In my dream there are three kinds of little houses: constructed of paper, poured silicone and cast resin. We are stuck cleaning the shit out of Suzy Menkes’s sweater.

In my dream I look at the back of the slipcase and think “non-binary spaceship” as my eyes pass over the picture of the slightly smug alien  and their fussy pompadour.

In my dream the branching, multi fingered growth that sprouted from his head has toppled him over, pinning him to the floor. Reddened, the tips slowly wave back and forth.

In my dream I’m sure that he will give it back.

In my dream I see a bit of blonde hair.

In my dream I am finally interviewing L as we walk through the woods. She is bemused. The survivors are gathered at the bottom of a basin and we begin a tender orgy.

In my dream I’m disappointed with the way that the favorite artist bundles are too small for the cheap plastic containers.

In my dream it never started.

In my dream a quiz in the woods while they are a meadow.

In my dream it is impossible to tell which of them are 45 percent.