In my dream I shuffle. My stomach is missing.

In my dream the late night gatherings in the glass fronted corridors are turning orgiastic as I walk through. All my planners have been stolen and steam is spilling out from somewhere.

In my dream we are reviewing admissions applications as night falls.

In my dream I hear someone say “That’s a wrap on her”.

In my dream I direct the six of them to correct the placement of packages wrapped in yellow. Everyone moves in concert in the dark room .

In my dream I find a corridor with smooth walls and black corners.

In my dream we are invited to dinner at an embassy only to arrive for the announcement of a coup. We laugh it off until it becomes clear that we need to escape the increasingly brutal building. Every room is now an abattoir.

In my dream a slice of orange colored light makes us quiet down.

In my dream we are building out two rooms and I am looking at the one with the white paper covering the boxes. They need stacking.

In my dream a child pulls itself around a space trying to learn how to walk.

In my dream the food is so scarce that I wonder if we are supposed to eat the bugs that twitch in the corners of the cabinets.

In my dream the struggle is to find out where the line begins in a room full of tension.

In my dream the elevator only holds two and opens directly on the various apartments, where people are just waking up.

In my dream a game piece moves across the board like an inquisitive animal.

In my dream a couple asks me to distribute their independently printed comic book. I decide that I’m going to spend the rest of my vacation in the upper Castro and go to hand them a bag of miniature oysters I’ve had around as a way to seal the deal, except I see that a gray wispy mold has grown over the package, which means the oysters are off .

In my dream I am slowly arranging the type on a cream colored board.

In my dream people keep cutting in front of me to get on the elevator.

In my dream I bounce the tail end of a fat dachshund back and forth between my hands while his tongue lolls out and his eyes narrow in pleasure.

In my dream the important part of the billboard is the back. I can finally grab the cyst on my ankle.

In my dream there isn’t whole lot of time to shop in the cinder block mall in Singapore before my flight out. I run into a friend at a music store and while I really want to buy random batches of dj white label 12″s from the bins, there’s no way they will fit in my luggage. The owner tells us they have CDs, but when he plays some it’s just bad covers of US rockabilly songs. I still haven’t found shoes.