In my dream he is trying to persuade me that they are undermining me while I explain that I’ve asked for their help. We are so many stories up and the elevator door is missing. Cops are clearing Market Street.

The proposed cover for issue 2 of my zine Bunny Butt. Probably from 1996 or so. Just ran across an envelope that has a bunch of the material for it. Yet another project for me to pull it together and complete one of these days.

In my dream it is surprisingly hard to buy a couple of donuts from the midtown donut shop especially since it is set up to sell drugs, with little packets slid into shopper’s hands at the counter. It would be easier if I had joined the line at the beginning.

In my dream it has to be red to count so here it is: a kraft paper shopping bag with six red circles painted on in tempra paint. We return to it.

In my dream I struggle to keep swinging the metal pole above my head. It is the only way to trigger the proliferating tripwires that have turned the apartment into a terrain of wooden panels and dismemberment. These are lethal traps.

Still packing notebooks. Here’s a sketch for a charcoal drawing I made while in grad school at CalArts in 1983. Clearly not drawn from life, and clearly drawn while I was not thinking about anatomy (that chin!). I chalk some of this up to being trained mostly as a sculptor and abstract painter. But this is too goofy not to post.

In my dream there is outdoors and a creamy presence we might be singing about.

In my dream there is only a feeling of liquid devotion.

Packing up the floggers for a bit, but it is lovely to feel the heft of them in my hand. There is a history to be written about the various artisans who have taken it upon themselves to craft erotic implements. Play needs toys, and when you find someone who makes a good cane, or singletail or flogger you can count yourself lucky. Some of the best toymakers introduce you to methods of play that you never even considered before.

In my dream the floors of the Oakland house C is living in with other artists are sheets of plywood, many with holes cut in the middle. You have to thread your way around the edges looking into the basement. “Jackson,” is the message: “pink is more powerful”.

Today’s find is my Ouya game console. I was going to say “original” Ouya, but since there never was more than one iteration of it, that would be kind of pointless. I got this by being a Kickstarter backer in 2012, adding it to my chain of technologies that I adopted shortly before they shut down, were discontinued or never really got off the ground. The Ouya spoke to two ideas that I love in technology: open source tech and tiny tech. I loved netbooks when they first showed up, prompting me to use Linux for the first time.

Problem is, the Ouya wasn’t much fun to use. And the best game on it was multiplayer. So mine never saw much use. And after the support market shut down, the Ouya became a punchline.

In my dream: a saturated outdoors.