In my dream I complete a sigil behind the hotel’s railing.

In my dream the fireworks are buried in the rooms dirt floor, and like in a video game, they go off when the hero’s sidekick drops on to them.

In my dream the thing is round dank and in the corridor. I don’t have a receipt.

In my dream I look at plastic bottles to fill up with shampoo before I get him to fill out the forms. He is mostly rectangles.

In my dream the lobby is filled with a series of tide pools stretched across the white marble floors. In each a flat, ruffled fish drags bits of algae behind itself, occasionally raising up on its front fins, lifting its eyes above the water line. As I walk through, there is a baby polar bear with a worn down muzzle. I am tempted to pet it, but remember the danger and head off to lunch.

In my dream I am close to the sculpture. The dirty globe at its top has one part peeling away. The remaining tapes are wedged in the back of the box.

In my dream the peel off labels are a frosted gray color, making a kind of diving wall.

In my dream I walk through the dim press of people while I try to get back to where I have left my backs. The street is dusty.

In my dream the machine looks like a stack of microwaves bolted together. Like it always has.

In my dream I am close to tears, explaining to Mick Foley why his public advocacy has meant so much to me . It’s difficult trying to fit souch emotion into a chance encounter at a con.

In my dream I twist against him, hoping that he will understand how much I want him. On the all an oil spot spreads and recedes. We joke about food.

In my dream the wrapped sweaters fall through my hands to the darkened floor between my feet.

In my dream I want to give her one of the antique transparencies as a gift to encourage her singing, but as I look through them it’s clear that they are all nudes.

In my dream the street light is behind my head.

In my dream I’ve sat in the quiet until I can’t see my feet.

In my dream my costume is a stack of wooden balls.

In my dream I say “it’s a bummer, this isn’t even my apartment any more.”

In my dream K is having a new show: the walls of the gallery are painted a deep peacock blue and on the floor is a hand-drawn certificate in sepia ink that reads “ONE HUNDREDS MILLION BUCKS”. K bounces in, looking lovely.