In my dream the front wall of the empty apartment is patched with plywood and I feel myself pulled towards and through the gap. I lean back and talk to S about how long I’ve rehearsed living there. Just moments before I’d admired the massive sculpture up the block.

Procrastination can take many forms, including resolving problems that aren’t really problems. Like now: I’m procrastinating on making the work for my upcoming show by trying out the possibility of direct posting from my blog to my account on BlueSky. I’m solving the problem of my vague desire to get back to longer writing instead of the thin chats of social posting. I’m also solving the problem of getting my digital photos closer to the tri-x black and white I used to shoot by messing around with LightRoom. None of this is “productive” and none of it solves my real problems. But that doesn’t mean I won’t keep puttering away at it.

In my dream I’m flipping through stacks of documents when T asks me when he can post about my father dying. “Now” I tell him.

In my dream Sharrin arrives in a Victorian travel outfit with a violet  blouse and a fur edged mantle. When we kiss hello she punches me square in the gut.

In my dream I’m heading down Columbus Avenue  and take a quick detour into the Polish supermarket: the aisles are stacked with produce until they are a maze of interlaced onions, celery and red cabbage.

In my dream I cross Broadway towards the video store.”Who puts a monkey on a soldier?”

In my dream I feel the air rushing through my jaws.

In my dream I am seated down front for a production of “Applause”. The bathrooms are cruisy but only have white sailcloth dividers, so I’m flushing the toilet with my foot. A neighbor displays journals and self burned CDs on a small table during intermission.

In my dream my bustling and chattiness makes David Lee Roth joke with me and then offer to give me a kiss.

In my dream we are outdoors preparing their wedding.

In my dream the toys are cardboard backed blister packs that contain piles of greasy black plastic guns.

In my dream I’m heading home through downtown and trying to figure out what cheap food I’m going to indulge in. The  pleasure I envision is tinged with the pornographic.

In my dream there are two of us attending the seminar in secret. We are getting ready to compare notes.

In my dream another art professor carries a giant pole, festooned in trash, along Mission.