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Dream Journal

Couple Cleaning, Shortwave De-propertization

In a dimly-lit space, there are wooden shelves and tables and open cabinets. An elaborate gardening bench perhaps. Rows and rows of items necessary for cottage life. I’m cleaning these rows while couple shares their story, and advice on how they clean. I dig out one specific plant from the wooden under-shelves.


I get to visit a friendly outsider artist type while I’m on vacation. This man famous for his shortwave radio broadcasts. Too famous for the comfort of some, as it turns out. I watch a replay of how he had his five rustic country/western properties sold out from under him by sneaky business dealings. All of it was illegal but I know he’d never be able to prove it — he’d need the money from the properties to do that. And he lost them so the bad actors could silence his broadcasts.

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Dream Journal

Too Long at the Library

As I’m about to wake up, I get my nipple piercing caught on the blanket while rolling over in bed. Though it’s quite painful I don’t call out. I don’t even know how I suppressed it — but perhaps a decent amount of dreams were lost due to that accident.


I’ve spent days or weeks at a library. Spacious oblique concrete-walled rooms, though the order of the shelves never makes sense. I remember in particular three shelves contained in a box of rectangle, lined up diagonal. There’s a stage show put on where the stage is level with the audience floor. As I’m finally hoping to leave I locate several Deep Space Nine station model kits that you can check out and build. Fair to expect my wife to be thrilled by this discovery.

Not long after I finally leave the library I set up a booth on the sidewalk. I pour myself a beer and start drinking, because that’s what I set up this booth for. On a wintry sandy curved road, I sit at the booth, and I drink beer. Anyone who wants to come can join me.

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Dream Journal

Left Behind by Workers

A store across the street, where JCX should be, sells big bags of Perlite. I decide I want to get a second bag, as the first one squishes down a little. Standing there next to the tall multi-level floor-to-ceiling shelves I wait for one of the workers to get it and check me out. Is takes so long after I squish the first that it’s compressed fully 1/5 its start size. My cousin Betty is possibly working there — all the employees all very cool but apparently overworked and super slow.

Later I’m in a different retail store, small, reminds me of a place I visited in North San Juan called Peterson’s Corner. Not an employee in sight, I carry a spool while searching about for a place to put it. There could be a walk-in fridge which might do. I spot several workplace posters of my friend Oz, and I want to tell her they need to pay her more for if they use her for modeling work.

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Dream Journal

Walrus Girlfriend, Walrus Skull

Departing from a short flight between San Francisco and Oakland. Other passengers are paranoid about a bad weather landing, but I’m not worried as its just a short hop.

Then, a lengthy wait for my baggage at baggage claim. I’m able to go back directly to my apartment, living with roommates where I have a single room crowded with many years of collected cool stuff; ephemera, curiosities, art. The walkway of my room has taxidermy mounted on the walls around the door — so much you have to duck around it. I keep a key hanging from a nail on the back of my door, but I realize that in all the years living here none of my roommates have even asked for it.

I see my walrus girlfriend, too. During a conversation with her I go down the hall, admiring some items in a glass-fronted curio cabinet, noticing the small tusk-less walrus skull I own locked inside. I pause and consider her reaction to learning about it, but honestly don’t have a clue.

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Dream Journal

Hidden Object, Artifact Stash

Yeoman and secret alley. Hands carved from rock. Housing from my former mentor, who may return. Moving to a closet. Trying to put stuff back in drawers like it was, even though we’ve consumed the stuff in them. Old battery in half on counter. Hiding in the top shelf of a back closet. Feels like the place gets evacuated. In a front closet drawer, I act as dull as dead. I become like a kind of intelligent object. Get sent to the artifact stash, where there are cutaway model railroad tracks.

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Dream Journal

Fragment of an Eerie Building Dream

The lobby of a tall apartment building, with glossy dark wood floor-to-ceiling shelves. The elevator has either floor 6 or 9. Typewriters. A class I’m not a part of.

Louis CK made of maggots with a single tooth each.