Sunday, November 22, 2020

The boxes from Amazon were piling up at our door. I was trying to balance working at my desk with stepping outside to cut them open, remove the contents, break them down. Then my desk was on a sidewalk. I was drinking—a rocks glass with whiskey or something, and a shot glass with something else. It struck me as a bit reckless to drink while working like this, but there seemed to be a good reason, like these were stressful times. I worried that a passerby would drop something toxic in the drinks.


Thursday, November 19, 2020

P. L. was playing some dark indie-rock song, by himself on a labyrinthine indoor stage. Later I discovered that my guitar was severed where the neck meets the body. I pulled it out of the gig bag in two pieces and examined the fissure, wondering if there might be some way to glue it.

Tuesday, September 15, 2020

 I was a guy creating a SmarterChild-like application for a swanky tech company. Enduring ups and downs. Immediately I conceived of the dream as a movie, or a potential movie, and then I was scrambling to remember it and write it down on an iPad, but my notes kept overlapping each other on the screen. I wished I had one of those apps that recognizes script input with a fingertip. Then I really woke up and wrote my notes. In the reality of the room, the bed, the bedside table, faint light coming from the cracks around the air conditioner, the story didn’t seem as remarkable. But maybe it is.

Wednesday, July 29, 2020

Had an elaborate dream about Brian Jones. It was clear that he’d taught Keith how to play the way he does, that slashing, concussive style. I was hearing Brian and it was true, he sounded just like Keith. It was sad no one recognized that or gave him credit.


Monday, July 27, 2020

Had one of those dreams where I’m flying, standing upright, a foot or two off the ground. I can control my speed and direction with my mind. In these dreams it feels like I’m remembering that I know how to do something, and wondering why it is I keep forgetting it. It’s as remarkable in the dream as it would be in real life—no one else can do it, and I want someone to see me, to be impressed. At one point I come up over a hill and I hover high, a little too high, maybe ten feet up.


Tuesday, July 07, 2020

We’d bought a two-story house that was coupled with a 747 jet, kind of like the Space Shuttle was when it was ferried around the country. The jet was attached to the roof upside-down and at an angle, as though it could take off, tear the house off its foundation and flip over so the house was on its back. Otherwise it was a very nice house. I tried to rationalize the presence of the airplane. We’d never use it of course, but it was a curiosity. Maybe it would be interesting for Jackie to explore.


Monday, July 06, 2020

P. C. had discovered my writing notebook and accused me of “ironic pessimism.” I said what do you think, I’m gonna be an ironic optimist?


I slid down a ski trail on foot, wondering why more people don’t do this. It was easier than being on skis, slower, safer.