In my dream I’m trying to introduce a visiting scholar to our commune’s technician because I think that her droning electronic instruments will sound great with the room size reed instrument the technician has built. They are also wry, vaguely Nordic lesbians, and I’m trying to fix them up.

In my dream tracing the outer edge of a box increases its resolution in the game.

In my dream I’ve gathered a handful of cheap bits at the loft store that sells yardage and toys. No matter who I talk to, I can’t check out and finally I understand that they think I’m shoplifting. Hours go by. I’ve turned out my pockets so they can see all I have.

In my dream the store’s new decor is high density foam in bursts of red and orange, formed into mushroom shapes. We lounge on the caps and wait for Yoko Ono to arrive.

In my dream the boards are piled up from the ground floor, making a kind of slide that I can scoot down to exit the townhouse.

In my dream, green streets shuttered against the wet night.

In my dream the party fills my apartment and then gathers itself up and moves across the street.

In my dream Raja and I are on the set of a TV show, soon to be isolated with a group of queens. The sleeping mats are thin, and the two of us bond over our mutual love of  the work of Greer Lankton.

In my dream he asks me if his boyfriend can be under my desk while I sit there and draw.

In my dream I am disappointed while trying to imagine the correct size for my hand and gauntlet in this staged fantasy. We stand in the entryway while she makes her choice.