DREAM: Driving—looking at my GPS. It’s directing me to take a right. I miss the turn and take the next one. Out of my vehicle now. Climbing up the side of this steep hill—tree roots protruding out—grappling them with my hands. Just up at the top is a basketball court—a few men are shooting the balls around. I notice each ball is different in size and color, plastic blue, rubber orange. One man seems like a pack rat—a lot of stuff in a shopping cart. The balls are rolling down the hill. I go to retrieve some of them. Trying to slow myself down so I don’t trample on the ground. Down at the bottom is an open sewer. You can see the water flowing inside a big crack in the ground. The man comes down to check it out—he shows me the sewer as if I haven’t heard of it before. An instrument cable is sticking out of the water. It’s understood he wants to fix the tennis court just over the hill. So I pick up the instrument cable out of the water and blow into it causing a backflow. The water drains out of it. Somehow this is supposed to clear out the puddles on the tennis court. I climb back up—sitting in a corner somewhere. A girl appears—she’s Christina, a friend from when I was in youth group a long time ago. She recognizes me and so do her friends. I’m kind of kneeling on the ground with scissors in hand—snipping at the strings hanging on the end of Christina’s purple dress. I hear live contemporary praise and worship music in the background. The lead singer from Hillsong is here. I see him walking through a crowd. He has dyed blonde hair with black patches—an expressionless face, no smile as if he’s road-worn or numb to the fame. I’m still on the ground with a view looking up. He passes by me signing autographs.
6:09 p.m. I wake up.
Breakfast: Toasted English Muffin with Butter and Blackberry Jam. Orange Juice. Zinc, Alfalfa Grain.
Chris is here packing up his drums. He puts The Prestige on.
“Hey Robert! Write this down…Sincerity always sounds good.”
Dropping off the gear at the storage unit.
Chris: “Girls just want everything.”
Watching the video footage from the house show MUSICPLAYER did the other night with Chris.
Lunch: Grilled Cheese with Tomato. Salt N Vinegar Chips. Pomegranate Blueberry Oolong Tea.
Researching, planning, business.
Eating two Pumpkin Muffins with a little Cream Cheese Icing.
Picking up 4 big jugs of vegetable oil somebody was giving away on Craigslist.
Stopping by the CVS for vitamins.
Stretching. Ab crunches. Run around the neighborhood.
Dinner: Lentils with Mixed Vegetables and Rice. Garlic Bread.
Watching 3000 Miles to Graceland [2001].
Archiving video footage. Viewing old performances and shows—feeling a massive hit of nostalgia; a different time in my life. My musical world—old songs, old sweetness, old friends.
Doug is laughing in his sleep.
Eating a bowl of Cherrios with Brown Sugar.
At the storage unit—playing piano—unearthing old material. My hands in a musical bliss. I find myself singing this over and over, “You and I are woven into a secret chord that rarely gets played.” A softness fills the room and envelopes me—a godly presence.
A ½ tablespoon of Dream Juice with some berry tea.
Sleep 9 a.m.
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