Frontier(s)

I Feel Like Melt Bananna (For You-X)

Every Night it Was A Little Nightmare

fēl

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π

Helicopters whirring over the neighborhood all morning and a few sirens now. I wonder what is happening... I have the window open and the rain has just started, and outside is full of incredible smells. Wafts of white lilac from the people's park. Each change of the wind is fresh wildness, sewer, laundry, coffee, subway, salt water, exhaust.

The choppers abide and I am a little calmer. The air is warm. I love the morning, I hate the morning. I made a movie with my cell phone of a phone booth last night. Someone drew all over the inside of it, little pictures of falling stick-men, and the towers. It said "9-11 ha, ha, ha". I need a cable that I don't have to get the pictures off of my phone. The phone looks like the stealth bomber, or something designed by the designers Hipgnosis, or like Dürer's melancholy stone. I have many small movies recorded on it, made walking, and songs. Trapped inside this piece of cracked plastic, is the presence of something. Numbers and pictures and sounds.

Like a sign that says "On the Spot," going down into a stop on Canal Street, with a Pi symbol plunked mysteriously between "the" and "spot".

Abandoned Car Crash

She thought she’d see it. She thought it would have appeared first. Like it should have stepped back from out of time. It didn’t, it was seen and then it was. There it was. In the instant of instance, gone, with a pop.

Muhammad al-Aswad finally looked white, his lifelong dream, having a seizure on the QE2, heading out of Toronto. His BMW newly paid for by a rich uncle in Vancouver, the family called Ben, who he never saw before. The car was his favorite thing. He drove it faster than he knew how. He dodged a camping van wiggling the breaks over four lanes, trying to miss her standstill Corolla. She had broken down. She heard the belt break and she had just then puttered out in to the middle lane with her pathetic hazard lights on. She didn’t know what to do. She tried to get out of the lane and to the curb but the traffic was too fast on either side and she found herself stuck in the middle. Aswad off the off ramp, hits her, his car ramps, flips. Her car spins and she falls in to it. Sparks everywhere and black smoke in the car, she span around once violently. She heard the screech of the second car but couldn’t see it, but she knew she was about to be hit, by a Volkswagen driven by young Mathilde Mathsin, who disintegrated, hitting her Corolla, and tossing her bolt upright, and running, past the carnage of the worst pile-up in the Province’s history. Her survival was nothing short of miraculous, as she watched one hundred and fifty more cars pile-up, on a fast moving three o’clock Wednesday commute, ending in death for six others.

Mr. Lonely

May Day Mayday

MARCH on May 1st, 2008International Workers' Day
2pm - Rally at Roosevelt Park, Chinatown Grand St. between Forsyth and Chrystie St.-(B/D trains to Grand St.)
3pm - March to Union Square

TNX R

Beltaine

I will not kill myself this Walpurgisnacht. Some things still interest me. Like Hitler and the occult. Hitler supposedly killed himself on Walpurgis Night, or Beltaine, or Hexennacht. I'm a lot like Hitler. I'll kill myself on Walpurgisnacht too. Just not this year... He died at 3:30. 3 3 0

33 33 33 33 33 33 33 33 33 33 33 33 33 33 33 33 33 33 33 33 33 33 33 33 33 33 33 33

I won't kill myself. Should I? When is it time? The true artist refuses surrender and throws his ashes into the end scene, apotheosis, or everything will go down in flames.

Crowd Pleaser (Black Dice)

To D + B (One Hundred Dreams)

1. I have had one dream as a constant. I cannot say that it was the first dream, but it takes precedence over other dreams by virtue of constancy. That is, if constancy is a virtue. It is a bad dream, or a nightmare. Dreams either are good or bad, neutral, or unremembered, but you cannot always know what type of dream it is that you are dreaming in the midst of dreaming. They say that the symptoms of a dream come from the future, and not from out of the past. That is why this one dream terrifies me so much. The dream begins differently each time. The details seem real at first, the prosaic order of the day, and then some slip, as I eat dinner at the breakfast table and pour milk on a salad, or a disembodied voice announces it is time for a spinal tap while I brush my teeth, a meow from a guppy. The intrusion of absurdity, of dream, looms, as a darkness, at the periphery of the dream, and then all of the images die away, and I am left in the dark, or rather, the dark encircles, and becomes animate, it replaces the image, to become only itself, a total replacement, and an entity. In the dream, before it closes down, I have some intuition of this presence, that it is there, and this knowledge by itself causes the dream to collapse. What happens next is paralysis. I know I am in a dream, or have entered into the dark half of dream, but I can’t awaken. I struggle to consciousness but to no avail, and panic. I try to vocalize and get someone outside of the dream to wake me, and to save me. I think it is the doubt that they will not save me that causes it to collapse. I have opened my eyes in this part of dreaming before, but have remained asleep, many times, and this is all the worse because my waking vision works, yet I am still unable to move, the nerves will not fire, and I am motionless, silent, and trapped inside myself. Finally, I fight through, and start screaming until someone wakes me. 2. There was a hall outside of my bedroom, in the basement, where as a kid I started sleepwalking. My mom had set up a salon to cut hair, to make a little money, in the laundry room to the right. I walked out to the hall and looked to this room and saw a web, and a giant spider. A volcanic spider, I think from an old episode of the original Star Trek. I woke up screaming. 3. My grandmother lived with us. My mother’s mother, she was a typical Dutchwoman, obsessively neat, sternly Lutheran, always playing tapes of church service, singing hymns. I once dreamt she transformed into one of the monstrous races from the Mos Eisley Cantina segment in Star Wars. I woke up screaming. 4. Mary Queen of Scots comes to me in dream. I don’t know why I know that she is Mary I, except for the Tudor dress, but somehow I know. She pulls an ulna bone from her coat, and measures it with a ruler. Again, I wake up screaming. 5. I often dream of a city in the hills that is built like the favelas in Rio. I am happy here. 6. A desolate landscape, the plains, the wind and snow, I am trapped in the playground at recess, too far to come back. The darkness crowds in, I wake up screaming etc. 7. I had become friends with a couple who were very American, and once I dreamt I was hanging out with him, and she came to visit us. We went back to their apartment. They kept matches in their bathroom to cover the smell of their own shit. He announced that he needed to go to the bathroom in the dream, and I knew he meant he needed go to shit, because of the matches, and so I knew I’d be with her alone for some time. While he is gone I mace her, and tie her up, and hide her. When he comes back he begins to search for her, and I wait until he has his back to me, and I stab him over and over. I rape and cut her until she is dead. At a party once she asked me why drugs had a hold on me, not without some superiority, and I told her that they didn’t have any on me, but from her question they had some substantial hold on her. She did not understand. 8. I have friends around me, and I am happy, and some of the people are people I once knew, and some are strangers who I will know? 9. A girl I worked with was my muse for one of the sisters in my novella Witchburn. She was a lesbian, and the founder of a pan-pagan group at a college campus. Her sometime boyfriend was gay, and said that she would sometimes disappear, and re-appear, and that she was capable of being in two places at the same time. I often dreamt of having sex with her until I forced myself to kill her in a dream. 10. I dream of a friend in Vancouver very often, he was my best friend in high school. He was the first person that I ever shared any ideas with. His family had a lot of books, and his dad was a professor. Our friendship soured because of lies that I had told, and over a girl, that I later married, and over some lyrics to a song that I had plagiarized as my own, from a band called the Dambuilders. The loss of that friendship, which had a brief but uncertain re-birth, is one of the greatest losses that I have ever felt. I still have some ill feelings towards him, and some affection. 11. I’m trapped in a painting like in Akira Kurosawa’s film Dreams, but I don’t know the paintings, and they are always big, abstract expressionist canvases. 12. I occasionally dream of a guy that I used to work with, who was once a drag queen, and later became a teacher of religious studies. He was an incredible person. We talked about Foucault, and fisting, and science fiction. He got mad at me once, and called me an asshole. I don’t think I ever made it clear to him how much that I admired him. I would often tease him, and tell him that I was going to beat him up, and he’d tell me that I was flirting, and I’d laugh. He once told me he had been stabbed outside of a gay bar, and I have had dreams that I was the one who stabbed him. 13. I dream of this little kid that I knew when I was little, who would put a pencil in his ear, instead of placing it on top of his ear, like a carpenter, or draughtsman. Once day he went to lie down, forgetting that the pencil was in his ear. He came to school a few days later with a bandage still covered in blood, as his ear leaked. I have dreamt of the bandage. 14. I dream that my father is dead. It makes me sad. 15. I am taught how to fight with a sword. I can never picture a katana with a gentle curve, or a straight sword in dreams. Swords always curve into scimitars. 16. I’m playing with a friendly dog that turns on me, and bites me. 17. Flying dreams, falling dreams. 18. Running, but more often cycling. 19. I am having rough sex with a prostitute who turns out to be my friend, but I didn’t recognize her. Her husband writes plangent songs of murder. They have a daughter named Imogen. I tried to write about this dream and turn it into a novel, also involving the poet Nerval, but I failed. 20. Driving. 21. I had this marathon dream that felt like it had lasted a whole night, and it had a distinct and cogent narrative. That doesn’t happen often for me in dreams at all. When I woke up I forgot it immediately. I went back to sleep, and had the identical dream. Not one detail changed. When I woke again, and looked at the alarm clock, only a few minutes had past, but the dream required what felt like hours, but I couldn’t remember the dream again, all that I knew was the dream had been identical. 22. A porn star admires her reflection as I fuck her in her ass. The sheets are made out of plastic, and have stills from pornographic movies all over them. When I pull out to come she turns to drink my come, but I can’t come. I rarely ever had wet dreams. She waits, and we are frozen as though we are one of the still frames on the sheets, and the blackness takes over, and I wake up screaming. 23. I am eating in a mansion. I have killed someone to get here. 24. I went to dinner with a friend of an acquaintance, who has an incredible last name. She is a good writer with a dark sensibility not unlike mine, and she is beautiful. She divorced a psychologist, and edits for a big publishing company. I told her about my attempts to write about the Pickton killings, and my involvement with this blog when we had dinner. I’ve dreamt that we are married, and happy, and that we have a baby together. 25. This is not a dream. I realize that my writing is real, or at least these dreams are real, or a reader reading the contents of these dreams makes the content real. I am not unaware of these consequences and permutations, and I am not a dreamer. 26. I dream in other languages quite often. Mostly in Dutch, since my parents spoke it when I was a child. Actually my mom and grandmother spoke it, but my dad only rarely. I can understand people when they speak it, and I can read it, but I’ve forgotten it to speak it myself. I also dream in Hebrew, French, Italian, and Spanish. When I dream in other languages, I am completely fluent. 27. I once dreamt that I was a lawyer defending a murderer, and in this dream I became the murderer, and they executed me in an electric chair, and when they did, I pissed myself, and the piss acted as a conductor, and a guard who wasn’t paying attention stepped in it, and was electrocuted, but less severely than me. I then became the guard in the dream, and I suffered from horrible pains, and could no longer concentrate, and I lost my job as a guard, and became terribly depressed, until one night I killed my wife and children. I woke up, and wrote this as a story. Earlier that night I had watched the movie Mr. Death. 28. I am a hunter. 29. I am reading a panegyric about myself at the crystal cathedral. Robert Shuyler is there, but his teeth are not. The text in front of me is in a writing that I have never seen before. I am on the hour of power, and America’s television church. The letters are alien. They are an alien language. I start to read the text, and I am reading the gospel according to Judas. A sniper takes aim. 30. I often dream that I am losing my teeth. I pull one out after another. In one dream, I ate them. In another the teeth regenerated in my mouth painfully, and grew into fangs. I am a vampire now. 31. I am in love with a group of people, two women and a man. We live by the ocean. I have had this dream a few times. We live in a big house. Our sex is always together, but it isn’t staged or pornographic. My lovers are musicians. 32. I once participated in a sculpture workshop where I made a ball of clay, and cleaved it in two, with a long slit. A woman in the workshop asked me if it was a vagina, and I said yes, because I knew that it would make her feel uncomfortable, but it wasn’t a vagina. Later I dreamt that I had sex with the ball of clay in front of this woman, until my cock was covered in clay, then I had sex with her, and she made me stop because she said she said that she was a virgin, and she did not want to bleed on me, because she was ashamed. We argue over whether the blood that is already there is virgin blood or period blood. 33. My dad often took me to the slaughterhouse where he worked. I used to sit in the lunchroom to wait. It had long benches and there were always foreign men sitting and eating there. I often dream of one particular winter day, waiting as my dad cleaned the offices, as an extra job that he took, a second shift on top of his job as a butcher. I watched a CFL game. I still remember that the game was in Winnipeg, where it was snowing heavily, and it was snowing heavily in Calgary too, where I was watching the game. In the dream I am comforted that it can snow in two places at the same time, like I was comforted then. 34. I am fighting in Vietnam, and I am killed. 35. There was a broadcast on Canadian T.V. that simulated the news of a nuclear confrontation between the U.S. and the Soviet Union. At the time the Reagan administration was testing cruise missiles up north. The show was like that Orson Welles’ broadcast of War of the Worlds. The show was so convincing that I couldn’t sleep, and when I did, I dreamed of a cruise missile crashing into the house. 36. I am singing in front of a band. I am in before a large crowd. I am sweating hard. I am dancing hard. I am very happy. 37. I used to go dancing at this club called the Warehouse, and I once met this girl there whose name I can’t remember. She knew my cousin, and was a girlfriend of another girl with whom I was a friend, but she showed me her ass on the dance floor, and told me she wanted to photograph me at her apartment. We went back and smoked grass. I had already taken ecstasy. We had amazing sex. In the lobby of her building there was a giant painting of Mr. Rodgers. My friend was obsessed with this girl after they broke up a while later, and on another night I stole the painting from the building in a bout of drunken mischief. I never told my friend about the night that I had sex with her ex-girlfriend. I would dream of Mr. Rogers for a week, as I stowed the painting in my hatchback, but I couldn’t call the sex up, no matter how badly I wanted to. 38. I am in the subway in Manhattan, and it explodes. 39. In Vancouver, or Brooklyn, I am walking along a street by the water, named Water Street. I am happy here. 40. In San Francisco I walk up the stairs of a derelict building with Ariana Reines. There is a magician, she tells me, at the top of the stairs. When we get there we find a room filled with balloons, and it has trampoline floors. It is exactly like a room made out of giant dominos that used to be in West Edmonton Mall, which had an indoor amusement park, and then it is like the trampoline room in the movie Revenge of the Nerds, then it is like the loft trampoline in the movie Big. We jump on this trampoline holding hands, and laughing until we are exhausted. 41. I had a dream that Jason Burns and I lived together. We fight in a cage in our place, MMA style. Neither of us can inflict any damage. We fight with fearsome joy. 42. Dennis Cooper and I are in a bar in New York talking about literature and cinema. Our conversation is fluid. When he laughs he sounds French. I apologize for something, and he tells me that friends don’t need to apologize. I feel a contentment I’ve felt before in the company of older men. A group of woman recognizes us, and one of them is a girl that I used to date, whose father kept a bull whip, and literally believed in Satan. Suddenly I am in a coffee shop in Calgary that is now gone, and Dennis is still there, and an old friend of mine who used to DJ an ambient show on the radio named Rob. Rob has the Pee Wee Herman doll that I lavished on him as a Christmas gift. Another girl I knew is there, and I am carrying the copy of the Marquis de Sade’s Juliette, the same copy that she once saw me with. Her friend tells me that I look like Ethan Hawke, and I hate that. A man comes out of a back room and tells me that his name is Bob Flanagan, and I look to Dennis, and he tells me that I shouldn’t be afraid. I want to leave very badly, and I start to cry. I see a guy I know who has his cock pierced, I’m looking for the eyes of someone who is gentle, the eyes of someone who believes in God, and I can’t find them, and I feel lost. I wake up screaming. 43. I am reading Francois Villon on a park bench. 44. I am playing chess and I keep losing. The board is a Simpsons chess set that I use to play my physicist friend. I tell him about the black hole that is going to erupt from CERN, and that will swallow the earth, and the universe, and all of us, and he laughs at me like you would laugh at a child. 45. My novel arrives in the mail. It is heavy. I am living somewhere in the country. My wife drives up in a new car. She is carrying more books. I can hear This Mortal Coil. We lie under a tree and look into each other’s eyes, and we are young again. 46. I throw rocks at myself. 47. I am homeless in Mexico. 48. I am now the Prime Minister of Canada. My first act is to close the academies and disband the armed forces. I build a library tower that looks like the Coliseum, and Breugel the Elder's tower of Babel. The books inside relate to everything but the material world. 49. I am in my house in Calgary. My parents are dead, and I have stripped the house bare. I am very old, and I am happy. There is a massive screen on the wall, and I am on it talking in a reasoned way about the past. The man asking me questions asks me to tell him the funniest joke that I know, and I tell him that I don’t know any jokes, or rather, I refuse to remember them, because I believe that humor must be in the moment, and that it can’t be remembered. I am now in a schoolhouse in Brooklyn, telling this to a gallery worker and artist that I once met, and he starts to tell brutal jokes about women, trying to humiliate me, and I feel like I am not being understood, and I try and speak, but nothing comes out. I try to tell him that scorn is not bold, and I try to recite Donne, but I start to stutter, and then I can’t speak at all again, and the blackness comes, and swallows me up, and I wake up screaming. 50. I am standing in a great church. The floor is made of gold. Jesus walks towards me. He asks me what I want, and I tell him that I don’t know. He tells me that he will punish me for lying. I tell him to do his worst and that I won’t say what I want. I want indeterminacy, and I want to want it all. He says that not wanting, or not knowing what you want, are the greatest sins. 51. I had a dream last night where I go to a bar in New York. It is a lot like a bar in Vancouver that I liked named Pat’s Pub. I’ve never been to this New York bar before though, as I haven’t found a comfortable place in New York. I walk around pretending I am looking for someone, but I am alone. There are a number of old beards in this place, one of them looks like Samuel Delany, another looks like a friend, and I immediately like the place, because you can’t go wrong with a place filled with this type of person. So, I go to the end of the bar, and watch the bartender as she pulls a draft for a guy sitting beside me, a young ginger guy with a short crew cut, and a varsity sweater. He gets his beer and I ask him what he’s drinking, and he says the name with a heavy Scots brogue, and he looks through the amber glass, admiring it with love. I start to speak in a sympathy accent. He can see through it, but is charmed, and the accent gets less obvious. I ask for some Dutch beers, but they don’t have any, so I order a Guinness. He harangues me for drinking a foul, black Irish beer. The bartender laughs. I got drunk in the dream, and I woke up really thirsty, and lonely. 52. I often dream I am running away from something but am stuck in place. I understand this is a common dream. 53. Aphrodite comes to me in the form of a famous actress. She tells me there is nothing left in life but eros. In my waking life I have already come to this conclusion, but in the dream I am wearing a hygienic mask that she removes from my face, and she tells me not to pay attention to her companion, Artemis, who is watching an edited shock and awe montage on repeat. She touches my cock, and I am immediately and painfully priapic. We are in Pompei, and then we are in front of the United States Supreme Court. Larry Flynt is there, but he is Woody Harrelson, and he starts having sex with us, Courtney Love joins in. Everything we say is perverse and connoted to sex. Woody keeps screaming “Long Dong Silver, Away!” while slapping Love’s flanks. I was reading an essay called Pink Madness earlier in the day. Aphrodite now appears as a girl that I was in love with. She accused me of never changing. I remember her ridicule and disbelief for the obscurity of my reading The Book of the City of Ladies. She was beautiful in a showy and inarguable way. She sucks my cock and I shoot blood on her face, and she tells me to do it again because I’m doing it wrong. Her beauty was a danger. We would dance, and she danced better than anyone that I have ever known. As Aphrodite she accuses me that I am dishonest with my desire, that I hide it away. We had a joke between us that we would start an international union for prostitutes, with branches for men and women (S.L.U.T. and S.M.U.T. or Slutty Ladies, or Slutty Men, United Together, respectively). In life she kept me at a distance, I failed at some critical juncture to want her enough. 53. I am smoking dope in Amsterdam. I walk out of the café and it is Queen’s Day. I am very happy. I see an elegant woman in the window of a refined restaurant; she smiles at me, and waves for me to join her. I am wearing a nice suit, but I am high, and feel like trash. I don’t go to her, but I wander to Vondelpark, and an anonymous guy sucks me off. 54. Vancouver, on the beach, a perfect day. The sun and the reflecting water turns what was La Grande Jatte into passing long and orphic shadows. I feel a terror, and coolness inside my chest. 55. The war in Iraq ends. In the dream I’m watching CNN, and the sudden ending of the war has no explanation. The withdrawal of U.S. forces results in no more bloodshed. Anderson Cooper is dressed like Suliman the Magnificent. 56. I row a boat, merrily 57. I am in a cemetery in Europe and the dead rise from their graves. 58. I am awarded a prize for a book that I have written. The audience includes the people I respect. It is a small audience; some of you reading this are there. 59. A statuesque woman walks by my window every day. She did just now, as I write this. She lives a few doors down. We have the same haircut. I’ve seen her on the subway. She is profoundly lovely. It seems like she is in the wrong neighborhood. She is maybe too old to be model anymore, but she could be. There is an indifference to her own beauty that makes her all the more. I hope she will come to me in a dream. 60. I am dead. I don’t know how it happened. It feels like nothing. 61. Amputation. 62. It is Halloween in New York, and Vancouver, at once. 63. The other night in despair I went for a long ride and rode past a squadron of N.Y.P.D. on Fifth Avenue there protecting the papal nuncio. They allowed me to ride by, and I turned through the park, and I saw a homeless man carrying a plastic glow-in-the-dark skeleton. He made a high-pitched hello, like a ventriloquist. I dreamt of this and woke up screaming. 64. Dennis Cooper once said that I write like a dream. Is it a good dream? I love how he praises low things. 65. Aubrey Beardsley and me. 66. I am trapped in a little western town with Spencer Tracy 67. I am a falcon, a snake, now I am high above. 68. Should I snip the green wire or the red wire? The clock keeps ticking. It is an atom bomb. When it explodes the world will end. I snip both wires and it doesn’t explode. I wake up screaming. 69. 69, I am a cancer. 70. Michael Nyman 71. I used to meet with collective members of a magazine in an apartment belonging to the couple that started the publication. The meetings went on forever, and the ignorance of the photo editor, the male half of the duo, was interminable. The apartment faced the rail yards, and the mountains, and I dreamt of killing the couple that owned it, and moving in with my wife. We lived in a mouse-infested basement at the time, and we deserved it more. 72. Eating KFC with the bassist from Pavement. I am 17 years old. He tells me that he is currently listening a lot to the Sun City Girls. I buy the record but I don’t get it at the time. All that happened, but the dream part is how the song Blue Mambo is often a soundtrack for dreams of cycling, and driving. 73. A quadraped, born of the quagma, retrieves a quail, a quaintrelle, quaking. 74. Alf. 75. The psycho Alf in the movie Permanent Midnight. I wake up screaming. 76. We revive a relative, an aspen, it wears a disguise, when disrobed, it speaks of miracles, we are Oka Mohawks, we spike trees, riot in 2010, wear arm bands, squat, eat pepper spray, make nationalist puns, admit objectors, wear our dread, backpack and fish, when in the city we urbex, a light shines down. 77. I am a monkey’s uncle. 78. My cartoon version fucks you. 79. I finally admit that I am better than you, the source of all your heartache. I mumble something about Freud, or fraud, your missing phallus, to divert my dammed lack. 80. We are lambs. 81. The attacks of September 11. The falling towers fall on me. I wake up screaming. I really do have this dream. I never saw the buildings in reality, that is to say in person, and sometimes I doubt they ever existed. When I go to ground zero it doesn’t really help to convince me. 82. A party in La Salle, the best people, the real people, a reminiscence, a dream day, a day dream. 83. I often dream that I meet myself. I lie to me, I shuffle and mumble, I am shy, I avert my eyes, I am smug, my attire is too trendy, too plastic, I judge myself as an empty costume with no inside. 84. R. Stevie Moore. 85. Drowning. 86. Electric sheep. 87. I am a giant insect, and worried about my own cliché, I squash myself. 88. I am wide-awake after a dream, I am in my twenties, and I think I felt a ghost. I am completely sincere when I write this, I am positive that it happened, but I don’t really believe in ghosts, yet there was a ghost in my dream. It was a ghost for so long it couldn’t remember being a person. I expect that it was just a random firing of synapses, a dislocation of a chemical sequence, aberrance, that I have no proof for, and cannot test. Like all of these dreams, they depend on my reliability as a narrator, and since I remember in my own way, and construct my own language, and since language is always a lie, I can’t be sure, and so it is that no one wants to listen to the description of a dream, since it cannot be counted on, and indeed the rendition of the dream ruins the system of the dream. There are no ghosts, no dreams. 89. You and I are riding the Staten Island ferry at night. Now we are riding to Victoria. Now we are underwater. Our body washes up on the shore. We were a celebrated monologist, an actor, and a novelist. 90. I am Miguel de Cervantes 91. Eating food. 92. A certain Mlle. de L’Espinasse, and a doctor, sit by my bed, talking. 93. I wake up after being asleep for a long time. Everyone is gone. The streets are empty and many of the buildings have burned. I am worried about zombies, toxic strains, time warps, etc. 94. On fire. Now fire. Now smoke. Now the earth from above, dissipating, I go blind before I vanish. 95. I often dream of this store where I worked. It was a clothing store and I was hired for my looks. I wasted a year telling people that they looked good in expensive jeans. Everyone who worked there was an idiot, including me. I hate myself in this dream. 96. Drug dreams when I am sober. I never dream about drugs when I have them. 97. Once, I dreamt on LSD. Or rather, I passed out after my mind short-circuited, and I had a vision. In this vision I was transparent, but I could also be seen if I wanted to be, but only by creatures like myself. I looked like the fluid Terminator in Terminator 2, or like the wormholes in Donny Darko. I woke up in pain, and vomited. 98. It isn’t a dream, but a wish, it involves suicide, and I push it way down. I don’t want to be trapped inside my own body, and I don’t want to be a voice and nothing more, so I keep the option only barely alive, as a wish. I do not believe in wills, I believe in will, but the fear of losing will forces me to speak the fact that if I am locked inside myself, you are the only way out. You have to kill me. 99. I am dreaming of a time in the future when I am together again with everyone that I have ever known. This is not heaven. 100. Ella wakes up and rubs her eyes, her beautiful eyes. She tries to remember what she saw, and hurries to her journal, and starts to write. Her letters are long, and elegant, the allograph of another person pours from out her pen. She does not understand what she writes, but writes for pages.

Image by Frank Stella