Nap from 10:30 to 1:00

I dreampt I was in New York city containing some rabid rabbits.  The leader bit me before I put him away.

I walked down a street, aimlessly, following a 40'sish, fit Italian-looking guy who had a trench coat and a newsboy cap on.  Or I think he was following me.  Then he came around me as another, larger Italian-looking guy approached.  They stopped facing each other on the sidewalk.  I stopped, too, behind the first guy.  Then he physically pushed me away--I remember feeling my shoes scrape on the concrete--a few feet, as if to say, "Go away.  This is private."  They messed with knobs on a control panel on the side of a brick building.  I got out of there, they must have been mob types.

Then I was at a table cutting pieces of paper with a couple older dudes and a couple little kids in this big backyard under a loft (like a swingset bench, almost.)
A 20-something guy with chin-length light red hair hit on me.  I was coldly aloof, and he knew it but didn't care.  He asked when he could see me, I said "I'll call you," but didn't ask for his number.  Then he asked what percent chance he had of my calling him, and I lied and said, "30."  I remember he talked a little marble-mouthed.  His lips had the appearance of being swollen, as some lips do.  "Well that's still a good chance," he said.  Night fell.  There was a stage in the backyard.  He started playing music.  I went over to a trampoline and listened.  He sounded like he ripped off Thom Yorke a little bit.

Then Cleo got to the show.  She saw the guy, and, having been informed of his affections, insisted that I hook up with him.  "This is perfect!"  She said.  "He's so cute!"  We were sitting in front of the drum set where he played and sang, so I was self-conscious about her loud talk.  But I looked up at his profile and saw that, yes, he was pleasant-looking.  And an overall nice person.

She was bent on making me stay.  When he, his manager, and a few friends, were sitting with Cleo and I while I attempted to pack, the musician asked how long I was staying in New York.  Cleo told him I was staying a few more days.  Not my plan--but whatever.  Her vision of me and this guy seemed practical now, even likely.  Especially when I saw a stop-motion music video he made.  I thought, "How did I pass this up?"


Then I was in a tiny stand-alone kitchen, with steps leading up to it and a window.  I arranged spices on shelves, and tapped the shelf after each move, as if I was clicking the mouse on a laptop.  I pondered this half out loud, and spelled out my thoughts on an imaginary keyboard compulsively.
At some point Ian sent me a letter on Facebook saying he was coming to New York and wanted to see me.  The salutation went from "Love," to "Injuredly," the second time I saw it.  (Wtf?)

Some time in this dream I stood in an art gallery with the siblings, Kapil, and his Mom. His mom talked about having owned an art gallery. "What doesn't she do?"  I wondered.

Then I was sitting on the ground trying to conjure up facebook in the sand to look up the musician's name.  The colors were green and black.  It kind of worked....I picked up an internet connection.

Morning came.  I was laying in bed with the nice red haired guy.  I felt totally friendly toward him and he toward me.  He listened to his iPod and asked me, "What's something German to listen to in the morning?"  I described to him a videogame in which small football players ran around the desert hitting big football players in the head with huge mallets and gulping up the little footballs (like Mario coins.)  It was a jest...he had been a football player, I think.  As I sat up on the foot of the bed, a fuzzy sleepy feeling around me,  I noticed he had nice muscles.  I didn't remember having sex with him and wondered how I ended up in this bed anyway.

I went into the kitchen of this house.  Cleo was there with the siblings.  She started boiling water to make pasta.  I suppose earlier, the musician had told me he wanted pasta before he left for the next tour stop.  The fat noodles came out and were delicious.  He came over and appreciated them.

Then he went into the adjoining room, out of view, sitting with some other people on couches.  The short-haired blonde chick from SBCC choir served everyone mixed drinks.  She came to him and he rejected one.  For a moment, I thought, "Oh good, he's chaste. He'll respect that I don't want to smoke weed."  But he said, "Last time he got "knocked over."  All my siblings and I laughed about this phrase. "It's like knocked up and hung over!"

Then in a flurry, I was packing in the backyard again.  The musician wasn't around, had probably left to tour.  I couldn't remember his name, but I wanted to hang out with him  more.  Luckily I found his manager and discovered he hadn't left.  In casual conversation the manager dropped his full name--Nat Taylor.  I pictured it written out with the first T as a backwards seven.


Next part:  I was in the airport with Nigel and other peers.  We were going to be scanned.  A recent scandal from the news, of a girl who purposefully faked a new bomb, had added to the list of banned items.  She had put the bomb in a soft cooler lunch box--which Nigel brought in the door, and had confiscated from him.  Kids our age filed through the four metal detectors.  Nigel and I were in a line on the left, and it was finally our turn!  But the airline people paused the process to face the metal detectors another way, and because of the flipped configuration, the people on the right were in front, and we were in back.


Then dad yelled something and I woke up.

>:(

PMDD stands for:

Professor Margaux's Deeply Depressed.

New Line

Wistfully hallucinating, glopping two people into one.  Some stuff never got done. 

Don't want a vessel of garnish and leather, don't want to be sewn against a lover.  But my unconscious doesn't know.

Will the horse of destiny run toward the barn, reins aflutter?

How can I catch her?  Obviously the way to go is right into the barn wall, or right into the dirt...it hurts the best and makes the most sense.

[But]  Now the pressure's off to continue my stride of fanciful ease and productivity. My empire shrinks silently; burrowing, I wait for the tide to wash away detritus of an old love affair.  The following wave will arrive in approximately one month.  I go to New York.  How splendid.  How special.


My actions are post marked June 23rd.  I whisper to the future, "Do me good, okay?"

Thinking

We could pee in the sink, eat out of vases, and, fresh out of the shower, wrap sleeping bags around our damp bodies.  This house has three ipods, a zune, an xbox, two digital cameras, many musical instruments, an amplifier, dead cell phones.

This dwelling abounds with half-used, hoary tubes of paint, and splintered CD cases.
We don't have family meals
We have family NPR

Carpel tunnel caresses my hands.  Their ligaments sing, tenacious.
Lord, I need a thesaurus.

Completed one hand stand and have cranky wrists to prove it.  No video tape.  I'm no narcissist.  Waiting for Hole album to rip, taking all the music and dumping souls in the computer.

It bugs
This essay that's due responds to the possible trend of kids skipping college.  What unique argument can i make?  I'm not skipping college. My friends always need justification. Maybe my opinion should be, "Since it is a common choice, those who skip four-year-school to be in other institutions ought to be regarded as 'normal.'"

My friends who are skipping college perplex me. I reflexively see them in a stigmatic light.  To myself I say, look at their course of action logically.  Ask, "Why is this frightening, weird, and bizarre?"  Perhaps their plan serves.  Perhaps it doesn't.  But what about the status quo makes it so taboo, and why aren't I allowed to cross that line, either?


Reflection on the stigma, from the point of view of a kid whose friends are splitting off to "do their own thing.

What?

Two ways to be speechless:
prefaced
"I don't need to say anything to you."
paired with brazos, ojos, and smiles, what need you say?
"Right on," I reply.

or....
 perplexing silence;  Wondering what I said, how it was prompted,
vacillating between melancholy and regret

The latter is old, put in place by a lover  The former is new, born an hour ago, and I'm still high from the fumes.

Cool Quotes:

"Be Who You Are and Say What You Feel Because Those Who Mind Don't Matter and ThoseWho Matter Don't Mind.”


-Dr. Seuss


"Don't say that.  You don't know what you're going to do until you do it."


-Handsome Bum


"

I'm in a skip divided malfunction
I flap around and divebomb
Frantically around your light
Enveloped in a sad distraction

I got your voice repeating endlessly
Could you guide me in?
Could you smother me?
I swoop around your head
But I never hit
I'm blinded by your daylight

Electric veins have passed through me
I thought there was this big connection

I only got my name
I only got this situation
I just need a number and location

Without appropriate papers or permissions
I'm known to bite in tight situations
And as I head into your french windows
I thought there was a big connection

I only got my name
I only got my situation
I just need my number and location

And the mole keeps telling me
Hey hey hey hey hey hey
The devil may
Hey hey hey hey hey hey

You are a fool, you are a fool
For sticking 'round, for sticking 'round
Yeah you are a fool, you are a fool
For sticking 'round, for sticking 'round

I've tried every trick in the book
I've tried to look in you
Every trick in the book
Well how come I lose?

No one can undress your elliptical caress
Don't look into your eyes
Cause you're desperately in love
In love, in love

When you walk in the room everything disappears
When you walk in the room it's a terrible mess
When you walk in the room I start to melt
When you walk in the room I follow you 'round like a dog

I'm a dog
I'm a dog
I'm a lapdog
I'm your lapdog, yeah

I just got a number and location
I just need my number and location


Thom Yorke "Skip Divided"