I’m spider-sitting for a bunch of out-of-town friends, replacing rotting leaves with fresh ones to hide under. It’s a short time before I have to leave town for a very brief trip to New York, then Berlin. Plans have changed many times since Lynae booked the tickets.
Small hill island in a lake, with a large gathering of artsy/resourceful people I know. Scenic, dry, recreational. There are telescopes mounted inside a wooden tower to see the people on the mainland.
I’m there helping with responsibility for the flagpole, used for signaling. By using principles of counterweight, girls ride up and down the pole like aerialists. The hillside has a series of old buildings with an old hydraulic tram system that used to require hundreds of men to operate.
More scattered notes from this night:
Cartoon Ian Malcolm (who’s also an alien incarnation) giving mathematics talk and accidentally reveals that 910 goes into 977, thus setting off an academic stampede to discern their number base.
DMT, Arizona — picnic partying with Mickey and conserving a bag of white powder. Somehow this is also Germany. We cross a small river of juice and I thank him for helping me catch my wireless earbud before it falls in the substance. It’s a fun and celebratory mood. Could be a combination of Mickey and Lauren, come to think.
Earlier: Lynae going down on me. I realize at some point it’s a dream and am impressed I feel it, although I know it isn’t very intense.
Long catchup conversation with Christy T, my elementary school crush, who’s now a mom.
Riding a long sloping escalator down into a comforting mall, happen to be behind an attractive young-ish girl with all-green clothes, covered in iron-on patches.
Driving down zig-zagging switchbacks to Baker Beach in a golf cart, then ascending again in an elevator.
Magical dollhouse with with tiny little magic stone slab. Take a drop of poison, drop it on the magic book, it absorbs and reveals… something. The rats swim around it.
Ned Flanders’s beatnik parents chant “om-om-om-om”.
Left my Moroccan leather backpack at a Mexican restaurant — with a laptop and a pineapple inside. This is called a piñeda, by the way. Someone tried to steal the laptop by claiming it wasn’t in there, but I was able to prove that it was, by being forceful but not accusatory.