dreamweaver two

23 october 2024 oh to redeploy this on a smurf anniversary. i think i should have waited until the 30th, ezra pound day, or even november...yet there is a lot on my mind and writing is what i do... pelevin does not write in fact he puzzles over a position, sometimes in brilliant fashion, until drowning it with a sort of too much information for his readers to process...in my experience the nearest example for contrast would be phillip k dick... the writer had recently completed notes for a novel and was told pdk shopped at happy dog for horse meat when he was struggling to survive hence horselover fat... that is to say it is the type of style one encounters in valis except amped up as if the loudness allowed more freedom of speech i suppose... subsequently i read the horse stealers by anton chekhov... let's see before i delve deeper...i have decided to not include the preceeding notes, themselves possibly a book or two, these should stand on their own and if any reader would like them well i would not refuse a request to package them up and send them through... my point is that writing freely should not be mistaken with writing for free, life is not free and even awful writing is paid...case in point, colleen hoover... or do women usually follow men into new york city restrooms after the author picks at bulgokov's entrance... ahem. i never realized how good lecarre was until reading his first novel which was perfection save for the jewess's confession and the ending list in any case miles above the film version which kept the wife as self-described nymphomaniac slut in a redundant twist that must've made john's head spin... yes i know too much prelude for dream notes and so here goes; hurricane milton followed helene and i was haunted by the control weather brim skit as many others thought the democrats were trying to smash the hard core red state voters to gain those delegates, those delicate votes... one ukrainian and his family got swallowed in florida after escaping the so-called war...the appointment in samara fleshed out with full irony... within my own contradictions i dreamt of a topless cousin and eating cake - later seeing her arrive with other girls...hadnt thought of her much since she never invited me to her wedding and later that evening i had a clear vision of her bed...excuse me i am not looking for parking, in fact i don't have a vehicle... the man mom married passed away on the same day as jack kerouac had, which was about the time she moved to the states over the hills and far away... something kept trying to connect me with him and i even felt it scan memory as if to say aha or even make it my demise...i was starting to even feel dizzy sick until james cagney directed shortcut to hell... i'm with zelda in france at some art class and it feels as natural as being with joan in england pub except one of them was taking my picture and i had not shaved and tried to hide my stubble as it were... floating in my apartment as if visiting myself - the cat is on one of the beds - finding myself in a car being kissed by ava and her triangle tongue, later speaking with zofia... a man was handing me a great variety of two dollar bills, i watched flightplan again and catchfire, how does one forget nudity - perhaps when the talent is so overwhelming that what remains is the method not the madness - loro was a real revelation and i had no answer to my own question, if you liked youth so much why not seek out other films by that director... the family friend was no let down, even thrilling once in a while - meanwhile the box of things minus the requested samsonite case i asked for which was sent out in june finally arrived in october... i was much more satisfied by the substance, i keep looking back at it amazed at its form... reminded after of the girl i walk'd some with - down riverside drive... dress as if meant to be recalled...packing suitcase as marlon talks - i think he was recording to tape also...talk of order, standing in line french fries conspiracy - a finger at my lip - what does the sticker say? two million dollars carrying a girl inside a movie theatre - someone is tracking us - i think of laura sophia instead of lotta, fresh air - i'm standing at the entrance of a mansion, in fact i think i only dreamt of lotta once...in any case i recite the phone number that pre-dates me and is yet active - there are two women one undressed and bleeding it seems like menstruation unfiltered and left without washing but it is all so fast i cannot focus and awake like when walking on aluminum foil landscape - was it bird or insect at window suddenly mixed by chirp or crawling sound within me...not sure yet i was trying to escape...i cannot escape my lost apartment, there i am with mother painting the hall i am going to my room convinced that my date is not coming, but the girl arrives wearing a pleated skirt which she raises in front of me as if to make me get up...there is an indian statue with the word nadie or nadia and i like it deciding to put place it on my dresser...it wears a dark shawl, i start thinking they also did not send my japanese cat statue...so when did i actually start to weep? well, during dominique when the boy dies protecting the girl oksana left in a chained padlock light switch room...not that i'm the action packed type but someone called asking for leidsa numbers i think i said 34, 76, and 91...nobody called in terms of condolences. (one call from an aunt followed this typing, which inspired me to invent a man who had a toaster for an ass which needed to be plugged in) alina sent nude pictures. (possible email scam but as a gentleman i try to reply pleasantly) i only cry in the movies and even if i spend the day smoking i never light up a cigarette in dreams...

0ctober 24...dreams like visitations - well, visions to be precise... i had received a phone call, a nearly unusual event these days... so there was more talk than what has become ordinary - i suppose that along with texting went a ways into overwhelming my senses - i went to sleep at the second hour after midnight thinking of book titles and elvis costello - one of us is lying...i get what feels like a locked car in the sun temperature or perhaps a sun soaked roof feeling and get up to let in fresh air and pour water on myself...when i finally get to sleep i dream that i am naked on my bed and someone starts speaking...i cover myself and feel cool enough not to wonder or worry since it is a know face - still, there is something about it upon reflection that is disturbing; this all becomes some sort of party, i wonder how long it takes to fly from warsaw to tel aviv but alexandra is actually flying to new york - there is now a group of people mainly girls - one of them remninds me of helena's jeans under a tied christian dior shirt she pulled on like you would a t-shirt...buttons must feel she does not like them enough to unbutton and so forth...well in the dream it is not her, someone more spanish although possibly not spain - lotta hinted that she had a greatly good time in mallorca yet i have not witnessed the recording myself...in the dream i feel drained while the woman in those specific jeans looks to be in an orgasmic convulsion as if possessed like a spirit is making love her or at least nibble kissing her neck yet no one is near and worse everyone acts as if nothing is going down...i must have got up at some point and am standing in the crowd studying her - she has another fit in the epilepsy style except this time she is intent on reaching the source of her frantic excitement - as she exits i see two men on a bed, there is a tv on and a laptop also on next it...i say something about turning at least one of them off and they don't disagree...i awake right after to find that i only slept a couple of hours...i jot the basics of the scenes, fill the bath with water and ivory and hope i can catch some more minutes of sleep and or dreams that make more sense before i slip into coffee and internet and such... thursday is rising fast and my only plan is to go through my scales especially the two new ones i keep mixing up - not certain why arabic translates in thought as if enigmatic and vice versa... (my ritual is now at eighteen scales, one of them my own hybrid creation...) ps. did more sleep did sleep more yet maybe too much...seen mallorca except she seemed more content in the paradoxe...i recalled another scene wherein some child dislodged a lens from my frames...i pick it up to see if it can be returned to place but it is shattered and much larger...dolce gabanna it actually happened in the city without a kid just a sliver missing, glasses i still wear...well, outside as for some reason i took to not wearing eyewear at home - meanwhile london and i never understood how sarcastic daniel's face could be but i mean that in a goodly way...expression, some faces need no words to communicate...lotta communicates eye patches in stories yet her puffy morning eyes are when i think she looks exquisitely beautiful...but now i know prada preceeded the perfume in dusseldorf...alison james wrote wilhemina tempest's obituary - “We are such stuff as dreams are made on, and our little life is rounded with a sleep.” i have inclinations to continue to employ the pen at ASDBL and even the alaska experiment yet it is not pressing, it is like ideas or notions i wonder if i should augment with...obviously wilhemina bring this to mind as i'm not sure if i made it clear enough that she branches out from the source muse character to another yes that and the fact that i think it might be good to list all the types of horses perhaps in a glossary as burroughs did with drugs...there is actually a buzz as if i am getting high on my own writing... “You taught me language, and my profit on’t is, I know how to curse.”

25 october - friday the funeral I did not attend or intend to go to... in speaking to the widow about my reasons, the point arose in mind's irony...well i had a dream that i was standing in a funeral ceremony viewing myself in the coffin... i said it was about the age of twelve but most likely it was later as it impressed me so that it was among the first attempts at literature...the dream is true however the fear of it is not...i stayed up much later than i wanted, getting up several times to make soup and and to make coffee and even again to seduce the hunger into submission with a slice of bread...there was an emptiness i could not explain...let us call it an invasion - a mystical raid that later even extended into language as a foreign song tried to spin around my head... it was late morning by the time i got to sleep, the hours herein reflect a european time zone - early evening awoke from dreams that found me in a modern building - the office type - i am trying to get a pair of shoes fixed and i am told by a woman where i could get that done...as i approach the elevator it shuts and slides down yet i hear someone say they will bring it back which nearly instantly they do as i then find myself holding a pair of adidas...it is an elevator operator like in a recent instyle story reel which lucy was in...i suppose it came to mind and there i am with her but it is like a pastry shop where i lose sight of her and start unwrapping and tasting and returning the sweets to their place wrapped, as the voice of some other women recommends, i like the taste or perhaps i have not satisfied the weird hunger... i think to get some for the widow and the dream ends. i had viewed a japanese film, kubi, which is said to be about events in 1582...although crowded with bloody scenes and even a careless view of homosexuality or if you prefer a degrading view of women (which should prove shocking enough to most),it still did not have that centerpiece alike hellboy the crooked man wherein the snake exits the girl's down there parts and slithers up into her mouth...the most striking moment was the "delicious" poisoned snapper irony. if only they could have bought dean martin's ain't that a kick in the head for the final credits.

12 november...was it lennon, life is waht happens when you are busy making other plans...i did not intend to have to wait so long for a dream that made sense enough to put place into words... although i know the experience as commonplace to myself when under the influence of weed wherein dreams are so light they carry no weight in memory... meanwhile i kept cleaning house...i view'd several many more films, most recently thunderball, man woman or teen was that tom jones belting out the theme... sean sucking claudine's foot...she was in a genius bikini...in the dream it was evening and within that night the rain poured down in storm-fashion...the times wroted 'trump storms back' as if it wasnt enough to have stuck their neck out on the silly endorsement they seemed to go with a cheap daniels jape... i remember i went shopping for a fan - thinking it sort of proved that 2020 was replete, filled with fraud... people, in the dream scene were running, crowds of them, through the shadow of trees above where i walked which was a roadway, a woman was with me as we decided to hail a taxi, japanese contraption spied letting out a customer and i got in as the girl vanished - a very little man drove but on the side as one might find in those sidekick motorcycle - another man without pickles kept nearing from the front i faced as if searching me for something - i searched through sofia's first well second failed film which is called priscilla, first girl i ever kissed in some childhood lobby uptown, it starts ramones perfect directer by spector but i felt the cast did not resemble the reality, even graceland looked like an apartment not a mansion, vegas scene was nice, the hinted los angeles ending was cool yet like the book burning it didnt capture the impact...no elvis songs in the soundtrack sure was shocking...yes i know easy to monday morning quarterback pick apart and yes obviously a great amount of effort went into it...hopefully she will get back to form in her next scenes...the driver did not want to go to bella vista and i had to agree to be let out as near to my destination as he could manage...i awoke before getting anywhere, gabby got published with nowhere, usa and i was very happy for her without agreeing that the midwest is hell...or even frozen although i know poetic language is what language cannot be...robert graves, the white goddess, a reading that makes me feel the limit of my own recall. thousands of stories and connections which are impossible to memorize... embraced it awake and held it asleep...one understands some of the major points, the intent, let us call it the premise...in itself a duality that aims to prove and provoke yet in the build up of facts and circumstantial evidence there is a dizzy sort of who or what question as the whirlwind spins into a series of explorations... i agree somewhat - not with the style - but with the concept and feel especially thrilled that there is no pop quiz at the end of this bizarre masterpiece. the jews agree; the body should be buried...the outrun, say or see never looked so beautiful yet how could such an intelligent character be so dumb? well, drinking does kill brain cells, they say...did love the ending. these are not movie recommendations, merely notes for i know not what exactly except by definition as a writer i scribble into the constant illusion of now... the past presents itself in emilee form again the run, in the book he mentions witches running around a place nine times to cast a spell or the mirror walk behind the cursed one so their prat fall results in the stumble - there's a little girl, so precious and pretty, i am sure it is an illusion but i explain that yes i am keeping my promise to the extent that no masked intruder could make a fool of me...for a minute i wanted to believe michael was innocent but then i asked myself and even ai what other man ever asked to sleep with someone's child nevermind the box of porn under the bed... ah yes, ready or not - a real modern classic with spontanous combustion...dear me i liked that one alot, in some ways a sort of documentary i felt for myself as i sometimes believe my family has always been out to rub out or switch off my dream girl...maternal grandmother being the exception, i digress...not meaning to have such a word count here dear readers if i have any other dream to report you will find it here... please note - warner brothers/level is pulling the plug on two skinny girls...i could remove the catalog now but why would i? so i am letting it happen so it will be on their heads not mine and re-uploading the songs after that point. hopefully there won't be much downtime but so you know it is not a glitch in the streaming services or outlets circa 18 november and beyond.

13 november dream fading upon waking possibly eva green or lotta stichler, the knit sweater taking longer than i expected, the idea of twin sister sure is interesting- not so interesting is the day's unusual diet dessert flan on top of leftover chinese and two almond cupcakes - it's like being drowsy drunk on food...fueled with never say never again where sean returns to bookend the remake i make thoughts on megapolis, as i revist the ending of the white goddess wherein graves gives the devil his due as it were...my bath so cold i yelped - where was i oh yes this one is not easy, i hope it is like depalma scarface which i couldnt understand until a second viewing, but i boubt it as this seems to require the faith of an inner child yet it is precisely achild in the role of an assassin... elvis impersonator felt weird unless one thinks of his daughter - my fued with it can be in the sum of two points; that lead actress seemed to be pulled from the cast of show girls and dud did not transmit emotions required for empathy and morpheus stands around as if he had really been killed in the apocalypse now boat a walking zombie also doing voice over keeping in mind that he can memorize shakespeare it must have been the easiest role he ever learnt but if vourse iyt is not a movie...it is a family affair a warning and a prayer with deliverance arrows my firs thought was oh no not a happy ending sensed tears at the dedication to wife once he was going to forget everythint he had learned and write like he was a teen, perhaps that is what we have seen...director's cut? classified wondering why aaron kept leaving the fire arms released along with the extended version of caligula well woman of the hour had something, that is how wrong we can be in judging...anyway i was hoping for a sort of youth without youth vibe but maybe next time - at least there was a real sense of new york city in the apprentice...pre-disney manhattan might have been the message in me gap ol is...ford to city drop... of course the issue with outstanding acting ie the critic is that one starts rooting for the villainous character...irony will drown us all... i tear up the picture of the fat man of the week tv show interview the dearly departed had done finding it alone in a scrap book never started - i play my scales over the film concentrating on the gypsy...now thinking that's what dylan called elvis staying in a big hotel smiling as he appreached saying well well...i try to take a nap but the nap takes me further into thinking with the national soundtrack of ymca village folk rising in nonsense echoing...young mens christian association... maybe it will help jerry lee's cousin jimmy... maybe i have overdosed on film...certainly on porn...some other position postultes god in the volcano or zeus...some of it makes sense and it gives me pause...perhaps i have to revisit joseph campbell's ideas...tomorrow and tomorrow alexander the great is named pharaoh but that 332BC, not because but before it's fun to stay at the why have we not been there...

14 november i'd felt outside my self all day as if waiting for the evening and the i'd felt the evening was not waiting for me... they say the berlin ruling system collapsed, they say dw union is on a two day strike... maybe i was locked in a teledisco booth - some of the monkeys were given fruit loops... in terms of entertainment, i should have mentioned finally catching up with the second parts of ahs 12 as well as american horror stories. emma, have i got a story for you concerning the ambulance birth...but i didn't get why wear the bitch's headgear? otherwise i liked the liminal spaces idea but i really have an insnae bias against blubbler so i could hardly enjoy the last part of the stories which should have brought to mind asylum season, yeah i was more worried that the buttons of her blouse were going to fly off into the the other actress's face... pre dream pissing on lotta's face... walking through the chelsea hotel thinking of the brazilian girl i went there with willy deville singing to walk that girl home... minutes or moments later it's all pretty dark and i seem to be without a body hovering or hooked up with some woman on amsterdam avenue who is upset over the drug dealers that stand around in fron of the shop she's trying to get into...i hear the vague outline of her voice arguing against them and they seem to be replicas of each other even in the way they are dressed...i don't know where this dream went - i get up too early but take a minute or a moment for cigarettes coffee and this note...marian is on my mind as i give skirt the party mix eats... there's a text message about a wallet and it nearly derails all the details of the dreaming but as i type i start to recall the strange door dreams, three k where i find cheese and nickel bags thinking to snack and go back to my room and puff when it sounded like someone was at the entrance...other door dream opening but then it does not fit like three quarters of it only which left a slender opening... here door a motley gang of men insisting that i am having a soiree and wanting to come in and celebrate as i stand there baffled and nearly upset...i had lined the back door with litre glasses of coca cola bottles, but it was the front door. people are strange when you're a stranger should have been played. seven in the morning sweden, one in the morning here, eleven in the evening los angeles. this ain't the mud club or cbgb's... early afternoon in asian towns, sounds like monkey genocide in thailand...valencia might re-flood with evacuations underway, i hope padam padam is a hit but there is no logical way to juggle time zones...

23 november...so much has gone down and yet not much has happened...arrival of guest and groovy haul - my habit was to always buy one nice shirt when possible but i find myself with five new shirts all at once... a weird luxury. some rich dreams too yet mostly disintegrating as the waking thoughts rattle me up to serve breakfast and start the day...a few weeks ago i was very happy that lucy was going to film in rome, i think where fellini worked out his scenese, and i sure did have a dream wherein we were very friendly as if rejoicing yet lotta had gone to new york and mentioned a girl named giulia which then made me think it might have been her in the dream...not much time for sleep as i don't allow my guest to cook or clean...but this is no complaint or protest... i play the substance everyday, today will be the fifth time...in fact i am looking forward to it...there's a week or so left of this "visiting" and i will try to report on the proceedings as soon as possible...posed one of the "taken down" songs and it was a spirit breaking experience...the cover was not accepted since they require very specific dimensions, so my lock and key artwork went by the wayside for some stock image...then the exported catalog is all in wav files but this requires mp3 or flac...it was for -low fi- and they require at least one foreign language metadata and i chose traditional chinese which then had to be augmented by simplified chinese... i could not imagine doing this for thirty songs... would you? the lyrics of it's a long way to the top if you want to rock and roll never mentioned such tedious work involved in getting one's music out... for reference; (low fi)

the sun drives across my skinq
sweeter than a nevervous breakdown breakdown
nobody in the human race
is my next of kin
nah this tan can't camouflage
my sound

you make every need go vanish
oh translator says you're not even spanish
while the seamstress
she does a double-stitch
you clarify yes
i'm from the land
of the ignition-switch
oh
yeah this climbing sure brings knees
that broke summer in las vegas
is still beggin for rain
border of a roulette wheel
you feel the grease
love time handle whore
swears it's all insane

you make every need go vanish
translator says you're not even spanish
oh the seamstress
she does a double-stitch
you clarify
man i'm from the land
of the ignition-switch

rick and morty makin me go puff
puff puff
i'm still at spongebob square pants
break down
says trump looks like mrs puff
oh yeah i'm in a hypnotic trance huh

you make every need go vanish
make every need go vanish
make every need go vanish
oh ooh
make every need go vanish
you make every need go
make every need go vanish
make every need go vanish
all right
you make every need vanish
you yeahyeahyeah
you make every need go vanish

----- chords g minor - f major - d major - e flat - e major - f major 5... -------
well, stuck inside of mobile with the memphis blues again did sort of say there was some sort of repetition involved in the "creative" process; smoking eyelids and punched cigarettes... ashes when i have tray time i will see if there is another way to get the other songs out in the format they already have... i listened to it again thinking sure it's not a hit but it is not run of the mill...usually it's books that go out of print... to have this happen to songs is beyond bizarre... sort of like gogol's the nose! well, here's wishing you all a decent thanksgiving.
27 november...i dreamt yesterday that iwas flying to to europe from the states...germany i suppose as that is a recurring scene in my dream mind...in this case the airport and luggage were all very detailed - someone was speaking as if asking questions, not sure what i said...did recall a pre-dream nightmare wherein i am talking to my sister as if hypnotized...she had actually dropped by - then again yesterday with her motley crew... went to sleep late smoking and wondering why lotta was still in new york...i dreamt playing guitar with the stones and trying to figure out some song about a feline in the key of c major... i got up early feeling tired all day - but it was rainy and i rather enjoy the downpour...she got miu miu eyewear and was on her way to the plane... i actually have not taken the time for notes or chords although i did make a leather strap for the ibanez...the idea was that not playing my daily scales would help her in some way...silly yet it satisfied something in my thoughts... or more correctly in my superstition - anyway i am looking ahead to getting back in rhythm tomorrow...besides, in skipping the thanksgiving shingdig, i will have the evening all to my self, well myself and skirt... had not heard the song flight 505, well five days left of hosting after tomorrow as the guest leaves early on the first week of december. word to the wise, don't dare miss say or see singing one of the blitz songs in the studio, it is exceptional or to kick at madonna's nerves some; it is neat.
30 november...weird watery dream wherein there was a screen embedded into the faucet handel of the shower...it resembled one of those ancient portable tv screens but smaller... invention dream; shower faucets with media screens... hmm...then of course i did not have a free thanksgiving as my guest decided not to go out - at least the lions won...memories of detroit swirled in thought...then further into childhood and my jacket...they have never gone all way - i really liked that jacket...you gotta lose your mind in detroit rock city...billy idol covered bob dylan's if not for you, i heard grace slick talking and was amazed by her honesty - but how is time magazine ten dollars? back to scales, felt no lapse. guest did venture out to visit someone else and so i do have part of taday free...in a moment of idk browsed the perlude to moby dick and thought melville had influenced me more than i realized...lotta left via gate 65 and arrived, an hour late, via gate 66...i thought the detail was quirky...lauren got a ritual candle and robyn erased her kill bill halloween pictures which i now miss... third day of pizza but my stomach has been sensitive for two days...i didn't expect, at this point, any dream recall at all yet last night the scenes were pretty particular - as if i had married virginia and one of her children was even calling me daddy... then moving into an apartment which was more like a mailbox building or perhaps the locker in the substance where the packages are delivered... everything seemed so compact...i always feel this place itself is too big for one person but i like the options of several rooms...in the one room dream i sensed sister invading thought as she had said she was going to an apartment hotel for the weekend and when this happens i always wonder which one of her known relations has slipped into my place as if i were him or the like? well they are scheduled to leave on tuesday as well as my guest... great fun with the story of the fruit vendor who sold a banana which was used to make art and then eaten by a millionaire...that antique song that said bananas have to ripen in a special comes to mind...cheers.
december one
sunday - i first heard it within everyone says i love you...marshall brickman gone at eighty five...nap snapped into song, 'i got a notion to love you all day' heard it as if had already been wroted... dream in the park i talk too much and can't think of what to say then say, i contain multitudes, which is a song that was alredy wroted yet i only have a vague memory of it since i concentrated on murder most foul and later on key west philosopher pirate... this was not intended to segue from herman, but such is life...late at night a flood of emotions resolving in hunger that made me get up again for bread and ironically coffee...awoke minutes before nine - dream lotta's mother seemingly setting up lunch or some meal in a very exact way...i'm not sure, but it was pretty impressive and for a minute i wondered trying to figure out the scene aside from inner intuition what it was about...like a self interview, is she telling me something, i usually don't eat much but there is no need to set up a table meal, i should get up and look after my guest, it seems dark but the foil on the windows doesnt let the sun in, if it is lotta's mother then why do i feel attracted, oh no i am excited, now how am i going to explain this... the misfits is on prime. i'm in the middle of grand hotel, i've been in the middle of it ever since the guest arrived... the list of films was updated but my viewing list is now way overdue...nothing can be done about til tuesday...
monday two december
after waking up way too early, i returned to sleep, and woke up a bit late...i'd been thinking about presidential pardons and sir elton john's eyes... my guest continually invites me to new york... i suppose it makes me dream of the city. well, the parts that i know...you cannot actually know a town like that...every few streets might be like entering a different country...even the seemingly empty spaces like tenth avenue on the west side or york avenue on the east are entirely different types of desolation...one feels industrial and the latter feels richly secluded even like a suburb - at least that is my feeling. i suppose it was more in the middle, in the mid town area perhaps right below columbus circle...i sense the crowd and the countless lights, some woman asks me if i am drug dealer...i think only dh marks fits into that category...how many names bring back 2016... too many. i say no, quickly thinking of the ad, say no to dr-ugs and hoping that at least some of my stories and songs are addictive. meanwhile the cinema list has surpassed two thousand five hundred titles with additions from the silvia pinal filmography. mexican film has not had a good day in years, my favorite is el esqueleto de la senora morales...
december 4. pre departure dream sitting knees up on the the floor beside the conclusion of some sort of trap-door slide where a girl gently crashes into me, i could see she had arrived with someone else yet he vanished and we lay there with sort of embraced legs, it felt like until i went seemingly backwards into the trap-door and down with a falling naked feeling which was suddenly dressed and dressed again by what i can only describe as mail bag pouches with a much softer material...say they were heavy cotton yet these were soft linen with the same sand coloring although neither beige nor tan... subsequently my guest left. given that it was mom, well, it sure seemed to be her once in a while, i felt utterly alone. weird how one can get used to living by one's self yet seeing and serving another underlines the desolation, redefines it...ruins the illusion of what it means to be content...the girl in the scene i thought was kia, in other scenes there are other people in the house and mom is cleaning to which i react in opposition against the mop...stomping on one fellow as if a wrestling match...last night dreaming of walking down a road the type that is sleek asphalt yet surrounded by forest...strangers gathered, surrounded...for some reason i argued that i could not be detained because i needed to get back to help mother. i felt danger in the outnumbered position like a dying man circled by vultures... i cleaned my room which had been neglected for cleaning the rest of the apartment, i learned the word semiotics which i don't like and will possibly never use in conversation...i learned the chords of a song for you and heard the story of how sir elton john saved leon russell from the ditch on the road of life...yet it seems he was supposed to be a sort of underground giant, i mean even as much music as i hear, i only met his songs because i searched out will the circle be unbroken once upon a time a few months ago...strange. i suppose bertrand and later kurt possessed the name so fully that no one else has a shot with it... in a dream i am working and a girl is trying to get me to continue working without pay and in return she will flash me her tits fifty thousand times giving me an example preview...pink red nipples i could hardly remember her face thereafter as she turned away leaving me with the image of her chest...a man starts speaking perhaps asking if it is a deal but i think i only start making excuses...later shopping but also sweeping dirt from the floor...something is missing from the items i ordered at the last place and another woman is shwoing me the options...eight o'clock closing in on nine now...my to do list involves eating, taking out the trash, and laundry...hopefully everyone else is gearing up for christmas the only x-rated holiday that isn't sexual.
december 5. the reason for a song for you was to play it everyday, but in the irony of life it got entwined with my thoughts of mother... therefore, i opted for deep elem blues which also gives me a lot more options in terms of improvisation with lead riffs...i think i have the chords and some fills now i need to learn the words...will record it when it comes along...took a nap after meal and doing what i wanted or needed from my to do things, but then i was up late mostly thinking of lotta as if possessed by something that was never exact, never explained... time swimming like an olympic swimmer into dawn before i knew it. nothing in dream thought and it seemed some one due to proximity had invaded the scene wherein i am standing there listening to a story about how some people were living in a stranger's apartment and some other people questiong what they would do when the stranger arrived... in other words nothing that felt relevant to me... yet i note it as i don't make up dreams, maybe it will make sense down the line. alliteration in the news, deny defend depose, with at least one outlet also employing the word divulge...from the fourteenth century etymology ; "Middle English, from Anglo-French deposer, from Late Latin deponere (perfect indicative deposui), from Latin, to put down" nobody should get shot outside any hotel but i like that 'depose' is in circulation as it were...oh sweet mamma your daddy's got them deposed blues...
december 6. i reglimpsed the start of grand hotel, 1932... then picked up where i had left it two weeks ago when my guest arrived. i will try to note my reaction without spoilers and explain the sensation...there are two aspects, i went into it trying to understand greta garbo and then upon watching trying not to mix up barrymore with klein... there was also the buzz in my thoughts that brought me to it which was lotta having a family dinner at the grand hotel stockholm wearing one of the sweetest sweaters i have ever seen...well there then, this movie is very good and i could nearly understand the gg hype...however no luck with klein vs barrymore...still, the emotion overpowers the contrasting or rhyming appearance and at a certain point all i was thinking about was the character and maybe the pocketbook...it is one of those films to view a few times merely for the fact that - as ms hynde sings - they don't make 'em like they used to... someone tried to make a production of me throwing out the old sony radio or maybe all my attempts to get to sleep early converged into an irony that kept me up late again... i sure did dream something, i think now of lauren's neat drawers - maybe she got her christmas decorations done - i can't say what it was since i awoke sort of hounded by someone at the ten oclock hour...did i look too pale? why on earth is it that some people cannot simply agree to disagree...a line from license to kill resounds in thought, dylan or the management that runs his tweet spoke of the film "based" on him or who he used to be... myself i refuse to see anything that actor is in since a rainy day in new york...because he was so helpful in firing up the witchhunt against the director...anyway cate blanchett prolly did a better bob in i;m not here or was it there...i'm not there...you ain't goin' nowhere... seven deadly sins magnitude kaliphornkneeah, they said after one man in butte county said to himself hey let me shoot at the kindergarden kids meanwhile a falling statue killed an eight year old in the next door state... not a good day to be child in america... otherwise i feel good, maybe not in the james brown way, yet good enough that if someone tells me to play that funky music, white boy, i could or possibly would. now then for woody; www.nytimes.com/2024/12/02/movies/woody-allen-marshall-brickman-q-and-a.html wherein you will learn about the word Anhedonia...

december 7. pearl harbors before natalia's birthday. i thought about the nearly logical thread that ran all the way from that film into london boulevard...don't be upset if i didn't mention joan crawford, she will be put placed prominently on the list...i viewed the great beauty - the opening only confused me and felt as if the director was teasing the audience...or like someone reluctant to let in the crowd to see the plot...yet it developed nicely...partly eclectic and partly ironic...especially at the end which contains a great gift in the form of music; the beatitudes by vladimir martynov. (kronos quartet) a piece that floats in a space all its own and cannot be contained by descriptive words, it has to be heard then one might give it an emotional setting upon each individual listen which could run the spectrum of several feelings... i got up well after noon after a long night thinking about lotta as i learned the nine months ago story when she missed a trip to portugal...in my dreams i was sitting somewhere where i could see the stairs...staring at the stairs instead of stars go figure; i hear the explosion that preceeds fire and see a man race up as if he had just set the nearby building, which in my dream mind i knew to be a drug den, ablaze...i thought well some people can never win but coldly as if empathy and myself had lost touch... later, certainly even colder, i am sitting elsewhere, trying to avoid another man as one of his friends arrive smiling at me like i am salvation personified...i don't like these people yet in my dream mind there is a real illumination, a wisdom that leaves me miles away from them even as they near then one of them mentions not having anyone to help him although the other one is still there...i take it as jab at my aloof state of mind and for a second i am forced to look at them as if there were no stars in the skies only to awake wishing i had not had that dream and still feeling the slime of their greed as i walked into the hallway to fix the start of the day.
december 8. i had read that the rebels took Homs and were entering Damascus as the dream i didn't note flashed in memory where i was either licking or tickling a woman and suddenly could not escape the squirting streaming into my face... i don't know much, but i do know that cate left her career to be with kevin and i havent seen him in anything since the christmas balls movie...i then read that assad fled syria- luxury cars on display at the telegraph... which made me think deny defend depose was pre-coded to announce the toppled regime...but i think too much when it comes to these things...in my mind what was truly interesting was hearing cole porter at stella a life since that is when i really felt admiration for kevin yet had not seen barrymore uhm so there i was in another film with him in mind well with him and elvis costello did let's misbahve on that soundtrack... but the film and paula beer is a powerhouse...not to mention that it is a true story...my only question with it was the failure to clearly claim the fact that many of the jews were also german - some even more so than the "germans" - it is hinted via the lead's father; noted as a war veteran but i felt that irony needed to be fleshed out a bit more. anyway to see jews working as gestapo agents in berlin gives such a rollercoaster ride of emotions that is like a drug... so very high with this film, indeed. STELLA. EIN LEBEN. then the shooter outside the hilton hotel and the rebel leader were identified in social media and in the press although it will most likely not be confirmed until tomorrow - i can only confirm that i dreamt of being in another house and sighing in the knowledge that the sink could not be used while observing someone open the faucet and watching the waterworks spill out from the sides and the pour down from the ceiling...there was a broken toilet in the corner next to the centered toilet...which caught my attention, usually there might be a bidet but who knows...so happy to write this as in a typo i came up with the word onserving...the cashier was onserving coins on the receipt upon the counter... in another dream uppermarket, why am i there, i am intent on getting exactly three items, cigarettes and two other things not as important as marlboros but there is a man with a beer belly buying sandwiches and i can see the filled bread and i can feel him stand way too near as he put places his arm across my shoulders and starts to sway as if in celebration which i cannot understand squirming with a shrug awaking... when the ick is onserved one must pick out distance to be preserved...i get up and pick lotta to worship and extend the distance from that dream...yet as i do i see froseth pictured with a man eerily like the one in the tuppermarket scene. so the two jakes, jack was right. it never goes away. ps, bring back spy magazine so i can submit the separated at birth photograph of the actor in kiev alongside Abu Mohammed al-Jawlani...or as mellish said, I object, your honor! This trial is a travesty. It's a travesty of a mockery of a sham of a mockery of a travesty of two mockeries of a sham...

meanwhile i have heard the deposed leader is already in moscow, not idaho.
9 december. sunday i somehow sidestepped the loud talk outside and the man yelling super colmado over and over as i had my pizza and settled into blitz with high hopes since i thought the coat song was really special but i can only recomment the soundtrack..cheesier than the pie, it pulls at the audience via emotional traps plus put placing lectures all along the way as if the viewer needed lessons in social studies... it might be the only film to feature a dwarf and still not be worth watching...all mouth and no trousers might well be said of itself... if you look at it closely you'll notice say or see asking herself what the hell am i doing here...the director supposedly wrote it but was it a joke poking at curious george? nobody could write such a thing! of course, we all want a perfect society and equality yet celluloid like this is more dangerous than helpful...if only the producers would now have to take the mta to get around balancing the cost of this corny turkey...they hit all the notes but it still lacks truth and sounds hollow unlike the lead's fine voice. enoch powell is possibly turning over in his grave... i put this all out of mind asap and even managed to get to sleep early yet awoke too soon...i dreamt i was drinking although i don't, there was some argument and i was wearing a scuba diving suit inside a brick walled room that looked like a bunker or basement...i could hear someone screaming like i had during the day and stepped out of slumber wondering how to get back to sleep but wrote this instead... hmm to think i=of it blitz takes place partly in the timeline of stell a life, but there is something exceptional in the german while the english only has that bit of irish magic to hold it together yet even the magical needs a logical poise. there is a moment when she is saved from a falling wall left over from air raid and hopefully this will be manifested in her career. i love say or see but i did not like this fiasco of manipulation and propaganda.
december 10. as i squandered most of my day in the secret spaces of self reflection, fantasy, and escape i started to feel well what hamlet said, i lack advancement...had i never wroted a poem song story novel screenplay...had i never done anything... perhaps it was zen or a sartorial stance...i felt empty as in devoid of motivation...i did need to go out and was confronted by someone telling me he was desperate as one of his something or other needed a pint a blood which he claimed cost a lot... i tried to be polite but i doubt there was any truth in it... as i pondered further, i finally said to myself why am i even contemplating this void within...if it is depression then it should be respected...to lose parts of oneself is no trivial matter and when it happens in slow motion as it is with aunt and mother well there is silent ongoing mourning that cannot be explained...so i held myself together saying there is no need to hurry past this time...i waited for lotta to post but she was at a christmas business party...i kept seeing julia wulf on social media and at some point was even tempted to write a poem for brooke pufky as i thought back to her extreme kindness and how the world could use love like that which instead is focused on her children - but i figure one day those kids will be in the world and it will be a better place because of her...when i talked about that film which baffled me by its lack of logic, i noticed that is was the coin that somehow remained in the hankerchief pocket despite the leap from the moving train and further that there is royalty with that name but i don't want to repeat myself to myself on these matters...i had glanced at silk and butter - some sort of agency - well silk&butter ug and in my dream, well there was this very clear vision of helena pre-dream as i stretched into sleep, lotta saying i never read a poetry book... i was surrounded by several women none of them familiar yet very pretty and well dressed but ravenous especially with the butter, we all had bread but it made me start to scoop up a bit more butter thinking they would leave none for lotta...yes indeed weird given that i gave up purchasing the product being that they want nearly four dollars for a stick and more when it is a a luxury brand meanwhile the domestic variety is simply a greasy disaster...so yeah some prices make no sense, bacon here costs more than steak...i had previously awoken haunted or hunted by words i had said, i wondered if my uncle had died. the thoughts so swift there was no chance to distinguish meaning, for example one of his sons is named michael yet in mind or memory i instead saw kilmer and then thought about how much i liked dylan's version of things we said today...yet all this in milliseconds as i awoke leaving behind whatever it was i had dreamt about... i went back to sleep and got up in the late morning with nothing to report - skirt had two cans of trout friskies yet still pressed me for milk...i think now it is good enough that i slept easy so why worry if i miss a scene from rapid eye movement. i feel so right and logical in this type of thinking because it is true and positively should have no need to prove myself further...ps, cool minute as joan corrects the daily mail over dallas, son volt started playing in mind; looking at the world through a windshield... much better than the warlord killing a hundred ten folks over the voodoo sensation blame or the naked lookalike that was too much emilee grant on the heels of having thought of her wondering if it was a fake...girls, if you snapchat nudes they might end up on amaleaked... or elsewhere - there then now i am going to escape into leftover pizza and the heretic - open letter to hugh; thank you mister mickey blue eyes but please don't give no more cigars to the children or at least consider giving them filtered cigarettes if smoking is the point.
december 11. there are times when even if it feels nothing is going down - or going ahead - there is still or might be a sensation that one is where one is meant to be... that is what i thought watching heretic...which i would have appreciated less before reading robert graves' the white goddess. i don't want to get into religion as the facts can't stand against faith...i do want to wish for a prequel wherein the reed house is decorated and detailed...in any case, this really was like taking a drug and it is possible that i am still high from it. oh wait back to my point about timing, this one is a stretch but allow me to play with the thought...so after my george rant, this picture signals the landlord game which i learn was created to make people aware of georgism... thy letters have transported me beyond this ignorant present and i feel now the future in the instant... please note it is a horror film although the golden globes might tell you later it is a comedy or musical... let me move on, further into now...or then to be precise, i have gone to sleep twice, the first time as i drifted away into what i am terming pre-dream state, i heard a clear bit of conversation where someone was trying to edit a book of mine, it sounded like a suggestion but also like someone pretending to be writing it...pretty upsetting for a writer to ponder if there is a rewrite happening without his consent...who knows? perhaps it was an anxiety from the film...by the way if you stay for the credits you will find the disclaimer that no generative artificial intelligence was used to create this a24 production...i went to work on the cinema list and exceeded my expectations although i have yet to update the synonym site...when i finally got to dreams, i was surprised to see lotta since i usually don't dream of her even if very often in my thoughts and musings...i can't recall the scene exactly yet i remember thinking how beautiful she looked therein as if really seeing her. so bright, so right. i left dreams and felt determined to sort out a meal plan and get the kitchen in order yet i got into this scribble jot note awith coffee and cigarette and suddenly feel like writing a bit more - or at least thinking about putting pen to paper as it were except it is too soon as my horse novel is still being settled and i sense that the white goddess deserves another run through simply to get to missed secrets in the clutter of connections...so many names and myths...wednesday well i have the fuck kill or marry film yet no idea if the kitchen will succeed or what to cook...
12 december. did the kitchen while listening to the haunting of hill house by shirley jackson which i liked more than expected... i found that pretending the cleaning was for someone else made it all easier...as for the film, well you couldn't really call it a film since it was a sort of sitcom where you could tell which places the commercials would go...a strange pilot that puts place a woman in a position to date while a serial killer is hunting dating women...exasperating? well, maybe insane. i felt awful for lucy, it seemed to me she had some success in recent movies and might possibly be sort of upgraded but here she is with motley crew of wanna be leading men which only bring her down to their level...a sort of b-movie straight to video on demand type...i think the popular term now is cringe...i blame the abc seven year run as she ends up with the ags guy a sort of carboard cut out with a beard...yes i know comedy is very difficult to pull off but to not have one good laugh makes it feel as if a hatchet job to sideline ms hale to the ranks of john ritter - southworth - although he did manage to be in bad santa before the end...i'd have to look up what the failed show called life with lucy was about if this were to be an essay...it ain't. still a third film adaptation of THOHH in slapstick style would've made more sense... i mean if you have a split personality comedy/horror then the source material should be something worth it. "Don't do it - Eleanor told the little girl; insist on your cup of stars, once they have trapped you into being like everyone else you will never see your cup of stars again..." see how good that writing is...too good. well, maybe they thought the title was powerful enough, but this was very far from being the tits. my apologies to elisabeth moss for always thinking of her when i think of shirley jackson. now then, the book along with lotta's hello fresh video helped me displace that film, dispose of it as i wondered why there are so few blue cars around... i played my scales and ran through deep elem blues... but got caught up for hours trying to figure out how to judge the death of the last survivor of the kamikaze attack and make it rain in malibu...when i did sleep, i thought i was with lotta yet i am nearly sure it was inka and we were laying upon some road where a stones played we were both singing along but i only heard her voice as i missed some of the words then we walked into a theater, the ancient type i guess you'd call it ampitheater...i awoke then wondering if i had dreamt of williams or stichler...most likely williams who subsequently spoke of the stupidity of people on the roads in baliland...why are the b- shoes so good, bally's - bruno magli - she was featured in an arabian magazine and i am happy for her although the dream sort of baffles me...i have a wish for crocodile shoes now that i have seen them in saks, if only to dance to elton's crocodile rock...lalalalaaaaa... it is not entirely a serious wish, call it a whim... but it is like those overpriced watches, i'd rather spend that type of money on guitars...where was i not strumming in another dream, jennifer is there and i don't think we spoke much except maybe about white boy rick which i liked alot and believe to be a true story if memory serves...it;s noon time or midnight in asia and the lights went out derailing my train of thought which switched to boulder colorado... where that fuck marry kill was set, no wonder the fraternity news said six students had overdosed... disembodied poetics, perhaps it's time to review the burroughs' lucktures from nairopa...craig is getting raves for his performance and i am secretly hoping he will pull the sean connery return stunt somewhere down the line as bond. spies used to be termed ghosts so it might still make sense... meanwhile i am reluctantly going to check out 'emilia perez' not that i listen to hype but so i can see for myself...hey, selena, continued success to you.
13 december. well that was really something out of the ordinary...conversational songs that were not trite for the most part, yeah for the most part there is nothing to complain about here except it did not make sense for a person in hiding, or even simply trying to turn a new leaf, to go into the limelight... but i see how it added tension...so i liked it even if i protest the newsy interviews of the protagonist. cheers or bravo...hmm, i am writing this about an hour after going to sleep...it is still the wee hours but my dream was so weird that it delivered a jolt as it were; there is a gathering of people in the living room and i don't like one of the men there but i go to bed after feeding skirt who was wounded in the scene and i had to lift him up for the plate noticing there a flattened sort of foreleg paw, in my thinking i chalk it up to the kids running around carelessly as it seems there were also children then as if reflecting or foreshadowing itself i get up from bed quickly dressing intent on kicking out the man i dislike, as i dress i can hear mother agreeing to go to the shop and return to cook some sort of meal which she is excited over, i grab the keys and make my way down the hall - on the kitchen counter a record is playing, vinyl, i want to love you night and day it is singing in a doowoop style heavy on the vocals, male vocals, i had been wondering how could i see myself and for a second worried about some recording device in the apartment, i start telling no one in particular that that man cannot be in my house while reaching to shut off the spinning song - i get up shocked that only minutes have transpired...i take out the trash still confused by the crowd in a dream within the place that contains only myself and skirt...the sensation was frightening as i felt it was something urgent yes like blood rushing to the head yet there is atruth contained in it and that is that there are people who i avoid based on some instinct, some perception, some inner wisdom which has served me well. catching my breath as it were, i wonder if robert graves was right that the white goddess will haunt the poet until his muse is properly satisfied... will battle against his distractions and even his wealth to keep the need or desire to exceed his own verses... i listen to another chapter of the haunting of hill house but i am thinking more about lotta than the narrative... a lot more in fact.
14 december. the inclination or inspiration to write is with me yet i pause trying to decide which dream or thought to put place first...first place put the misfits, i had for years wanted to ear it and hear what it would yield, to see it and wear what it would yield...once upon a time, when i wrote the biographical story entitled baptism by desire, i visited a book shop where there was only one tome on clift and where the clerk said why not ask eli wallach...i didn't realize he lived nearby although some time later i saw him while we both walked west end avenue but i was done with the story by then and i'm not one to intrude...but the point is i went into the misfits last night...it's a good time too since back then i would only have thought of clark gable as the gone with the wind character unaware of his past, his genius past - i could say the same for john huston, which would only have registered as prizzi's honor but now especailly after seeing 1960s unforgiven there is a more complete sense of what it means...still it wasn't the men...it was marilyn and it was alot more monroe than say monkey business which is where i saw her last - now all the hoopla makes sense to me and i'm really excited to see the rest of it and to a lesser extent dirty angels... i wonder if this is the one where eva had to go through a lawsuit...i wonder what wild stories john huston told arthur miller on the set of that production...correction i might have recalled that director as an actor in chinatown. sometime before that significant evening for myself, i had a point of confusion as to the brand of jacket lotta wore... in thinking of zara or mango i thought of saramago the scribe of 'blindness' and illustrated the uncertainty in commentized form...i only bring it up because a minute ago the news reports the founder of mango fell off a cliff...for the obvious reason, i thought it weird but also for the fact that i thought mango was by penelope;s sister...night and the middle of the night hours crawled by lazy after a terrbily breezy day...turbo ily shadows while listening to the haunting of hill house...telegraph said cherry hill who would take up to seven years to build toy scale model steam trains had rolled on into what must be an intricate afterlife...theodora is not the easiest name for me to hear... then too the narrator when playing the professor sounds exactly like christopher waltz...listening to the dead play cold rain and snow...i'm going where those chilly winds don't blow... well literally this late morning although still not seeing the sky in dream i had this sensational adventure with lotta as if meeting her at the station, the one in sweden, although she is presently ingermany, yes it didn't feel cold or windy - like a man in a trance enchanted...i awoke amazed and even after the post-rem slumber it remained with me so that i still feel elated...i'm sure you know the feeling wherein nothing else matters much so that for a minute or so life makes sense. i suppose it was the setting since there was only conversation while we made our way around...i've heard it often, location is everything but now i'm a believer. i can't believe west sofia started a gym, well pilates workout place...it's called reform avenue...here's wishing her well...very well then, alexandra seemed to insist on something in my imagination yet i could not decipher it - of course, being me i worry a bit although i know worrying is no help - i now think of ester exposito...yet my instinct was that someone was trying to invade her while pretending to be me as i had not had such a bizarre and forceful series of thoughts...in fact with alexandra it was and hopefully is always extremely pleasant and helpful in the sense that she is the only person to ever make me consider the importance of washing my face...the other day i was shocked at the dirt on the dickinson's witch hazel towel as i scrubbed my mug and thought of her with that oh you were so right in that sense...anyway subsequent to where i was i drifted away from worry which for a second turned bottomless with the previous concern of when her shift shipped her out to deliver a few months ago...yet as i consider it now the contrast of those worries was like night and day...perhaps it was all overthinking yet i certainly felt an undefined pressure as i drifted further away into sleep...i say all this because everyone is important in their right and especially girls need more safety in our illogical meat grinder rat race society...methinks, meanwhile i fully support sonia taking over pinsk and for that matter all of belarus...ah yes, that was the last time i dreamt of the sky. sigh. yes i know too much information but blame the tmi on the swedish dream that is still making me feel magical although i pulled no rabbit out of this convoluted paragraph hat.
15 december. the john huston film from 1960 did not disappoint, in fact i felt it went above and beyond what anyone would have or could expect...my high praise however stems from the inspiration i found in learning about horses...he actually entered a camel race in the middle of directing that movie and came in first place...i think of mia in tracks now which also featured a dog, here it was tom dooley...character from a folk song... well, there was something poetic and poignant as the female lead stood on the plains away from the men calling them murderers as if a ghost of herself foreshadowing her own spirit;s rant upon her death august fourth of the next year...they had wrapped november fourth...i could be a critic against montgomery's performance yet having studied his life and knowing he did suffer a horrific car crash only a few years previous it only made me grimace and in some ways cheer for him even if i didn't feel any emotion other than curiosity from his performance, but i'd expect nerves would have played a part... it was two in the morning euro time and lotta was still editing her video...i went to sleep at three yet awoke at five...i dreamt i was in a bed sideways on the lower side opposite the headboard - there was a girl under the sheets i could not see yet felt like a friend, mother climbed into bed and she tickled her toes until mother covered them then we started holding hands, the girl and myself as mother started to speak about me getting married which led to my wisecrack that tiffany wanted to marry me wherein suddenly i could see tiffany in the city riding a bike, a purse on the handlebars which she was adjusting and this shift in time and space felt entirely natural - i get up to pee in the dream and the girl follows, the house i recognize as aunt's laly old house on castillo 36 - i stand by the kitchen door which i have just opened yet the desire to pee has left me as i look at the view which contradicts location...there was only a guava tree back there yet in the dream housing buildings stood with some windows lit - the locks are interlaced pads and chains and ionly used the bolt leaving the mystery for someone else to figure out - the girl now wants to pee - but other family has arrived, one of them taking the bathroom perhaps for a bath...well shower since there was never a bathtub in that house - i think for a second it's kia jade yet i believe she's taller...we make our way into the front porch where another aunt is dressed in white and red in fact they all were - one of the boys even seemed to be wearing a dress - i say it is like the so-called gypsy roma people and turning away from the sour faced cousin in the dress i start singing here comes the bride heading back inside finding myself between two ladies i do not recognize but one of them is really singing the song in full emotional voice, she reminds me for a second of lotta's mom but i do not know if she can carry a tune actually, in any case i turn to the other lady that i somehow know is a singer and mention how well the other lady is belting it out...i suppose i turn to finally see who i am with but awake in that very moment...moodys downgraded the french credit score and mayotte was battered by a cyclone...although bowie took up most of the space in me that would grieve over the loss of a loved one, as i looked at van morrison and sinead oconner's duet of have i told you lately on the letterman show i could see vm's antics bring out the true sinead and in an instant one understands her contradition which was both shy yet outspoken, nervous yet filled with admiration and desire to bring joy to the world - indeed it was an angel we all lost too soon...so i say to contrast with my thoughts spurred on by the dream as to how much northern land the french side of my family gave up for the sake of not going to paris...or more importantly who were the ones that left it...i miss that house, i miss all the houses that are no longer ours...they were true homes even now in dreams like apartment 3k is and will be...but feeling i went over board writing these notes yesterday i will leave it at that for now.
post-script - well i can't say i entirely understood dirty angels, i mean it starts with eva green being stoned which gave me perhaps too much to think about...from religion to rainy day women...then that bloody shot of her swollen face, this is not the lawsuit film as that was never made, ie the lawsuit she won a few months ago...where was i - ah yes then in uniform - i really liked that - i even started thinking we should all wear military outfits...so an action film and in that sense it was all right...indeed, it kept me watching. my only protest here is the chosen song which leads into the fade out credits...some bland heavy metal which leaves you thinking what song is that...meybe they thought any rock would do to come full circle with the thrown stones at the start...yes i am glossing over the importance of the political side but one peek at the news will tell you how timely it is...i haven't heard of any upcoming eva green projects yet i hope there are some soon. meanwhile i have secured 'maria' yet it all seems so quick; it really feels like a few days there was an article with angelina jolie in oversized glasses that said she was filming... how could it be cut and edited and released so swiftly... i went to sleep again after viewing lotta's vlog and i was very happy to see her so full of joy...my dreams flew by in a flash and i awoke to an even happier lotta which made me update the landing page at inkrealm.info... skirt has, after clawing through the leather kitchen chair, taken to hanging out on the dining table...so will i be eating in bed? he's already used up the chair part of the ottoman set and now rarely takes to it...like a playboy except it's furniture instead of women...this was an unexpectly eventful sunday - well it still is, even in european hours there are three left, while here there are seven or eight left...
16 december. i viewed 'maria' however i don't want to write about it...it tells so many stories all at once while actually reincarnating the voice of callas and vividly revealing the isolation that goes hand in hand with fame, (although some might argue that her hallucinations were due to drugs) that to speak of it even in praise could not serve it. it was early morning in asia when i went to sleep exhausted for no specific reason other than perhaps oversleeping...my thoughts curved between lotta and lauren sophia...i dreamt i was walking home, yet the new york city version, checking the mail where rows of mailboxes were missing as i went into the other side finding some old people with no answer as to why it was like that...glass door sassy woman looked me over as i walked upstairs...key at the door turning as a man approaches intent on talking about some concert it seemed he knew i had gone too as well, not so many russians this time, he smirks and i say nothing and i still remain silent as he insists on entering until i push him out and start to shut the door...marian is inside and somehow this seems normal to me...two of her friends then knock on the door and tell me their names, i repeat the names to her and she says she doesn't want to be with them, i take it that she is tired and relate the message offering to pay for their taxi...marian gives me an 828 number and they give me an address in queens...for a minute the scene settles into only us yet quickly turns to us walking in a part od town that is a cross between the village and central park west...for some reason lotta is now with marian and showing her some kind of way to walk, i suppose it is something models do...they seem to get along better than with me...i am sort of pleased and happy that they are happy as i walk up central park west, then lotta climbs up on me from behind making me go into a run and there i am running yet a few strides in i feel her leg and notice she is not wearing shoes...this starts to wake me and i get up with my touch having got to her thigh... i am thinking of L'amour est un oiseau rebelle and how she mentioned two girls had showed up in dusseldorf and perhaps that was what the dream was about but i am not certain what she meant, that is, it was german and it seemed to imply fangirls or some recognition from what i understood...as i think of it more i suppose she is concerned over the meeting tomorrow promoting hejgreta...i know iwould be as a lot of company's make these events without too much thought about security... i remember being shocked at lara taking a taxi and making her way through the street and crowd to get to one... hmm, or worse lila wearing wings in midtown manhattan struggling through pedestrians along with other models... and those were big name fashion houses that could surely afford something better for their girls...oh wait this has gotten into an overboard groove and in technical terms it is still yesterday here although lunch time in asian cities.
17 december. in a dream i seem to have gone out with only a blanket swirled around my body and for some reason i walk into a bakery shop or is it more correct to call it a pastry shop...i thought about that pierre shop in wagen...it would take me while to see all the pretty places i want to experience in germany...my cousin would often awake like that, with the blanket instead of clothes...a modern day linus without the piano or thumb sucking...i myself have raced to the ringing phone dressed like that but only to not stand naked in the living room...i decided to disregard the constant flow of news although i did take a stand on djerf wondering why women are trying to tear down a woman that carved out a place for herself in an impossible atmosphere... give em hell, matilda...yes this is partly because lotta likes that fashion but also i don't like the trial without due process or jury...that being the case i wont commentize on venom the last dance since i missed the second film of that movie trilogy...where was i...ah yes so i got a lot done even trimmed my toe nails...no news isnt good news yet it leaves a bit more space for self...i did glance at the wisconsin situation twice given that the star of that sitcom was named natalie samantha rupnow, a woman, well, a girl...amazing...i had not heard of female mass murderers...massage place with that name 2053 Detlor Rd, L'Amable, ON K0L 1C0, Canada... dennis thomas rupnow passed away 28 october '23, david ernst rupnow 4 january '22...not a common name but several other obits - not sure if any relate to her...a kid in the second grade telephoned the report to authorities...honda made the nsr500 until 2002...there are at least two agencies with the abbreviation of NSR...i will peek later to see if anything more might be said over this tragic or sad turn of events...such a nice place, madison wis... wish dream resulted in weird dream as mother was here again having let in some people that moved things around and so i argued until things were in place then in the balcony an old man had put an even older woman in a sort of brenda lien call of cuteness cat sock and i put both out into the staircase all the while asking who was who as the man responded...salami people the size of plantains...a lot of it in spanish so i suspect the result of an onlooker...my right foot in a slow painful spasm as if i had actually been racing around putting the place in order...she keeps saying she gets up thinking she is here or that she has dreamt about being here...i had no idea i was such a pleasant host...i do have an idea that printing these notes looks as if it were writing yet it is not...it's not that i am not considering readers, no, it is more like what i do with musical scales...a ritual except here there's nothing to contain a random thought and dreams well, dreams are what they are...hopefully as might be the case in mastering notes, these unedited paragraphs will serve as a base or starting point for other projects... i'm not promising, only saying. that being said, i will try to be more concise down the line.