Dream Journal

Logs in a Tree, Hip Ground Floor Squat

Tree logs stored high up across two trees. A ladder is up there too, blocking access. I look up and point out to my companion that there’s a hawk sitting on a branch directly above us.

The self-appointed minder of this open plot of land is a creepy psychiatrist, a young man who is clueless enough to stand staring at you from behind a couch to “observe” you. I point this out to Lynae, or whoever is with me. Someone escapes out the front door and into the music store across the other side of the mall (they don’t get far).

Behind the tree with the logs is a water chute leading back to a mill pond with a lovely population of loons (ha!). There are inscriptions in concrete, familiar yet written in some Southeast Asian language,

I sign up for a documentary show with Ricky Gervais, and as part of the contract we have to record banter to be played over the footage for at least 9½ minutes. We record it in the back of a car and then I’m told, jokingly, that the rental lasts another 120 minutes. My old friends Chicken and Kelly are in the front seat, smoking, and making out with the smoke.

Driving with my dad, early morning around 4 am, on the streets of our desert home that looks covered in a sheen of smooth white snow. I have a stapled-together packet of printed papers that’s about fighting others’ belief in mental illness, something I’d planned to read on the drive. Dad gets me to close it with a frustrated “really?”

Weird cheap flat on the first floor of a dirty yet hip ghetto. A side street near the heart of the city, clumped-up forgotten backyards and trash gathered in the dead-ends. My friends are thinking of buying this place — or maybe they already have? But that could just be a cover story for a squat, I think. They’ve converted a windowless room in the middle into an “orgy space”, which I guess means stuffing in a ton of pillows and chairs. Bafflingly, there’s only a heavy sheet separating it from a front patio area packed with couches. Ghetto but very cozy.

Dream Journal

Nature Danger

Corey Matthews (from Boy Meets World) won’t shut up in class because his questions are too existentially important. I’m playing a drum made from a record album, a tiny gap between the drumhead and the frame. The rhythms are extra cool.

Controversy in Trump’s military as a small Navy ship, The Ensign, is ordered to the front of a convoy despite being a fairly weak ship in rough seas. It’s never seen again. Recordings of radio chatter have the ship asking for confirmation of the order, but proceeding anyways per protocol. Barely audible, a radio operater for the convoy can be heard saying “we’re not even going to announce anything?”

Coming round a riverbend, I spot one — no, a pair of huge herons, twice as tall as a man. Nature danger: a bit like being in Area X, or another Vandermeer world. Despite knowing how strange this place is, my companion (Jennifer? Who’s Jennifer?) runs chasing an allurement through a long series of doors. I chase after, but she’s gone, disappeared by mysterious menace.