In my dream we can’t break up the the boxes in the room. Night is coming on.

In my dream there is no point to the corridor.

In my dream, the world’s richest man has a submersible base. I pull at the filthy gaskets of its bathroom, trying to dismantle it and this aid our escape. This is going to be tedious work, but it feels doable.

In my dream it’s the wine that the cult is producing that is turning the inhabitants of the Italian town into ghouls, who want to capture and convert as many of us a possible . They will not relent. Every walk through a sunny crowd or alley means trying to push to safety, to guess whose face will slip into rictus and whose hands will clutch.

In my dream it’s a new body on a new terrain, but I sense a conversation continuing.

In my dream a former student comes to an opening and it is clear that she is emotionally distressed, perhaps mad. The staff hovers, trying to get her out. I pull her in and we walk . Everytime we pass a piece of pizza, she pulls the cheese off and holds it in her fingers. I keep hoping she will eat something, but she never does.

In my dream I can feel the eyes on me.

In my dream the entire family is tucked into the sectional, each with our own antique flannel blanket. I understand why people used to do this

In my dream the mood is warm and the bodies are close together on the buttery light. I move alongside it all for a second.

In my dream the same bit of the song plays over and over.

In my dream I am trying to arm myself with anything that might help me destroy the contraption that is about to publicly execute him in the few seconds we have left. I quietly pick up lengths of wood and wish I had a pipe.

In my dream my hair is long, black and in two pigtails. I am clean shaven. I am rounder, shorter. I know all this from a glimpsed reflection in a building’s window. “It’s happening”, I think in surprise.

In my dream I am at an antique market in Brighton when I see I., a YouTube presenter who  normally wears Japanese Kawaii fashion, but who is now sporting the facial hair of someone who has been on T for a while. They are looking through laser-cut plexi medallions of Gundum and I try to tell them that their video work is the reason I’m even at this place, without being too creepy. We hit it off.

In my dream I look over her shoulder as she stands in the garden. Her dress has large black and red letters printed on a white background. We’re getting ready to move.

In my dream, L is sitting in the sunlight , bemoaning the fact that San Francisco is too nice. They were up to see the Deathklok-like iron tomb that had been built to house the former President in Golden Gate Park.

In my dream I feel a warm wind in this back yard. The colors are daubed and blurred.

In my dream he runs in and begins shadow boxing in the supermarket.

In my dream I sort through the food that remains in the apartment. The light is sterile.

In my dream she she steps directly out of the window in her office and falls two stories to a patch of grass on 72nd Street below. Old as she is, I am shocked that it doesn’t kill her and lean out over her desk to check.

In my dream I have to go back to my hotel room to get the sketchbook I’ve forgotten, because everyone else has laid their’s out on the table in the lobby so we can trade drawings.