I are waiting in some sort of office, and there's a Tom of Finland book of drawings that we're paging through, careful to shield the porn images from passersby, yet I ask Charles to turn on the light behind him and turn on the light next to me.

THURSDAY, 10/15/09: 7:06AM: Long dream from before: I'm part of an enormous group dancing a stately quadrille in some European palace ballroom. Everyone moves precisely, as if after long rehearsal, so the movements will be perfect. Other dreams followed.

FRIDAY, 10/16/09: 3:10AM: Dream of squeezing pimples on my face and neck.

MONDAY, 10/19/09: 2:33AM: Dream of decorating, with miniature objects, a huge African clearing.

WEDNESDAY, 10/21/09: 1) 6:50AM: Dream of studying for test on the History of the U.S. in the 30s. 2) 9AM: Dream of someone saying, "Don't step on pig balloon," but I just DO it, feeling GOOD to be so MEAN.

FRIDAY, 10/23/09: 8:37AM: A real melange of dreams after Rita's departure. 1) A "Survivor" type contestant has opted to cross a dangerous bridge to get out of a nasty situation, but he takes only two or three steps on it and leaves it by crossing onto a cliffside, onto a narrow ledge above a racing river, but though it's wet, it's wide enough to be safe on, and he makes his way to a strong door which he opens from outside, enters a large anteroom, and returns to his bedroom, which he shares with his chief opponent, and he makes some remark about not being able to compete with "such a great honcho." Then the emcee of the program corners the honcho and tells him he's out of the contest, and the escaped contestant feels good about it. 2) Hours before that dream, I was in a crowded apartment where my bed seems to have been taken away from me by someone else, and I try to find an acceptable alternative. There's a dark corner, away from any windows, where I think I can just put down layers of thick towels, available in abundance, and sleep in comfort, but someone else moves in there just ahead of me. I try to find space in an unused hallway, but there's no air circulation, and I figure I'll be uncomfortable. Move piles of my stuff around, trying for an upper bunk, but there's not enough room there for my stuff and me. I wake from this dream before my problem's solved, feeling frustrated.

SATURDAY, 10/24/09: 1) 3:41AM: I'm surveying a once-elegant castle as I'm preparing to leave it for good, and am amazed at how ill-tended the main ballroom is: the floor appears covered with a wax that has moldered with damp, so that what was once glossy and shining is now dull and matte, with spots of discoloration from damp or other problems. It seems to need a good scraping down to the bare wood and multiple coats of a clear varnish and wax to appear as gleaming as it should be. By contrast, adjoining small work-rooms have been newly painted bright colors with a rough cement-like surface, like the ceilings of my rooms at 101 Clark Street; and I wonder why these servant's rooms have been repaired before the state rooms that the general public would see first. At the end, I look at some kind of inscription that the place has been bought by the Canovas (or some such royal family), which implies that the rooms will be given better care in the near future than they've had in the recent past. 2) 7:50AM: I'm carefully lifting the edge of an old wooden stool so that I can clear things from the floor under it and spray for roaches. I continue around the room, picking up remote controls, wetting all the edges of the room, and continue into the living room, over carpets, around radiators, clearly anticipating the visit of the exterminator at 8:30AM this morning.

MONDAY, 10/26/09: 1) 4:15AM: I'm working on a crossword puzzle, and get the words Spanish, Land, and Time, and then Paris at the end of something about haircutting. 2) 8:45AM: I'm working out in a gym and an attractive guy asks a few of us if we want haircuts. I say yes, but someone else goes in front of me. Then he's back, asking again, and I say yes and make a point of following him out of the gym. He shoves a pair of gym pants and a jacket at me, asking me to bring them with me. I lose sight of him as I'm standing in the back of a line of people waiting to go out the door, and then figure they must be waiting for something else, and shove ahead of them to get out the door and step around large piles of gay handouts (as were piled up at Sugarland yesterday) and go down a corridor to follow him, only to discover that I don't have his pants and jacket in my hands! Curse myself for losing them, thinking obliquely that this is like a bad dream, but is real life, and figure I can get to him to establish that I'm next, and then race back to the line just inside the door where I probably dropped his stuff. Then I wake up.

TUESDAY, 10/27/09: 5:09AM: Perfect gem of a dream: I'm attending a concert in a tiny room, almost like the small space enclosed for "Arms and the Man," leaving space for maybe 100 viewers on all sides of a tiny stage holding a dozen instruments. An intermission discussion details the louder playing of the lowest cello notes, audible even under the forte playing of all other instruments, sweeping out the mellow tone. I'm privileged to hear such intimate details in a virtuoso group. Returning for a final piece, I skirt the perimeter of the stage quickly, realizing I'm visible with my soiled khaki trousers, with a hole in one leg, to much of the audience, but I move with such speed, and the audience is so intent on the instrumentalists, that I'm convinced I offend no one. The brisk return of soloists right to the edge of the tiny stage forces me to the narrow floor below the stage's edge on my return to my seat, and I step onto the stage itself in the moment's silence before the applause starts for the ensemble's return, sliding into my seat with perfect timing, ending the dream with an intense feeling of agreement when the prime critic in the audience pronounces the previous piece "Fantastic: brilliant speed, brilliant clarity." And I'm squeezing my smile out to the corners of my face with pleasure.

WEDNESDAY, 10/28/09: 1) Actually Tuesday evening at 11:15PM: I'm showing someone a Styrofoam model of a New England church, pointing out that the facade was always symmetric and of great simplicity. Some of the model pieces, viewed from above, need to be moved in relationship to each other to depict the depth of the roof as opposed to the height of the steeple. 2) I'm listening to an astounding investigative news piece on finances in business, and am amazed that the commentator could be so SEVERE with the policies of reward and benefit to the managers and owners, compared with the penalties and payments imposed on the lower workers and investors. One network announces that THEIR offices were fully manned and reporting during this crucial period, implying that other networks weren't doing their share of news stories about the business of blame. 3) 9:05AM: I'm looking for a meeting I'm supposed to be attending at 2PM at IBM, but I can't find the name of the person I'm scheduled to meet. A secretary finds me wandering the halls and insists that I go into a conference room where a meeting is currently in process. I can't understand what they're talking about, and though I try to participate in any way I can, I'm aware that my trousers are coming apart at the seams, and I'm not in a jacket and tie, so I'm making a terrible impression on these extremely conservative businessmen. I read some kind of document I got from the meeting (clearly like the CIT Group booklet), and come up with the idea of an application letter that describes me in a way that would make them want to employ me. I put the (miraculously) completed letter into an envelope and look around for a way to deliver it (and have no idea to whom to ADDRESS it, either). Wake with a feeling of contentment: I have something to type, something to communicate positively to Sharon this afternoon, and am now ready to start my day at 9:15AM.

THURSDAY, 10/29/09: 6:55AM: I've been given a manuscript by William Burroughs to type and index. I've had it for a while, and it's theoretically due today, but he delayed giving it to me for a long time, so I have an excuse for not giving it to him immediately. I go into this strange room to do the work, and at first I don't even know how to put the lights on (maybe this is influenced by "the hatch" in "Lost"), but by trial and error I find that I can light up pretty much any area with spotlights arranged in a very complicated pattern, and finally find a large area on which I can spread the manuscript and have it all well lit. Then, without transition, the room fills with people taking some kind of class, and I have to find a desk in a rear corner of the room on which to work, putting in earplugs so that the proceedings of the class won't disturb my concentration. He's typed the manuscript himself, evidently tailoring the lines to fit on one page, and I must type it to his page specifications. Even though he's added much material, he's changed the page numbers accordingly: where he's written four or five lines at the top of page 10, he's changed the page number at the bottom from 10 to 10-11, where page 11 is short enough that I can add the overflow lines from 10 to page 11 without overflowing page 11. Where he's written a whole new section after page 7, he's numbered the pages 70 and 71, so that the additional pages will numbered and be followed by page 8. The indexing will be much more complicated, as his manuscript sometimes runs lines together, like "Bryant, James, William Cullen, Massey," which I think has to be indexed "Bryant, James, pp/Bryant, William Cullen, pp/Bryant, Massey, pp" even though I'm not sure Massey Bryant is a real person, or that Massey is a surname which has to be indexed separately, and I'll have to phone Burroughs to clarify this, and I think I probably should have charged my cell-phone so that I could phone him before getting home to my own phone. Obviously, in my dream, he's still alive and available for questions. I figure I'd better check that the page numbers are reasonable before I start transcribing, so I check through the first twenty pages and find that the subsequent parts of the manuscript are written in little self-contained books, some of them much smaller than the first pages, and I'll have to ask him if he wants the smaller pages to be typed on separate pages, or combined in some way---but then I haven't checked the numbers he's put on the bottom of those pages yet. I open the first little book and find that the page numbers seem to be out of order, so I open the second little book when a curious, dangerous-looking, guy sitting next to me tries to pry out one of the books to read himself. I know this isn't permitted and try to wrest the book away from him. He resists, insisting he won't cause any trouble, but I grab it back, knowing that I'll have to leave to continue the work in peace: it's now 10:15PM and Mom will be finished with her meeting in my apartment by 10:30, and it'll take me about half an hour to get home, so I'll be able to work there undisturbed. At the end of the dream I'm really worried about finishing the work this week, wondering how I'm going to excuse my lateness to a probably angry William Burroughs.

FRIDAY, 10/30/09: 4:35AM: I'm waiting for Charles, sitting on the floor in the corner of a lobby of some kind, and the woman to my right grabs my navy-blue jacket by the heavily padded shoulder and says, "You must be Daniel Webster." "No," I say, and then she asks what I do. "I'm retired," I say, "but guess what my friend CHARLES (I call him) does." He comes closer and I say, "I'd like to introduce Mildred," I gesture to the right, and "Gigi," the woman to my right reaches out her hand to shake Charles's, and then I loudly correct myself, "I mean NANCY," about the woman on my right, who shakes Charles's hand also. "What time was I supposed to meet you?" asks Charles, and I look at my watch and see that it's ten to three. "Was it 2PM?" he asks dubiously. "Yes, it was," I say, "and it's lucky I was talking with these two women, or I'd be angry that you weren't here on time." "I was here, well, not exactly HERE, at two o'clock, but I was over there," and we continue to wait for I don't know what.

SATURDAY, 10/31/09: 1) 5AM: I'm starting work on a grade-school curriculum "Five hours the first day, six hours the second day, then full time." 2) 8:43AM: Taxi driven UP RAMP in hotel to take me where I want to go. WEIRD!

SUNDAY, 11/1/09: 5:35AM: Two women are meeting in my apartment, because one has done an index and another is keeping her company. The indexer presents me with a little book that's the first job she's done, and I pretend I enjoy getting it. Then Dennis and a friend enter, and I ask what they're going to do for lunch, and they say they'll probably go to Jack's for a hamburger. I might run into them there later with the two women. We make fun of the woman, who types a slip of paper for each index entry and then puts them all together, one at a time, and we joke that it's amazing she actually gets the job done. My apartment is unusually large, and everyone seems to have a different area in which they're comfortable, away from the other pair. Lots of details forgotten.

WEDNESDAY, 11/4/09: 6:24AM: Note taken in TERRIBLE handwriting: About fifteen people in a room. Dinner is over. I wash my hands (some food was mushy) and say, "I never felt so much like DRYING my hands." Pause. "Why should I serve food from the oven?" Nice woman replies, "No reason at all," and starts, with everyone else following, toward the oven. I go to her and take her hand: "That was the nicest thing you could have done." A guy like Lish, from the Labrador trip, says, "Gee, Bob, you're a good actor." And I'm STUNG---WAS I acting? Copied the note to take to share with Sharon, but she cancels, so I put it to take the NEXT week.

THURSDAY, 11/5/09: 1) 4:13AM: [From jotted note]: I encounter a HUGE bug, but this is a DREAM, so I'm OUTSIDE, and it flew into a tree. 2) 9AM: Woke at 8:10AM after a dream, lay remembering IBM until 8:32, when I got up to shit, and then determined to record the dream. We're all moving into new quarters, on a new floor, and one large dim room has a number of unoccupied desks that seem intended for upper-level personnel. Other areas are crowded with people who seem to be working on the same project. I don't know what I'm working on, nor do I know precisely who to ask about the person I'm supposed to be reporting to. When I ask someone about the entire group, she responds that "They're all working on Oenschlager." "What?" "Oenschlager: the huge project that's employed practically our whole division." I'd not even heard about it. Then I encounter a co-worker who's almost crying with her frustration about her concept of her new job. "But don't you see," I say, trying to console her, "I'll be just like working for the old SBC, and you remember how challenging that was." Afterward, I keep trying to find the office of anyone who can answer my questions, but they all seem to have gone home early this Friday afternoon. I wake and have a reverie that I'll transcribe in NOTEBOOK.

FRIDAY, 11/6/09: 3:52AM note: I'm watching a movie and someone in the balcony above pisses on the floor, which DRIPS through onto my PANTS. Wake and pee.

SATURDAY, 11/7/09: 7:13AM note: Dream of outpost with no power, water, or sugar, which seems related to Spartacus asking for sugar at Dinosaur BBQ.

SUNDAY, 11/8/09: 8:18AM: 1) Earlier dream of washing Grandma's very delicate white bone china, putting the large plates carefully into a dryer by the sink. 2) I'm working in a very crowded office at IBM, and my new boss comes to me with some programmer's work which has to be transcribed onto a glass plate, and he asks me to do it. I'm in the middle of debugging my own program, but I seem to have no choice until the idle programmer next to me takes pity on me and says he will do the transcription for me, freeing me to finish my program. It seems my boss is trying to make things difficult for me, while my neighbor has a better sense of fairness. I look at the results of my first test on my desk's computer screen, rather surprised that my program is so small, but then the task was rather simple: just show the progressive results of a simple calculation in a table. I'd got the heading OK, but then the margin lines of the box surrounding the results vanish, and there's too much space between the results, which I haven't checked yet for accuracy, and sift down through pages of data to find the lower margins in place and then a page of my website printout, which indicates that my program actually finished. I'm pleased with the results and look forward to correcting the appearance of the final table.

TUESDAY, 11/10/09: 7:37AM: 1) I'm on a team counting votes, but it's an extremely complicated process because the voting procedure allowed for a variety of opinions on the two people being considered, and there were more than four possibilities for a single vote: for A and against B, for B and against A (these were relatively simple), for A AND B, and against A and B (which were more complicated), and other possibilities, including other people. We actually had a small number of votes to tally, but it seemed that the process would go on for hours. 2) I'm sitting on a large sofa with people reading a newspaper that's partly written in a language that's not English. The first page has a large graphic of a man's face with a line down one side, which I interpret roughly as "dividing Illinois," and I get up the courage to ask one of the other men on the sofa what that line means, and it turns out to be only an artistic interpretation, rather than a political statement. The others are not very interested in my opinion, but the Black nearest me draws closer and closer, and he leans in to kiss me. I'm not particularly interested in starting something with him, but I permit him to kiss me, and the pressure grows slowly more intense until I can feel myself becoming aroused, and I'm not sure how it's going to end up when I wake, feeling slightly aroused.

WEDNESDAY, 11/11/09: 6:20AM: I'm preparing to videotape a rocket (an unpeeled potato) going to the moon---with a sound track on my little TAPE recorder---wondering if BOTH batteries will ahve enough charge---and I will later peel the potato and eat it. Packing two boxes with stuff, folding maps in half to fit, hoping that tomorrow will be a good day for filming. Feeling of quiet practicality DURING the dream, and the wonder of "What was THAT?" afterwards.

SATURDAY, 11/14/09: Dream of "tentacle plants," for which I sketch a circle, with four tendrils extending out to four more circles, with tendrils extending out from them, some of which are meant to cover prior circles, and the question in the dream is How do they "terminate?" Then to a lunch area covered in BUGS. They scatter, revealing a rune-like character [which I sketch], that might be "uparsin" (as in "Mene, mene tekel), and which might be a part of a global MESSAGE. Then there's a test involving the addition of numbers with decimals. When two numbers are added, then rounded up, and the sum is later added to another number with a .1 decimal, the "correct" answer is .1 LESS, because it should have been remembered that the previous sum had been rounded up. I try to show how this happens with real numbers, but the results are unsatisfactory.

MONDAY, 11/16/09: "You can't see Carolyn until all THESE [patterns of previous visits] have been removed."

TUESDAY, 11/17/09: 6AM dream: Large group in cabin is getting ready for a camping trip, wanting a "basement sofa." I pull shades down more on the windows, happy that I have a whole bed to myself.

THURSDAY, 11/19/09: Ann Miller WALKS underwater to Bermuda to give snake-bite victims an opinion, that CURES them, replacing victim with "good twin."

FRIDAY, 11/20/09: Larry Kramer builds his house-church on Broadway. The wrong people hate it, the right people love it. "Entries are level for baby strollers."

SATURDAY, 11/21/09: Botox and McDonald's on a board game.

SUNDAY, 11/22/09: I forget baby-board (and baby?) at hospital before train to NYC.

MONDAY, 11/23/09: I'm shown a line of 8-10 beds in a communal house. I ask, "Which is mine?" I'm pointed to one in the corner, which I think will be OK.

TUESDAY, 11/24/09: 1) Elaborate setting of four pyramidal hills, which change when viewed from different angles, and they should be seen in order. 2) I'm trying to get an experienced guy to show me how to wrap a green leaf that I've squeezed into a tight cylinder so that I can smoke it. I hope to get high on it.

FRIDAY, 11/27/09: Matte-green "dragon iguanas" fall from side of stone wall, SO artificial (no mouth opening) they can't even be IMAGINED to have life.

SUNDAY, 11/29/09: 1) "But I can't start traveling as 'Mr. Big" until I learn how to ACT big," and wonder if Azak can teach me to DANCE. 2) Jews join a Jewish group. Group divides into a) Yiddish speakers, b) Hebrew speakers, c) interest in Israel, d) interests in governing, etc.

MONDAY, 11/30/09: 1) Buying Christmas tree for Mom for Dietz Avenue. 2) I'm being adored as I'm being sucked off. 3) Annoyed at going through an art exhibit that has no printed guide.

TUESDAY, 12/1/09: 1) Water versus meat: meat is nitrogen and carbon and phosphorus and sulfur; water is hydrogen and oxygen, NOT the same. Kid SAVES my water handle. 2) I'm masturbating Susan's son (which she doesn't have).

WEDNESDAY, 12/2/09: 1) Someone and I sit for Friday-fish dinner in a cheap restaurant, and Bruce Lieber, with a 4-5-year-old kid, joins us. He wants fish and mashed potatoes. Woman passes and says, "Kid sounds like Carol Ann, doesn't he." I'm confused and say, "I really couldn't say." I'm content to hold him. 2) I'm in an INCREDIBLE jeweled city and accidentally rip my LENS off my camera. I try pushing it back on and now it won't ZOOM in and out, and won't focus. 2) Cranberries! No---cheap tomatoes, maybe. No---cranberries! (twice).

THURSDAY, 12/3/09: I'm looking at charts of the amount of time people spent in the public library, reading.

FRIDAY, 12/4/09: 1) NIGHTMARE of not being able to memorize lines for a play that's going on this evening---all the scripts have VANISHED, or are marked up for other people. I'm in a TERRIBLE panic, hardly able to go back to sleep. 2) I'm LEAPT on and stared at by large, curious, pale yellow baby tiger. 3) I come up with a "project idea" (which I write on the head of a bald man) for a city plan for India, illustrated by carefully arranged plastic pieces.

SATURDAY, 12/5/09: Religious fanatics, burns, prophesiers---sainted, liquors drunk, sleep on ground, on top of each other. Despair of being holy enough.

MONDAY, 12/7/09: 1) Take dessert menus and plates around corner from Village eatery. But I can't identify "our" clients. 2) I order scrambled (not fried) eggs for breakfast. Others in my group at another table almost finished and I order coffee, unusually. 3) I'm searching for Trent Renzor on street AND on a computer screen.

FRIDAY, 12/11/09: Queen Elizabeth II, laughing, collects stamps and gives me a huge thick envelope of current British stamps, remarks on my distracting flicker from a too-long mustache hair. I mention a "gold medal," in the distance, which is SO blinding, and she laughs that I understand. And I thank her for "her largesse."

SATURDAY, 12/12/09: I'm buying LOTS of elegant clothes and suits at Fifth Avenue's Lord and Taylor, concerned about how I'm going to get all this stuff into a taxi to Dietz Avenue.

SUNDAY, 12/13/09: Virginia Dare's father manages two stage events on an enormous wall chart in Virginia.

TUESDAY, 12/15/09: 1) A castle is having a ball at which men against women are having an auction for the right to sing. 2) I'm watching MANY TV channels, and when I cut off the sound, it "defaults" into the music from "Swan Lake."

[Dream retrieved 12/17/09 from file 7 of Neo:] SATURDAY, 10/17/09: 12:43AM: I'd sent some fake money to a currency expert: if she couldn't tell it was fake, my forging system was a wonderful success. I get the results back as parcels of my money that include a piece of chocolate, the whole parcel wrapped in transparent cellophane. I turn over one parcel after another hoping to find a tiny note inside, saying, "You have succeeded," but I turn over the last parcel and only see the note I enclosed with the whole batch, which means she doesn't accept it. I was very happy until the very last moment of the dream. This, maybe, because I'd just watched the first 40 minutes of "What Dreams May Come," with Rita, who said she likes it so far.

THURSDAY, 12/17/09: I'm having A BREAKFAST in an old British pub that will clearly be the best---and surely the most expensive!---one I've ever had. Courses are more like amuse bouches: a tree that looks like chocolate twigs, that don't melt on the fingers, and don't really taste like chocolate: the maitre d' points to the center and says something like "Black gum," which is crunchy and not chocolate-y at all. What looks to be an enormous roasted tomato is forked inside and the shards of a red bell pepper are pulled out, leaving a crisp crust that tastes, again, of something else altogether. How are they going to BILL me for this? By ITEM? Each of which is at LEAST $10, so the whole thing may be over $100, though it may just be a LARK for them to serve a---"Where are you from?" "New York." "But WHERE in New York?" A smile: "New York City."---guest. Eggs, and bacon in forms more like ham, pass over the plate. Items are handed to me casually---a drink turns into a fruit punch that I thought was tea, and surely there's a hot chocolate there somewhere, and I think I'll ASK for a good English Breakfast Tea just to kind of cleanse the palate. And I can't think of even having LUNCH after so filling and ghastly-rich a breakfast that continues FOREVER, including a vegetable-like pastry whose twigs blend together not by melting, but by coalescing like filaments of buttery scone-dough. Others are looking at me with envy at the coterie of waiters I have bustling about me, serving me. How MUCH will this cost, indeed?

MONDAY, 12/21/09: 8:14AM: Whole melange of dreams: 1) Watching a play with a red-headed hero, and at the end of the first act they announce that they're trying out a NEW hero, and someone different staggers out of the wings and lies down on a bed, with the same costume of the actor in the first act, but he's clearly a different person, and without an intermission the play begins with the replacement. 2) Someone is showing how terrible the bathroom is in a new apartment, and they turn on the shower, which is really a hose hanging from the ceiling, and huge TUBES of dark water, like the effluvia of an enormous-bored meat grinder, plop down in a dozen columns, hardly breaking up like water, but rather having the consistency of bread dough. 3) A previous fragment I didn't record and should have: something about a missing text, or script, rather like the "theme" of a dream last week of a missing script. 4) I'm watching a DVD of a Daniel Day-Lewis film, and there's a close-up of his narrow, muscled body in a bathtub, focusing down on the area below his navel and above his pubes, showing an almost yellow smooth skin with the most incredibly sharply focused black hairs with individual sheens coming from the body. I "desire" the film to focus lower, and the image slides up to reveal a flaccid cock about seven inches long that remains on the screen so long that I risk touching the surface, and I can actually feel the soft flesh of the cock, and start to lift it off his legs and feel its circumference, astounded at this new technological breakthrough. 5) Continuing with Daniel Day-Lewis, I'm looking down at a beach in which he's swimming, and I get the idea that he's going to float in toward shore and he'll be naked, so I want to get close to him, but others crowd around and I find it easier to go off to the side, where the shore is under some kind of dock, but there are fewer people there and I can get into the water myself, but still hope to get closer to him from the side.

SATURDAY, 12/26/09: 8:44AM: 1) An athletic younger friend and I are walking toward the last bus which is due to depart (this may be patterned on Paul's nervousness as we walked the entire length of the Woodlawn-departing subway before getting into the first car so we'd have more views over the city on our way back to Brooklyn) soon, and to my dismay in fact the bus DOES leave, but my friend insists he can run to catch up with it, and takes off at a good pace as I admire his sturdy legs and butt in his khaki trousers (like the character in yesterday's movie "He's Just Not That Into You") as he thunders down the path ahead of me as I lag farther and farther behind. The bus vanishes into the distance as he seems not to be able to catch up with it soon, and now the path on which I'm following him rises sharply in a rocky escarpment which I have trouble even climbing, let alone following at a good speed. 2) An enormous gay (though somehow patterned on an Actualism convention [which I've never been to]) group is gathered in the balcony of a theater, and I ask the few elderly friends with whom I'm seated about the identity of a younger group seated to our right, and ask, "Would they be connected with Monica Mushinski?" which to me indicates they'd be from classes three or four levels below our level. They say they don't know, and don't seem to be willing to go over to find out, and I decide that I'll have to find out for myself, and start to go over, but then the younger group starts to move out of their seats and I don't want to bother them at this time. Then I'm seated at a table for two, at which Ken will join me, but then when I actually sit down the table has been set for four or five, with a strange woman across the table from me, and I'm newly confused. Without transition, apparently after the meal is over, we're all seated in low-flying boats which are taking the "advanced" group to their next station, flying past incredible displays below of homage to us: Busby-Berkeley-like sets with children's heads appearing like multi-colored flowers from expanses of meadows on the riverside below us; then larger vistas of model European villages, all populated with hundreds of people; and then astonishing floating islands on the surface of the river itself, below which schools of silvery fish can be seen swarming in lavish abundance, comprised of floating mats of plastic, grass, and platforms covered with trees, plants, buildings, children---all passing by so fast, with children waving to us as a few of us at the open windows of our conveyances wave back, that I think helplessly of the extraordinary efforts of these hosts (both in number and in function) that are being passed over so VERY quickly, with not NEARLY enough time to appreciate all their detail and almost REVERENCE that they're showing us. I just want to be able to LINGER and APPRECIATE all they've done for us, and we're SPEEDING over it with not NEARLY enough time to take it all in.

MONDAY, 12/28/09: [Note typed 1/14/10] Odd dream of Helen INSISTING someone (me) has been ADOPTED, and to prove it, somehow FIVE dreams (from 1964-1965) had to be seen, though what they could PROVE is unclear.

WEDNESDAY, 12/30/09: [Note typed 1/14/10] I'm pissing in the jungles after a blowhard makes me laugh at him when he TRIES to make fun of my blustering, when I laugh at HIM for blustering. Bed 8:12PM! 3:10: "File 3 BREAKFAST." Up 5:15!

 

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