dream:

(since I am not relishing the idea of going back to sleep) I am walking in a city, kinda resembles the area around the UN in NYC, but as it is on Sunday afternoons--empty, or very nearly so; like 5th Ave at two in the morning on a week night, but without beauty. It feels like the first couple days in Brooklyn--lost. (I rememeber I couldn't even get breakfast the first morning, the cafeteria didn't open until that afternoon cause I'd arrived the night before offical check-in. I kept getting lost on campus, so I figured I'd best not leave by myself yet, gave that up in 24 hours...) ...Any way wandering around this empty city area... I'm lost and I know it, I'm looking for something, a street name, a building number, a sign, something. I find this basement resterant. No one is really paying attention to me so I slide in even though I'm not a customer and have no intention of being one; though I'm hungery I'm also dead broke. In the back of the resterant theres a door way, if their weren't two other doorways marked as bathrooms you'd probably guess it was that. I go through the door way. Through the doorway is a bedroom, like a dorm room, very utilitarial, metal bed frames that sag in the middle, dingy white sheets, florescent lights, gray cement walls and floors, but it also has random personal effeminate touches: a red paper lantern hanging from the corner of a flourescent light fixture, a pink and red throw blanket at the foot of one bed, on the other a green and blue one. Two desks, one messier than the other, more personal items. Tammy is casually sitting on the bed with the pink & red throw. On the other bed is a girl I don't recognize. When I come in Tammy acts as if she's been expecting me and intoduces me to her roommate. At some point I turn my back on the roommate for a moment and when I look back to her she is a different girl entirely. I don't comment because I have the distinct impression that to do so would seem rude. I find myself back on the street. Time has passed, could be hours or days, but I'm still hungery, but I have a crumpled dollar, maybe two. I buy an egg from a dimmly lit groccery shop, the proprieter is distinctly elderly Russian. I carry the egg back to Tammy's. I don't have anywhere else to go. I'm holding the egg very carefully, but as I walk the egg starts to crack and the yolk starts leaking out in my fingers. I started walking faster, nearly running, I know I need this food. Going through the resterant, there is a boy eating with his parents. I can't figure out why he stands out for a moment, but I realize it is because he notices me while everyone else seem to not see me. He wants to ask who I am an where I'm going and what I'm carrying, I know this. I duck into the door in the back before he can excuse himself from his table. Through the doorway the room has changed, still cement walls and floors, but it's a bathroom not a bedroom. Six toilets, three on each wall on either side of the door way, no stalls, just open, no privacy. It hasn't been cleaned in a long time and you can smell it. Two or three of the toilets are plugged and backed up. The smell and view of the room makes me need to vomit. I try to vomit into one of the toilets but it sticks in my mouth as if to suffocate me. I'm still trying desperately to keep the rest of the egg yolk from leaking out on to the floor. I'm really afraid of someone coming in, if they do I know there will be real trouble. I know they will hurt me, badly, really badly. At this point the phone rang and woke me, and I was glad.

AHHHHH!!!

Stupid fucking parents: -if you do not watch your child they will wander and try to drown themselves between the boat dock and the football players. YES, you should be worried if you can't see your child, but then if you hadn't been 50yrds from the water you would have seem him wander. Consider giving a damn about your flesh and blood, I'm paid to but I'm watching forty other people too. -if your child swallows a lot of water, it will make them sick and they will vomit. YES, vomiting is a a bad thing you stupid bitch. Consider moving your child to an area where falling over does not put his head below water, since because you're technically supervising him I'm no longer authorized to restrict him from going in too deep. ...It would be great if I could learn to care only as much as is nessesary to do my work... FFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKKKK!!!!!!!!!!!!

I was reading a book, almost finished. Now I can't find it. I think I last had it at the gas station. I think I may have put it on the the roof of the vehicle. I guess I don't get to finish it tonight. Damnedable. ...It was such a good plan too. ...And really Neruda is just not a reasonable substitute for decent existentialist/question-everything sci-fi. ...I lose. Damnedable.

My skin is warm with the echo of the sun. I wonder if breathing with the trees and tide is something I can teach, or if it happens when your born here or when you grow up here? And the thing is it isn't so different than moving and breathing with the heart beats of the city millions. My tan feels and looks like someone else's skin, but at least my soft fruit bruises are less obvious which is good for easing general commentary even if these slight grays on light brown are so unfamiliar after becoming familiar with my purplish-black bloom against white laced with pale blue. I reread old words I thought I understood to make sure I got it right; apparently maybe this time I may have just stumbled into doing something right. Perhaps there is a cache of words I could now address, October or two to be sure. Sleep wonders away as it has for hours. I wander after it, trying to court it nonchalantly instead of pleading. She would only laugh mockingly anyway.

note to self:

(because apparently I'm too stupid to remember on my own) 1) you hate this town 2) you hate most of the population of this town 3) there are a few random people & places which are acceptions, 4) but even they are surrounded or invaded by the rest on holidays 5) therefore avoid public holidays like the bloody plague, you silly, stupid, little girl. I'm going to bed, I'm taking all the nice & nasty words with me. At least they have the potential to make sense if nothing else.

dreams

I slept all day yesterday. two dreams: 1) I am sitting in a room with a guy I used to date, it isn't a specific one, but a composit of a couple. At first I am a silent and I watch but seem unable to do anything else. One of my male co-workers from the pool walks up to the table we are sitting at. All of my rings are on the table, the three silver ones that have been missing since e-burg, one with a lump of clearish quartz, the punk rock one I got in London. They are set as if on display. He picks up the three silver and quartz, debates with the ex about their worth, pays him and heads for the door. I've wanted to object through out the interaction, but could not until now. I run after him and barter for the quartz one back. He is unwilling to relinquish the three silver ones at all. He gives back the quartz one in exchange for an extravegant promise that I know I cannot fulfill. 2) I am a serving-wench in what appears to a meal house somewhere on the outreaches of society somewhere very cold, possibly northern Canada or Alaska. Three guys come in who have some sort of vendetta against the owner. They sit down as if they were just normal customers but I somehow know what's going on but say nothing. They end up holding the place up. I run away. I have the impression I'd been wanting to for a long time.

because you are not here there is too much space in my bed and it does not matter if there are too many pillows because you are not here my freckles can multiply a hundred fold without comment and it does not matter if I am too sunburnt to be embraced because you are not here there is more than enough silence for me to hide in and it does not matter if my eyes reply as my mouth never would dare because I am not there my eyes cannot entreat you to unlock heart and mind and for once it matters that there are things I can't find words to say because I am not there I cannot share half of a single breath and it matters so much that I cannot run my fingertips across your furrowed brow because I am not there I cannot catch your eye across a room just to be sure I didn't dream you and because there is it almost matters that there is a continent between us