In my dream I don’t know it and everyone is mad. I can’t even get backstage.

In my dream it’s oily jumbled past with no smell.

In my dream there is a row of teenage soldiers, nervous and aroused by what is in the next room. Downstairs we refresh our meals at the stand.

In my dream a forward face is available.

In my dream JohnWaters is celebrating the opening of his new film by recreating a ramshackle porn theater, complete with back room maze constructed out of black plastic garbage bags and gaunt leather daddies snorting K off of a plywood table. I’m amused and overall enthusiastic.

In my dream a hum of satisfaction.

In my dream I run into C uptown and the distance between us is clear and taut. I try to photograph the faded worker’s organization logo on the outside of the shop, the one with the rabbits in it. We make slight jokes.

In my dream they’ve frozen Godzilla in a jumble of buildings above midtown, but the missile flashing across the sky will flatten the area as well as thaw him out. As I drag myself up Seventh Avenue, I try to calculate how far north I need to go to be safe. The panic has not started.

In my dream, the splash.

In my dream he reminds her that they were once roommates. Their stripes are slightly different in the garden. “Be gentle”. Earlier I was a special vampire that fed on the blood of vampires, surviving the attack by hiding and flying.