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Dream Journal

Coma Girl, Classroom Laptop, Brand New Train

I explore a tiered arena in an alternate world, where my crush has been in a coma since April 2019. This is a common occurrence and there’s a name for such class of person — basically never coming back, but not technically dead. Alive simply with the momentum of life, in an uncontactable reality. I wish I could remember the term used for it…


I sit in a high school classroom (Mrs. Fitz’s) engaging in a friendly discussion while on a laptop, another classmate next to me on theirs. The teacher mentions that my older hipster friend Marc Roper helped work on a music video, which we check out. I note that I feel more comfortable behind the laptop — I have something to do while in class.


On a brand new red train. The gimmick is that you can store stuff top-to-bottom in your personal traincar compartment “infinitely deep”. Train is renewably powered and spits out water from a hose that runs its entire length. A young man squats leaning out a door at the very rear waving the hose end back and forth to ensure the water diffuses, looking glum and underappreciated. We exchange a glance, hoping this job can be made obsolete once the train is fully tested.

Riding on the train with me are my elementary school friends Robby & Christy T. We make idle conversation while watching the landscape pass by. The train rounds a corner, following tracks parallel to the ocean, traveling on a street bordering a beach. Under the shade of a tree I recognize a particularly nice parking spot somewhere I’d parked my pickup truck many times — logically it should’ve hardly ever been free, but I always got lucky somehow. Robbie makes a sarcastic comment about how hard it is to get a baby, and I counter with a Big Lebowski joke, saying “You want a baby? I could get you a [random] baby today.”

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Dream Journal

Walk Down the Long Trail

Somewhere in western Illinois. I’m following a rural path that goes straight across the USA. A lantern near a railway track indicates a safe-house for travelers nearby, another lantern hanging from a darkened building to my left. The symbolism of the lantern has been consistent for 100 years or more, but ICE is trying to stop it because it’s used by undocumented people. Further on the trail, it passes through a town and becomes an alley. I’m unpleasantly surprised to find it’s been blocked by a DOD (Department of Defense) gate.

Looking at an overhead map, some of the DOD compound is used by rich folks for wedding photo-ops. A large part of Iowa is flooded and partially blued-out. I think it’s a mapping glitch until I realize, no, most of the state is in fact flooded.


The day after final exam in my High School English teacher Mrs. Roos’ classroom. I’m the only one who finished early and I’ve been hoping to leave for a long while. I’m given a BMX helmet, but examining the tinted visor I suspect it’s not as good as my motorcycle helmet. I leave the room by myself and proceed elsewhere (perhaps to walk the trail).


I’ve been working a long time on getting a brazier properly set up with incense. Despite my efforts it’s still not finished, but I have to use it. My wife points out one of the many flaws in its setup and I get angry at her. At this point my wife actually wakes me up in bed, and tells me everything was ok (thanks, baby!).


Aquarium store with styrofoam tops, like the one I’m building for triops. One fish goes between tanks, sitting on top of them like a wordless Alice-in-Wonderland caterpillar.

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Dream Journal

Rolling-Away Bus

Chicken John’s bus is sitting quietly near a curb. I eat scrambled eggs and ketchup and listen to a black girl with a hair pick and Afro jewelry. The bus isn’t properly parked and starts to roll away. I ask whether it was legal to buy the bus in the first place as it rolls across a high school football field.