Friday September 17 2010

DREAM: A big arena. A path protruding high above the ground designed for an obstacle course. Lined along the boundaries of the course sit tons of people, mostly of a young age—their heads just below the foot of the path. A boy comes out of a boxy entrance—a host is introducing the player on a loudspeaker. The boy is a champion and has never lost a match. I am him now. I start running on the obstacle course and make it to what they call “Round 1” which is a brown picnic table. I have to accomplish something before I go further but I’m getting frustrated because I don’t know what it is. Frantically, I yell at the guy manning the table, “What am I supposed to do? What do I do?!” Finally, I see that I have to blow out these two candles. Even though I’m in the body of this champion, it’s still me and I’m new at this. I continue on. The crowd is cheering. I scramble through the course hitting “Round 2” then “Round 3” and I finish. Looking at a chalkboard, or maybe it’s a dry erase board. Somebody beat my time and I only get second place.

Around 3:30 p.m. I wake up.

I think I remember hearing Kenneth outside my door about an hour ago. I find a written note from him in the show room.

The jets are exceptionally loud right now—soaring overhead and it feels like they’re only at 10 feet distance from the house. Art makes mention to me about this. Later, I find out there’s an air show going on.

Downloading music.

Cleaning the bathtub and shower curtain. Phew.

Lunch: Grilled Cheese with Tomato. Salt N Vinegar Chips. Honey Oolong Tea. Blueberry Yogurt.

Work at China Wok for a couple hours.

Selling just a box spring to a couple.

Chris calls me from inside my room dressed to the nines. He’s looking for something to do tonight. Sitting on the couch—he puts on shades and tells me he feels like he’s in a Fellini film.

Watching some MUSICPLAYER footage with him.

Dinner: Chicken Alfredo with Broccoli. Garlic Bread. Carrots.

JP always tends to show up at the right time, when I’m making food. Enjoying dinner together on the marble green card table. He’s happy that he finished writing lyrics for a composition he’s been working on called One Singultus. Reading it aloud—enjoying the tricky rhythm of the words. Pointing out my favorite bits. He says he could write his own 40-page analysis of it. Scanning through the artwork on his deviantart page while he describes the back-story for every one. Washing dishes together, we share our personal grievances on roommates with bad dish etiquette. Washing dishes has gradually become a pleasure since I’ve moved into this house.

Me: “Sometimes I feel like the ‘mom’ of this house.”

Sitting back down. JP tells me about a 107-year-old man whose claim to longevity is only eating one big breakfast a day.

Sipping Coffee with Honey and Soymilk—watching some funny new youtube videos: the rave dog with cerebellar hypoplasia, the skateboard moonwalk, and the dancing man that gets hit by an ice cream truck.

My friend Verity from Australia sends me a dream she had involving me: “You were in dream last night. I came to va. I drove from sydney in my car. The distance was if I had driven to a friends place here. We were hanging out, and your girlfriend was jealous of me. So she invited this religious like cult over so I would leave. One of your friends said that if we showed them we like squares they would leave. Which they did. But hours later they returned in full force. Kinda zombie like style trying to attack us into converting. It turned into a massive civil war and to escape we had to find places that 'rebelled' society. I ended up in a tattoo shop, while you stood at the door shooting who seemed to be the "queen bee" of the cult. =”

Recording at the unit—getting some beautiful guitar tone.

Eating a small bowl of Crisp Rice Cereal with Brown Sugar.

Sleep around 6:45 a.m.

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