Flirting with a friend, Naomi Most, asking if she still loves on Blatrero — a silly pet name for her residence. She raises a Puck camping trailer from the ground floor on a circular platform with a spiral winch.
I happen to later visit her while she’s not there to drop off some keys. The door, which is locked, has an open wall right next to it so I just reach around and place them just inside, still feeling oddly like I’ve broke in.
A few crony political leaders are in a pool. They need to plot, but lack a secluded spot to do it. Reminds me of old Chinese court ministers, who had to wear long bars on the back of their hats so they couldn’t whisper in meetings. The only possible place these guys now have is on the top of the hill, where the pool snakes upwards (in defiance of gravity). One scolds the other feebly.
A long sequence intricately weaving around the song “Unforgotten” by Canadian indigenous singer Iskwé occurs, and I wake up with it my head, but ironically I forgot most of the dream.