What violence is this?

Guns, war, and killing for the past two weeks. Not worth writing about.
: (

pets inside of mountains.

In my cave bedroom Eric amalgum (made up of many people) and Robin (for some reason just Robin) coax my two tiny white pet octapi out of their chimney. They tell me they've taken my necklace as they start to tie little leashes around the animals necks. (I am in a church.) The delicate creature being pulled by it's leash will alternately smile and grimace depending on where I pull it. I am horrified. I storm out of the cave to my parents bright flowery kitchen.

"They took my necklace" I say "and now they've got the octopi on leashes." My parents look like their walking near a landmine. I feel like a landmine. I sit next to my mother on the porch crowded into a couch with maybe four other people. She shares her cereal with me, and sympathizes.

Robin shows up and says "so, one of them died." Eric amalgum says "you need to learn how to take care of your pets." I angrily play with the counter linoleum.

But in a moment the cave has become the church again and there is a boy who has broken his arm. He's in the doctors shack, and it turns out he hasn't ever had his tetnus shot which means he might have to stay longer. I wander through the doctors house with someone familiar. It's dark and dusty and stretches farther back than you'd think a shack would. We find a room full of old cellos and violins. "Do you think he'd let me practice on one?" I say. My familiar companion shakes his head.

There is a ghost who escaped from the rock and mountain and a child brings me a photograph. It's of the green hill outside, and a puppy that hasn't existed for many years, but only the doctor knows that because it's his old dog. I don't want the doctor to see that we've let the past out. I think about cutting that part of the photo off.

White Vegetal Orbs

I am in my grandparents bathroom, the blue one at the end of the hall, and under the sink I find bags and bags of white vegetal root. They are perfect orbs reminding me simultaneously of cantaloupe and onion. They smell like durian fruit (or compost). I know suddenly that if I smell them I might experience short term memory loss. I hold my breath as I gather them to take outside and I wonder who wants me to forget. When I get back inside I notice there are more of them under the floor boards which are made of pillows stitched together. I am afraid I won't find them all. So far I don't think I have forgotten anything.

Later I see Esme and she tells me she found some in her house as well. She had to go to the ER because of her amnesia.

Cherry Chapstick

Back in middle school, once again, my locker is smack in the middle of a row of 5th grade ones. However, I'm still 24. At least my classes are still upper level. Grad law seminar, everyone smug, smartly dressed in suits, women with their hair pulled back in peppy ponytails. Some erudite conversation begins and I wonder what the hell I am doing here. Professor, picking up on this, asks the class "who feels they don't belong here" and I am surprised and somewhat comforted that at least half the class raises their hands. We file out. I don't give a fuck about law.

Elsewhere in the labyrinth halls of the school I meet up with old crush. We hash it out, I am happy and apply some sparkly cherry chapstick on to my mouth. We kiss, then I laugh because it is now smeared all over his mouth. I wipe it off with the sense of satisfaction.

several days ago- ransack political art installation outside arena- too many apples. Jim carey= one half of crystal method and is disgeruntled by electronic musics current sate of affairs. Its about the music not debauchery- I know, thats why we messed up the art- We discuss over my meatball sub after the show. My mom's there. Jam on 808s and synthesizers close to venue in the morning. Yeah, Im pretty good.

- last night I dreamt an old friend shot me a couple text messages. One was out of the ordinary perverted (thank you freud?) and the other ended "I love you". I went to her flat in New york- she was paying too much- It had been in the family for 35 years. some kind of festival.
I woke up and there was two messages from her on my phone- she had dreamt about me.... I called and she told me our spirits were together in dreaming last night. Fer sure- She recently (in real life) got seriously assaulted, I was taking care of her in her dream, it was good....
.... confused by the impurities in my own dreaming amongst piles of other confusions, each with their own impurities, ahem.

A Taste of Genius

I do not have a computer that does more than play music.  Currently, I am using Laureen's to post this, and when that opportunity arises, I will post my dreams.  For now, I have a taste of the incredible genius that visits me at night.

About a week ago I dreamt of Joe telling me that he was sleeping with Esme.

Mrs. President

The art project David stored in my room is huge. It's purple balloons big sheets, streamers, other paper mached items, and stacks of plants. And it's exploding! It's ripped from the floor into space. It's blowing out the windows, and my grandpa is there trying to catch it. We run around pulling things back in windows and gathering up great tables of art pile. My grandpa almost dies and I am so careful with him. I place him by a window under sheet structure. I think he's okay and one of the really little kids from circus camp moves the piles of precarious plants into even more precarious structures. They tumble a little and explode.

They have to check the air for poisons since this is the president's office. They evacuate us, taking us to the cars. But I run back to the oval office, which is hidden in the basement of the white house, to get my bag. It's hard to find because of all of the play structures and merry go rounds in every corner. The bodyguards don't recognize me but when I tell them I need my purse they say that the president grabbed it for me. Thanks hubby, Phew! I run down to the cars.

I notice that my husband, the President, is alternately Steve Martin and Barak Obama. I marvel at the American People as I take my spot in the carriage. We're playing a game like strip poker with a bunch of people I don't know. Shucks: I guessed that we would get into some pretty freaky presidential tradition stuff, and here it is.

Little Max

Someone has made double of Max. There are news clippings and various radio spots referenced, all detailing how Max went from being the richest kid in town to being poor, but only I know that that is because someone has made a copy.

I find this out when someone takes a photo of him and can identify him using iphoto identification software.

When I wake up I feel I must not use iphoto face identification ever again.