In my dream their condescension makes me climb their bodies and smash their sneering heads into the tiled walls of the shop.

In my dream the street fair is crowded so I walk around the outskirts. A young man sidles up to me, flirting. I warn him off.

In my dream there is pushing.

In my dream I finally turn up Amsterdam avenue and start walking through the summer air to see what’s new in an independent bookstore. There’s stuff for sale on the street, including an olive green felted hat with bumps that look like cat ears. Another look and it turns out to be a muff and it’s felting is too eaten away to work. I pass it by.

In my dream she still has the animal in her arms.

In my dream the team also includes a  porn star turned camera man. We say bye to each other. He’s in an oversized t shirt that matches his tightly curled sandy hair.

In my dream she is on the bus full of jokes.

In my dream I  work up the courage to charge ten dollars for the prepacked meal I’ve made out of vegetables and grains. The other survivors are a little skeptical. Later we go to a deserted loft with a row of badly taxidermied  birds. It’s no longer deserted.

In my dream I cough so hard that I shit my pants.

In my dream I push up the darkened staircase to get out on to Broadway.

In my dream it’s time to hand over the papers.

In my dream a spiral staircase leads down to a sauna cluttered with furniture and recording equipment. A group of women in their forties who look like The Supremes chat and then it is clear that they are heading out for a charity runway. “Slay all!” I say, as they walk upstairs.

In my dream there are a few doors.

In my dream I am seated. Someone is making an offering. Not to me.

In my dream it’s time for the end of the year dance . It’s normally a freeing and sexual event, but I’ve been away so long I don’t know how I feel about it. On the way up the hill I pause to pick out enameled pins, pendants and ribbons to adorn myself with.

In my dream she is young and wants to be a curator. “You know, I’ve learned that over time there are a lot of different types of artists in the world”. I’m trying to let her know that she can’t just organize the same show over and over. She laughs.

In my dream I can drive above the model of the Bay Area someone has built. When I do, I see the way that they have tucked little kaiju onto the roof of certain buildings.

In my dream the performance takes place in front of two overlapping screens, their black and white projections pulsing with grain. The young maenads move rhythmically along the waist high platform until the central performer plants the hunk of near raw lamb in front of them. I think that even the small bit of rehearsal has helped this, when they whirl on me.