dreamweaver three

hmm...14 July 2025.
i dedicated June to not much at all -
it felt as if i had wroted a novel
instead of dream notes...i kept
wondering over the puzzle of the
last penned dream herein...it
was too vivid, maybe too much...
i only knew that i had to end
the notes there in order to
start over...it was an estimated
three hundred pages if double spaced -
well, i've put those away and here
goes...monday, daria called her
puppy her soulmate...i felt in
a daze...on the fifth of july,
i happend to see a picture of
two friends, children...i kept
wishing i hadnt seen it, but
even as cut off as i am from
most folks and i suppose even
some of my own emotions, that
scene really got to me...
i was in the middle of writing
some new songs and wrote four
verses...the fourth was left out
when it came to recording -
it took a couple of days to settle
into it...when i finally escaped
noisy distractions, the sudden phone
calls insisting on either hanging up or
pointless trivia, the strange hound
seemingly in search of boy-vagina,
and an insane argument about the beach...
(what else could it be except madness when
i have no inclination or desire to sit in the sun)
oh yes and the bizarre 'no input' mystery
which i suppose is all part of the process, like
pound might say...
indeed, when i finally escaped
nothing mattered but the work at hand...i called
it 'the fifth of july' and put it out for release
with these lyrics;

I KNEW LILA WAS DEAD
- HOPED ELOISE WOULD SURVIVE;
SHE LOVED HER PUPPY DOG,
SHE HADNT EVER BEEN WED.

A HOUSE DANCED
ON A RIVER'S SONG AS IT PLAYED
LONE STAR STATE OF TEXAS
YEAH SOMEHOW STAYED...

I COULDNT TELL HANNAH AND REBECCA APART
- THEY WERE TWINS LIKE
FLOWERS IN A FIELD'S GARDEN
- IT'D BEEN THAT WAY RIGHT FROM THE START

A HOUSE DANCED
UPON A RIVER
(A RIVER'S SONG AS IT PLAYED)
LONE STAR STATE OF TEXAS
WE SOMEHOW STAYED...

LITTLE BLAIR COULDNT UNDERSTAND
- SHE WEPT SHE CRIED;
LITTLE BROOKE COVERED HER
SAYING COME ON GIRL HOLD MY HAND

A HOUSE DANCED
UPON A RIVER'S SONG AS IT PLAYED
LONE STAR STATE OF TEXAS
WE SOMEHOW STAYED...

A HOUSE DANCED
UPON A RIVER
(A RIVER'S SONG AS IT PLAYED)
LONE STAR STATE OF TEXAS
WE SOMEHOW STAYED...

i'd put placed all four verses on vsco from
handwritten notes photographed along with the chords
which remained the same...save for an added note
musical note.
as i glance through recollections, wondering why julia
mecey and joey king enjoy love island, wondering if
charles bukowski actually dropped a man at the race track
as in the italic section of factum or even why sylvia
plath's ghost doesnt haunt the hell out of matt haig...
i remember that night, the fourth of july...
i dreamt something like a bridge or a dam where the water
was red, crimson, but in that nearly dried blood brown color
and i couldn't see where i was but i saw a man holding a shotgun
and he did not move or speak, the motionless image against the
waves were etched in my mind the following day...i thought it
was about a guitar that had been slow to arrive and that
possibly it had suffered in transit yet by the time i went to
sleep again it felt revealed...well, decyphered...neither spirit
nor worry could save these lives from the devastation waltz
winding its way in what they call flash flood alley...
i was certain it was william s burroughs, a man who knew
about loss in an intimate way...aside from the wife, his only
son had perished and even in the afterlife i suppose some
emotions keep, all you can do is stand there and bear witness
i learned also that gabrielle's mother and my own share
a birthdate as it were...
i don't want to write anymore about these things as in
typing i might not reflect how much i felt and much less
how it all still hurts and will continue to hurt so many...
so i re-order that guitar and continue to wait...
i have a few dreams to jot, but those will be done
at some other point in time when i can turn my minimalist
writing into an even more concise style so as to not end
up with a book-length manuscript that might only serve
self-references...


16 july 2025

i consider yesterday notable even if i don't
fully examine it here...
learning another side of the camp story...
what was her name, hayden...well she spoke
kinda like how i speak...
the second axe was shipped on the 11th
and arrived on the 15th
it felt as if my writing had manifested it...
reminds me of the telecaster except it
has a decided rock and roll tone
(no single coil pick ups)
i decorated it while listening to mustang sally
for a minute, everything else took a back seat
meaning it was thrilling...
i'm thinking now of a dream i had in may
i'd been with lotta in my old apartment
she kissed me and it was magical
we lay there talking about what the next meal
should be when a man with gun started shooting
at me and i ran into another room
there is a bookend dream to this scene which
i will jot later...
she's watching the summer i turned pretty
which i looked at but found revolting
i'm wearing a snake ring on my middle finger
instead of my stainless steel spoon since
some sort of rust invaded it...
anyway i awoke with a racing heart and
the realization of how much she means to me
hmm...when i said not much in june i meant movies too
although i did watch most of the secret life
of the american teenager
well, this was more than i intended to note...
let's leave it at that - for now -
here are two outtakes of the song i mentioned
i had the intent to adjust my release for one of
these but i couldn't figure out how to do that
and i am aware that this sort of takes the
expectation away from the single but i want
to share these as a way of saying it is
not about streams or whatever, it is what it is.




the fifth, second alternate- two skinny girls...

the fifth, alternate- two skinny girls...


17july2025

correction, the mustang only sounded like that through the boss amp...at the fender, it was much nicer...yes i was fender-reluctant, but since i don't much use pedals, the champ amp was only logical...as for the guitar, i kept hearing a line from blind willie mctell when i would go window shopping for axes until finally i didn't want to be haunted by it... it is a step up from the ancient mustang i had which hardly ever stayed in tune but it is not for big hands, even mine feel it to be a task going up the fret as if i had to abbreviate my fingers which is the exact opposite of the jackson wherein my hands sense and appropiate the space... at least i feel a sort of bulgari vibe with my new ring...still, all this goes against my attempt at brevity and i have yet to jot the dream note...hmm, notes.. connie francis died and her song had recently become a hit again...even a parody emerged, "you can touch my pussy..." which might have been the cause of her demise...but many several poets also passed away and i had the evil urge to make a list of all the writers that had perished after 'the tortured poets depart-ment' hmm...but what really worries me is the grammar when gender is made illogical- andrea is called 'they' instead of she - here is quote/example: "Their father, Mark, worked for a post office and their mother, Shirley, was a secretary at a technical college. They have one sister, Laura." this plural form makes language more of a virus than it needs to be, indeed and why? where was i...ah yeah, i find lately that i go to sleep only to awake an hour or so later simply to wander around in confusion...that was the case last night, but first the bookend thing; i had walked into a shop with julia and told her to get something to drink, there were only cans of coors in the fridge... we walked out and there and then several men harassed us, one of them with a stick that knocked the hat off my head...it had been a goodly time until then...weeks later i learned that she had lost her red baseball cap - cut to yesterady, i'm in the bath and the bath is overflowing, i am trying without luck to shut off the water as somehow there are more knobs than i care to count, i say the words julia help but as i do i find the right knob then we are on a bed where a cat climbs up, i remark that it is not skirt and i think of hedwig who it resembles but as a kitten - the cat speaks and i wonder if we have all gone crazy...i awake and can't get back to sleep until half a pack of cigarettes and coffee argue with melatonin...i kept seeing romy mars although i only 'met' her at some far away chanel thing... i like her especially since she positively proves my point that sofia was and is pretty...the only thing is it makes mayhem of my fantasy life... love her ego song - so catchy... she had a bad scene at some hotel, in my dream which i thought was about michael madsen, another poet, i was in the elevator trying to get to the twenty ninth floor - there was no 29 button, someone pressed all the buttons and i got out on seventeen determined to navigate the stairs - 1920s elegance surrounded me, someone with a glass case of coins, collectables, and aritfacts was set up like a cigarette girl might be and i stopped for a glance there and then noticing a man seemingly having a heart attack nearby, i kept walking after thinking about it all for a minute - as i contemplate it now it was like the waldorf astoria...a minute ago having a grand re-birth...i'd been there once upon a late night frenzy...but i don't remember any stairs...not even much walking as yellow cabs did the work...miss morin was at the chelsea hotel, i took a peek at how upscale 23rd street is now...i think it's where i bought that other mustang...i think it's still there unlike music row on 48th...anyway, yes poets are supposed to die like everyone else while a few songs and verses live on but is it time to advocate for protection of the scribes... well, i dunno, but if someone whats to protect me - please do but get Daria safe before that...


3 aug

not sure what to call this...an update? an explanation...well whatever it is, the thing is that last month i decided to make these notes wait until the song was released, which i expected to be a matter of days or a week... there are several many dreams on the backlog... but maybe this will help me make it all more concise...still, i don't want anyone thinking that i have been putting the dreamweaver page on the backburner...on the offchance that new visitors arrive or that i have upset followers, i am put-placing the earlier notes back in some sort of extra html box...meanwhile, i still expect the track to be released any minute now...i am reading charlotte bronte's villete, i had more of a party than i expected with charles bukowski's hollywood...nearly as lavish as pulp, now i am in the middle of a cheesy slasher ride called graduation day - this after viewing red sun and wondering who would find the sword left hanging there on the train wires...i think i have entered into the veritas guitar giveaway and i will be beside myself if i happen to win - hmm i was thinking about love letters from a portuguese nun as i wondered why it had such an impact on me...i couldn't figure it out, as i looked at it again everyone seemed to differ from my recollection but i saw why or partly why kia attracted me...there is a similarity between her and susan hemingway...it was then that robyn disappeared and i viewed ballerina which i felt was too much into developing the backstory and training only to be clumsy but it came through in the end with some help from keanu and a flamethrower...being maria was extremely hard to get through, as i think highly of LTIP yet this never gives you a way to care for ms schneider - the element of spoiled brat never leaves...despite the stories, she and brando remained friends although it is true that the same cannot be said for bertolucci - you see there is no way to win, obviously i can't dismiss a woman's suffering but i cannot badmouth bertolucci as the only director that ever mailed me directly as if i were on his level...well, some situations have no distinct resolution...let's see i also took a look at meghan 2.0 but the wonder of the first has worn off in this sequel - didn't they see the fabulous potential of the opening story with an ai model gone beserk... dude, that was the movie and then end it with the promise of meghan being re-built for a third film...well, it didnt leave a bad taste yet mostly that's the way i saw it...like they threw everything at the audience hoping something would stick...finally, cold sweat was all right but here too they purposely posed the little girl to give men upskirt panty shots...no reason at all unless there is something about bastille day they haven't told me... yeah, dream notes will return when the song is out.

9 august 2025 the fifth of july was released on the eighth of august, i was immersed in establishing a balance in terms of of music software that is to say uninstalling this and installing that...mostly this involved native instruments...it felt as if had been suddenly rewarded for my efforts which was an all nighter that went past noon given that the second laptop requested an update that was slow and resulted in me foolishly deleting the onedrive documents folder which turned out to be the actual and only document container...it wasnt in the live trash to restore and it seems to have took the restore points too...so there was the matter to checklist the missing things and get as many back as possible except i don't know what was there exactly or why it took up so much space since i only use that for music - reminds me to double check if anything else needs to be put placed therein again...in any case, i felt good and sensed it as a turning point although part of me wished to go back to typewriters and tape recorders...in my dream there was some sort of discussion, could some beds be countries...the other afternoon i awoke to a vision of a chinese letter or note which dissolved into dots as if translated morse code...i say it is a vision since it was there at the moment i awoke and vanished while i got up - daria returned from sicily and wore a revealing red dress, i was pretty surprised when she said she was switching schools as she counted her shoes...i freaked out over julia presenting her neighbor as a best friend while worried that it would in turn give my own next door upstairs or downstairs an entrance... ironically i have never felt so attracted to the other julia... well lets get irony out of the way - lotta said she broke up with someone that she had gone to mallorca and taken home... i hesitate to spell out my suspicion that is was her manager, but it is only logical to consider being that she specificied him as a companion during her first trip to france...i sensed it then but there may be more to the story than meets the eye and it is nobody's business, i only mention it in passing to show myself how foolish i can still be...but what will i do with these feelings and these memorized imprints within the mind's eye...germany suspends military aid to israel...alaska takes center stage...i realize that having a lot of guitars also brings the dilemma of which one to play...agency heads perish, stella then william, for a minute, as i glanced at writings and songs i thought to myself i've overdone it, i've taken on too much...yet it is an age of excess, is it not? i'm nearing chapter twenty of villette and i like it thus far - i started to view harvest yet i realized that i was too distracted and tired and hopefully can give it the attention it deserves today...i'm happy to return here for these erratic notes and i have a hell of ghost story for you next time...

18/08

i do not feel myself to be a stranger to ghosts...at least not in dreams...i have felt their visits like angels on parole from heaven's jail...here you go, take a few minutes for the living...ever since i started writing i thought of the words are we dead that live to tell, i thought also of fame is the sun that shines on the dead, well i thought of many things but these in relation to that...in any case, it's nothing i can prove, what proof is there within the unconsciousness...only the shadows within memory...in the case of my uncle, i would amend the statement to be from hell's confines or perhpas via purgatory's expiation, do a good deed and we'll let you go home, as it were... i don't think the church kept that middle ground it's weird that it comes to mind on the heels of the hand of dante, who ofcourse included it in his divine comedy - where was i well i was stopped thrice at returning here, first the subject matter - in this occasion it wasnt a member of the family, it was someone i employed...i saw him for the last time on the street, circa 108 or 109 broadway, he remarked about my countenance as if surprised, i didn't know what to say and said it was plastic surgery - in fact thinking of Elvis who i had heard say to get it early so it wouldnt have to be so drastic et cetera... listening to undescribably blue a dozen times yesterday after the anniversary of his death...he'd gotten a bit crude in a car as the documentary rolled, i think now, so somehow this all fits together as in the dream it was a car, the centerpiece was a car - unlike my dream last night of leah telling me we were friends and then awaking to think it was bentley whi i had suggested be considered to play sinead although she is neither an actor or singer yet you can't look at her and not see the resemblance once it's pointed out...in that dream i think he pointed at the car, i was with a girl, not sure who - he was with another, i put my girl in the back seat and got in the front seat - then he got into the driver's seat with his girl sort of upon him but they kept shifting and sexually so until he ejaculated on her face yet all the while looking at me in the end with some sort of cruel satisfaction i could not understand as i awoke...a precise memory of something he had told me led me to believe that it was a ghost, no imagination or product of mind, miller and aspirin, this was his recipe to last longer during intercourse...you load up on miller high life beer and get a couple of aspirin...subsequently i wondered if ghosts actually had sex in the afterlife, they never really frighten me and this was no different in that sense but it sure was intense and i sort of wish i knew what it meant... i thought about it briefly again while watching the very strange the night always comes...mazda madness...eddington shows us the madness created at the start of the pandemic - i recalled my argument that there was no logic to it, like prohibiting driving so there'd be no accidents... because even walking one might stumble and fall... ah yes, i was shocked to see walk hard the dewey cox story...but i will refrain from commentizing upon it - as i will remain silent on harvest, which is in a class of its own. now then, or secondly, i was stopped by the awful feeling of the delay fact...my spirits, high in expectation of a haul that should have been arriving, were brought down low as the package was sent out a week later than i thought...so all that won't be here until next week...look at my very own first world problem! and finally well thirdly, i was stopped by the insight in a passage within villete, i imagine very few people will comprehend but it contains a severe truth and that along with the fact that the novel might have peaked in the middle gave me pause; yes i know it is a long passage, but i must put-place it here so as to have it available... from chapter 24; "Those who live in retirement, whose lives have fallen amid the seclusion of schools or of other walled-in and guarded dwellings, are liable to be suddenly and for a long while dropped out of the memory of their friends, the denizens of a freer world. Unaccountably, perhaps, and close upon some space of unusually frequent intercourse⁠—some congeries of rather exciting little circumstances, whose natural sequel would rather seem to be the quickening than the suspension of communication⁠—there falls a stilly pause, a wordless silence, a long blank of oblivion. Unbroken always is this blank; alike entire and unexplained. The letter, the message once frequent, are cut off; the visit, formerly periodical, ceases to occur; the book, paper, or other token that indicated remembrance, comes no more. Always there are excellent reasons for these lapses, if the hermit but knew them. Though he is stagnant in his cell, his connections without are whirling in the very vortex of life. That void interval which passes for him so slowly that the very clocks seem at a stand, and the wingless hours plod by in the likeness of tired tramps prone to rest at milestones⁠—that same interval, perhaps, teems with events, and pants with hurry for his friends. The hermit⁠—if he be a sensible hermit⁠—will swallow his own thoughts, and lock up his own emotions during these weeks of inward winter. He will know that Destiny designed him to imitate, on occasion, the dormouse, and he will be conformable: make a tidy ball of himself, creep into a hole of life’s wall, and submit decently to the drift which blows in and soon blocks him up, preserving him in ice for the season. Let him say, “It is quite right: it ought to be so, since so it is.” And, perhaps, one day his snow-sepulchre will open, spring’s softness will return, the sun and south-wind will reach him; the budding of hedges, and carolling of birds, and singing of liberated streams, will call him to kindly resurrection. Perhaps this may be the case, perhaps not: the frost may get into his heart and never thaw more; when spring comes, a crow or a pie may pick out of the wall only his dormouse-bones. Well, even in that case, all will be right: it is to be supposed he knew from the first he was mortal, and must one day go the way of all flesh, “As well soon as syne.” Following that eventful evening at the theatre, came for me seven weeks as bare as seven sheets of blank paper: no word was written on one of them; not a visit, not a token. About the middle of that time I entertained fancies that something had happened to my friends at La Terrasse. The mid-blank is always a beclouded point for the solitary: his nerves ache with the strain of long expectancy; the doubts hitherto repelled gather now to a mass and⁠—strong in accumulation⁠—roll back upon him with a force which savours of vindictiveness. Night, too, becomes an unkindly time, and sleep and his nature cannot agree: strange starts and struggles harass his couch; the sinister band of bad dreams, with horror of calamity, and sick dread of entire desertion at their head, join the league against him. Poor wretch! He does his best to bear up, but he is a poor, pallid, wasting wretch, despite that best."

19/8/2025

well, yes these are the lyrics to nobody knows you when you're down and out - which is possibly a point charlotte missed...but there were no blues back then... still, to think she could - by turning her character into a man with poetic intersections describing a solitary existence - conjure those emotions by put-placing seven weeks as the timeline...herself, always surrounded by others and eventually even married, was not intimate with loneliness in the sense of lacking company...still, like the words in i'm just a gigolo, there's something to it, you might agree...i certainly do, having spent much more time than seven weeks without companionship...my point is then what would she pen if she imagined it to be seven months, or years... in my dream helena is in an involved conversation...i'm hearing her yet i am not sure if i am there with her or not...the only way i can describe it is to say i had no peripheral vision, my eyes were locked in looking ahead into nothing specific or a specific nothingness...an abstraction - she was speaking of legacy as if a time travel spy, for a minute i thought it was to let me know what would become of my writing but i was either too horny or more likely sure that it would be just like it should and didn't want a fortune teller as it were...i should interrupt myself and interject briefly on how once in a while women will contact me -usually to join a dating site, or more frequently with a provocative photo and a note stating how they need or want this or that in random succession, spam as it were that i barely glance of or take notice, less frequently it is an actual letter with convoluted details form european women intent on what they call a serious relationship, then there are a few requests to chat...since these are few i do answer as i sometimes politely turn down the others...early in the month a woman named mary started to message. it was, to my surprise, nearly normal with none of the usual weirdness that i have pointed to here - of course this was balanced by her wanting me to invest in future trading...still it all felt friendly and maybe well intentioned until i noticed her reluctance to be 'seen' in terms of me posting her picture...and when her voice didnt match her features, she claimed she had lived overseas when young and so on and so forth - well i suppose i will never know as she then disappeared for a while only to return for a final confrontation in which she turned logic on its very head by deleting the thread and calling me an extreme pervert! a good title for something i suppose, now i don't know what she meant but i am positive she was hiding something...i was talking about hair styles and shaved heads...still it brought the lonesome side of things into focus...so i'm saying to myself, am i even able to have a conversation with someone else...can i even afford a friend...but worse, and i don't like to admit it, is it now so settled in me, this luxury this freedom of being by myself that i cannot in a sense share in terms of companionship. i seem to be able to do so with my cat and my guitars yet i don't know. my one concern is that by divulging or declassifying such notions, is that it will sound as if a protest. it ain't, it's merely a fact with a bit of an opinion that is maybe grounding its roots or being pulled from its place to be replanted on more solid land.

twenty august


on of the last times i turned on my television was to gawk at would be the next to last mission impossible film - gee that was an awful good time...so i had some expectations with the conclusion of this series...after setting up the sony, i settled in to it...however i found i had no way of pausing due to the cable remote being for functions unralted to the usb drive and the natural remote itself unresponsive to new batteries and slaps...already it was a mission in itself as i then downloaded andraid apps that all failed since lacking the ir blaster as they call it...giving up an turning to one of the laptops, i found a much clearer picture, at least...but i was a bit distracted given the aforementioned runaround - and then the underwater scenes battled with james bond scenes in memory as did the high flying sequences near the end find themselves contrasted with hell's angels - i mean i knew i was looking at very rare and special cinema history but films for me an experience that require a preset disposition, that is to say simply the agreement within one;s self to go watch a movie...in fact my idea was the opposite as i wanted to finish up villette, yet sensing opportunity well...let us say i did not like it as much as the other one yet there is no doubt that it is awe inspiring. it also bitter sweet, as nothing in production will wield such raw power for an incredible cross section of people...in any casem does one buy a new remote or overhaul the equipment entirely... in my dream, i am sitting with some girls, it is a restaurant, a rare dream for me...but i am sitting there like a thief planning on how to carry all the things i plan to steal... i got up at midnight, feeling weird over it and not even sure where it was or who they were...in the mary timeline, i will have you know, there was another catfish, i say this now certain of who the actual woman in the photo is... someone named rose, who must be insane or intent on making me feel as if crazed...no need to extend the story as it might serve itself better in terms of fiction...no way it could be poetry...i went to sleep for a few more hours hoping i would catch my new contact in hong kong before nightfall...you know, the twelve hour time zone difference - speaking of hours, i'm only a few away from concluding villette, at dawn i cooked rice and made the chicken peppery with onion, lime, and olive oil. the meal brought a drowsy sensation i fought off not wanting to spoil the gains i made in terms of my desired schedule. i hesitated through coffee and cigarettes yet jotted these words hoping to get even more done in the sense of recording or mixing music for production.

21 august 2025


THE SUMMER WITHOUT POETRY

nothing beats a jet two holiday echo until the eagle has landed revved up crowds with sydney jeans when her sammy davis movie wrapped we can look back at the irony later antlers and moose meat alaska summit sees leaders greet night witch spirit polina gelman i filter it through awake on my airplane nightmare six thousand words added to dictionary database is darfur a rumor? how many roads can a man walk down talk up war jamat mali balochistan pakistan itself a rhyme civil war so-mali a-gain ukraine gaza gang war in haiti boko haram lebanese eternity itself attacked by houthi, houdini-like magic boats sink... the heat it even stinks of smoke from wildfires, the heatwave hits my ass as i sit - a donkey packed with a bomb booms colombia, nigeria worse did we mention myanmar, yemeni, yeah man it's too many it's too much kamchatka nasa looks to see if we can go to mars rightaway new peoples liberation army wouldn't be what you expect philippines las navas no relation to las vegas much less la vega...mai mai republic of congo hey hey rock and roll is here to stay...no i don't know all these chords and i don't think i wish or want to...would you? someone started sex video pizza sales and i study the matter lamenting the once upon time innocent and nearly universal word, brooke's husband sells pizza, hell, she even got a slice tattoo on her arm...simultaneously i finally understand the term catfishing - i know i should prolly not speak into the unknown yet something within requires interaction - except in my dream i am packing up, not from the plantation but aunt's gone old house, i clearly see my plaid pierre cardin cotton robe and grab it heading down the stairs only to find two chained dogs fiercely barking on the right side and then a solitary puppy perhaps like winnie hey leah didnt say if it was marymount my old school except with one eye closed or missing itself in a fright myself estimating the space to slip through this canine puzzle, but i awake before i can make sense of it all - it's marie anne's day, a lot of this happened last month yet a lot of it is still going on...i told julia that i loved her for saying she would rather suck the toes of a man that hadn't washed his feet in ahundred days than watch some summer i turned pretty scene...conrad murray was the michael jackson doctor, i come across the five's abc...there was nothing like it until hanson's mmmbop, i'm at all the bebop scales on my shirley flying v - still an inertia zen settles in as if we were all meant to doom scroll for free, well maybe it is freedom, liberty herself went to denmark after returning from saint tropez from denmark itself via england... i feel i have known amaryllis without meeting her and in amarillo burl 'bj' jackson chester died possibly from team conrad syndrome - i've been riffing on get behind the mule and killed it yesterday...white stratocaster that gave me hell, go ahead brag, go ahead rave... now i don't think ozzy osbourne is going to be nominated or made a saint, despite what lucy snow thinks about the catholic church, i tell mother protestantism is in the blood, but i didn't say anything about him and sort of want to sort it out here and now as a conclusion to prose-poem shock news shavings, there was a minute wherein nothing else was on, a final concert that really was saintly and an army of guitarists picking on momma i'm coming home, someone postulated that it was a zeitgeist! myself, i was puzzled. i thought of the scene wherein he pissed by the pool and dropped down to lick the tiles, this ain't saying i didn't like the man - i did, i only felt that the hype was indeed somehow out of tune...too much or not enough? i can't say, it's the emotion i suppose that one might encounter if most of us looked the other way while the war pigs went about their business, by the way, it's a protest song in the folk sense...now you might ask what i think it should have been like or expected...i reckon something more underground, something in keeping with his persona or style...who the fuck is justin bieber, the wynn hotel is asking...yeah, something that didnt parade in a procession so heavy that it hardly left a trace...or did everyone hail satan as if not knowing shit about fuck... have i got too vulgar, good he would have enjoyed that, a twenty something couple having condomed sex decide to go for a get pregnant try and proceed to turn the rubber inside out after ejaculation as the romp continues or perhaps it was Jesus gone insane from prayers to john michael osbourne, rest in metal. meanwhile we have not found cile steward, her mother, with the strength of God, voiced her sorrow in a solemn attempt to make the world safer for other children in the future... i dedicate whatever this might be to cece, i demand that senate bill one be put into action... i decline the silence for now and so have here said... (for a second there i wish i had been the candy man instead, separating the sorrow and collecting all the cream, of course that entertainer was a card carrying member of the church of satan, not the deranged seeing eye bitch hound in everything is illuminated)

23 august 2025
i came to the end of villette and therein knew i was right, the quoted passage was the peak, in a sense, it foreshadows the possibly solitary life to come after the sails encountered a storm... i awoke very early - too early - i knew i had not rested although surely i had slept a few hours...only a few, i always think of soraya on this date...i raced through some likes on her instagram as if to say hey - i didn;t really enjoy f-1 the movie...i even thought, no wonder apple tv is raising its price, the soundtrack alone must have cost a fortune...and yet it fades out with a mediocre ed sheerhan tune...let me not argue about it - obviously some people like his thing... my point is the shifting perspective used to film the laps did not make sense to me...i also did not like ferrari, but for contrast you can feel the quality is higher especially in the stranger killing crash scene...anyway, we are behind the car, then in front of the car, but also sometimes on the side of it...dizzying and if like me you are not a fan of the sport - well...it makes it a struggle... i regret to report, as i searched for what to read next, leaning into the tenant of wildfell hall, so as to have experienced all three of the bronte sister's writing albeit i believe wuthering heights to be the bee's knees, i thought of london rules, which i excitedly read in vigil for the arrival of a new season of slow horses...i thought if charlotte were writing today this would be her type of romp, hmm perhaps without the political commentary, herron goes out of his way to have a giggle at trump's expense, but there is hardly a mention of leaders in villette, well napoleon as a point of reference or description... in any case i have decided what to read next, although i am most likely going to view einee meniee...in my dream i was in the lobby of where i used to live once upon a time, about to check the mail, i looked at the key, it now had to be slid in sideways, as opposed to straight in...as if to reflect my thoughts before going to sleep - people i don't especially like showed up - i awoke weirded out - who knows why this happens and who knows why my thoughts turn to women once in recent while as if camping i am certain want nothing to do with me...like is it a message, or is it merely a mess? i scrambled eggs and then started the day again near noon...it's an unusal day as did dishes and even cooked again, yet i am waiting a while before settling into the meal. oh yeah and the movie...

24/8/2025
so the movie, not terribly good, had, i felt, car sequences that somehow surpassed the F-1 scenes... still, i can only imagine they made that thinking it would be some sort of shocking treat but the sad part is none of it stands the test of time, (someone asked chatgpt to count to a million) and i am writing this mere hours after watching it! sure i remember and can recall it, but not in the sweet way that happens when cinema rises to its potential without gimmicks...(the ai refused, several times) i want to express my admiration for brad pitt so my previous thoughts are not taken as a stance against him...this was jack conrad, after all, not to mention being the producer of mickey 17, anyway let's hang our hopes on cliff booth...both my dreams were weird, i finally sort of met another gemma, well a third if we are counting ward, and she, not the heir or the model, were in my dream yet in some vague fashion i cannot pinpoint - it crawled through the day, i remember standing in the shower thinking, i am in arizona and nevada and london somehow...helena called her chickens baby dinosaurs...i was dealing with some other woman in my dream, she was handing me paperwork that needed to be filled out but then some disgruntled man switched places with her and i stood at the counter trying to ask about the last two forms...there were paragraph length questions, i wanted to know where i was supposed to write the answers...i suppose this was an improvement on the baffling situation with savannah...i liked her, i think she didnt like me yet overwhelmed thought's vision as if it had all been reversed within me - which might help to explain part of yesterday;s note...it was getting hot as i awoke today, there in the sauna type humid chamber which i cannot fathom since i long ago covered the windows against the sun...so middle night get up feeling a severe twist at left calf like a sprain or swimming cramp...i sit up and it;s gone, i lay back down but no longer feel like staying in bed possibly sensing the mysteriously burning miasma...it's sunday, there was a song being wroted in my head or at least the repeated refrain of it insisting...years ago i wroted 'we are your limousine salesmen' it reminds me of that of course someone removed those pages from songbook as if now reflected in waking minutes - emily ann roberts, i find, had to get her martin and video letter the tune she was thinking of...flight to wisconsin...madison's a nice place, not as nice as madison avenue yet that is to be expected, no surprise, sunrise yet a few hours away as i speak to someone in hong kong, maybe victoria; name of land, ceded to England by China in 1842, from the Chinese hiang kiang, meaning good water; after the english queen. even in such a faraway, at such distances, i encounter the sensation of posers intent on masking themselves for the sabotage, making the entity in mission impossible more likely than i would care to admit - is it others i do not trust or myself...there is no answer, in the proximity a headlighted car stands still at the corner as if deciding which way to turn at these crossroads - i catch a glimpse as i look out the window to question the delay in my request for breeze - the weather is getting cooler but it will never be winter here. Lucy, in the novel, is the only Snow i will encounter for now.

26 august

couldn't find a way to record correctly with video, until i did, but my project idea is going to take longer as now doing it twice means double the work in terms of editing...oh yeah, i am simply trying to get a few versions together for something... it's tuesday at two in the morning - on monday i dreamt i was with julia - she was also in a magazine, the magazine was rolled with a viriddescent tint as if stained by grass on dream lawn...i can't say why there is such ease with some people in these scenes, like her...still i was looking at the magazine more so than at her...when i awoke i found liberty had visited a magazine shop...i didnt see liroe - i used the mustang and the kramer all in the same reel - one take has a good enough sound and the other has a nice enough angle, putting these together is a task that worries me, so i have been putting it off - i went to sleep early and awoke too soon for my taste - i had been dreaming of emilee, maybe because i kept the portrait up on my wall and it is partly visible in the video, or maybe for no specific reason at all - it was not our life, at least not one that either of us imagined; we were living on a farm, in a farm house, and she asked me to get her something yet as i went out i realized that i had left my keys, it seems that in the dream knocking on the door was not an option - i had what she wanted and was surrounded by birds - i think now of how most birds are natural cannibals - in any case the bizarre part was how the idea of living with her felt memorized, ritualized, as if a fact in memory although recently i have only thought of her at the sight of willow hand, i wake up with the heat strangling me, jump in the shower thinking of romy mars, she had lightly pranked her roommate in a lockout situation, as for the rest of the situation; i survived the struggle to watch electrick children - maybe i was rewatching it, can;t exactly count all the movies i;ve seen...so i either liked it better this time or i enjoyed it for the first time...hanging on the telephone is as catchy as ego...still haven't selected what book to look into next...on a whim, i viewed the assignment, which i know for certain i did see long ago but had no detailed memory of - it's not an easy one to look at and perhaps more so now in the middle of mourning donald southerland - i had lost track of aidan circa practical magic or more likely songcatcher - good to see he has been constantly at work with five projects upcoming and one series... making my production concerns feel trivial...hate to see lars von trier's name kicked around the obituary circuit, it was per holst and i suppose to attract more readers the press made the connection...my point is the man has enough trouble without having to now navigate against the casual curse of words in print which might have made some people think it was his headline instead of the producer. "The old cathedrals often have sublime artworks hidden away in the darkest corners for only God to see. The same goes for murder..."

28/8
not much in terms of dreams...i chalk it up to overthinking...that film led me on to want to fiddle through a spy thriller...i selected the fourth protocol, in an audio book i think is an abridged version - i also think there is a film adaptation...in any case, it is pretty good...got halfway into it and didn't want to to stop...i cannot say the same for mobland - which i lined up to view then weighed the things to do...hopefully i can see that down the line...i did take a moment to view the deceiver which holds up shockingly well - i don't mind nudity in cinema but i love it when it could have obviously been used yet isn't...like it implies a certain respect for the actors, specifically the actress - (the lead plays a prostitute, you see_ well, as for my own video project, i have now neared the finish line...if all goes well i can count it as a completion by tomorrow... it took more work than i expected but i suppose that is the nature of it... i am going ahead with the ending although there was something in the box still in transit that i wanted to employ therein...the last i heard it should arrive this weekend and be delivered some days after that...september. the thought saddens me yet it is not such a serious sorrow - i mean the haul will positively improve my spirits. she rides shotgun thrilled me with its well paced and mysterious start then further as it took its twists and turns...indeed, one i might not hesitate to watch again... lovely surprise. ps, writer tries to order chinese food, they respond, we are out of fried rice, baffled - he settles for a sandwich...the next day he tries again...we took beef fried rice off the menu but you can order the mixed fried rice with only beef...i ordered it...still baffled and maybe even more now in writing it as the frivolity prevails over logic and i think it doesn't even make a good story! my apologies for put-placing such a jigsaw puzzle in your hands, hopefully i will make it up to you with some other tidbit which requires no guessing in the coming month.

two september

having finished my attempts at recording nine versions of get behind the mule, live and on video, with even a couple of takes i like very much, i turned down two german films which were - well - they were feeling out of place - and went straight into mobland...i actually could not stop watching it, i kept thinking this should have been two movies, maybe three - so i watched it all except for the last half hour to have the pleasure of waking up to it as a sort of conclusion. so happy, i went down that road. in my dreams i saw pigeons on a city street - my thoughts convoluted and quick - i had started reading the tenant of wildfell hall and maybe i was trying to hard to process the information - i don't think i've dreamt of rock doves previously - i also don't think i have posted a series without any notes...there was some sort of glitch and i had to re-post it and so continued posting all nine without notes - i suppose it's obvious but i had promised willow hand (who is featured in the eighth version - actually the first one i taped which served like a catalyst - cause i was tickled by her picture with a donkey - near enough to a mule, i thought... when a donkey gets it on with a mare; mules are produced...or so i am told) a credit in the form of mentioning it was her...well, at least i am making it clear here and might edit maybe or commentize it... in my back to bed dream this morning i found my cat was golden on one side and there was another cat seemingly excited, feline erection dream on keanu reeves' birthday...i had been thinking of helena who said her cat is willy and made an amazing road car video which made me think of amanda seyfried...you'll know the refernce if you've seen twin peaks the return...for some reason i was very excited to hear that chloe grace moretz had tied the proverbial knot...there was a pale blue dress and i loved seeing her joy in it... however my yesterday still went weird as i didn't get to new recordings, not even to guitar ritual...it was like i was overwhelmed by my own thoughts in the whirlwind puzzle of procrastination or more likely too much talk.

later that evening


i suppose it is what i would call the variation sessions...i was at ease with the song since doing it daily as an improvisation...of course once one hits the record button, with the knowledge that it all has to be done in one take...well, let us say most of them were not first takes, all the first takes served to figure out the style (except for an unfilmed one wherein i wasn't thinking about it in those terms - only to get a feel or confirm that i was hearing myself right...)all i knew was that there should be some difference between each...the heat and humidity didn't help and i admit to some surprise at the end of each completion - i am inclined to say i like the fifth version a bit more than the others...for now...before that, as i tried to recapture the planned progression in open F tuning on the martin acoustic, the high e string snapped - i mention this because later with ibanez electric (in open G) the situation repeated itself... i realized later that these two had become connected in ways i didn't imagine, they were used to being the only ones i used...and suddenly surrounded by the new models it seems they collaborated to mirror each other's protest...it led me to rearrange how i kept them and put placed them together hoping that it would help in the future...still, it underlines the struggle of having several guitars as any of the axes might at one time or another feel neglected... it's nothing i expected...like the new naked gun... what a riot! it was beyond silly right down to the creadts, you don't need glasses! well, i do need guesses about the two dreams i had, again in 3k, therein at the living room - both times with an ex girlfriend and her sister - once her memory flooded my thoughts but not the other...the way to describe it would be sensible...we spoke calmly, lovingly maybe, and in hushed tones - i can't say more because the content of the conversations drifted away leaving only the hint of itself. my only concern was that i sensed no emotional shift within myself over them as if they were interchangeable - i hope they are all right and wish them well - after calculating and contrasting the price of pizza and cake, i opted for cake and said thing arrived an hour or so ago...i had some and shaved. anyway, the songs were all recorded live during the period of 26 august until 29 august with the exception of the one not filmed from 20 august but also done live in a single take - which felt no stage fright worry over a possible audience... the sun was in virgo and once in a while i felt bathed in that light.

4.9.2025
the expected haul seems to have been re-delayed...they said it would arrive friday, tomorrow, but that implies another week's wait since those things need to be sorted, put on trucks, and so on and so forth... i was partly alarmed by the witch's torment as it held an interesting concept yet insisted on playing out as if it couldn't have been done in an hour or less - for me, that meant skipping through it to its uneventful ending...there was indeed more drama in the windows update...i'd seen the reports and noticed all the wild discounts which in retrospect feel as if a planned revolution to switch as much equipment as possible - with some hesitation i went ahead and updated, confident in my snapdragon but once the package downloaded the machine returned with that message; ran into a problem and needs to restart...it said they would restart it but i got jittery after some minutes and pressed down on the power button feeling all the madness that comes with possibly losing files one has even forgot one had...as i waited i made a mental list of the novel i thought was not backed up and the songs that only existed therein, and who knows what else...funny huh, and i had just started learning the chords to lennon's i'm losing you - also therein shocked by the line "So what the hell am I supposed to do? Just put a bandaid on it? And stop the bleeding now..." which needless to say brought to mind the tragic 1980 scene and suddenly my own situation with the laptop...anyway, all that did pass, it started up and i paused updates... with a plan to connect one of my storage units and transfer as much as possible in case of anything similar down the line. he repeats that line, stop the bleeding now...i thought it must have crossed his mind as he lay shot down... meanwhile i wasn't bleeding but the sweat felt like losing part of myself upon the bed - two hours of dreamless sleep only to awake to the wonder of it all - returning to dream, i find myself dressed as i was except with shirt unbuttoned and running around trying to fetch a pen and respond to the door all at the same time...i'm standing there as if waiting to sign something...there are two men at the gate, they look as if one man that has grown a second head on top of his natural skull...they are dark, unfriendly, and i cannot recognize them...i wake up again thankful that at least i had another hour of sleep - i recorded an instrumental song yesterday and no one knocked upon my door - except for a meal delivery - the day was cooler yet the apartment kept it;s steamy stance...i thought about helena's voice message before going to sleep...i think it is incorrect to leave school in order to be more of a fashion model...but that is only a suspicion as i have no insight...when i got up it was eight thirty i didn't have any dream recall.

five september


my point was that she could exploit herself in terms of becoming a social media influencer slash model instead of paying an agency to exploit her by passing her portfolio along for adverts... the education part is debatable... i watched dynamite, a film i had superimposed in part - the party scene - upon one of the get behind the mule takes...it was way more intense than i could have imagined...but as a sort of spoiler warning, skip this one if you are a bird lover...julia faye was in it like she was in a lot of cecil b demille films...i didn't make a movie yesterday, but julia mecey was in my dream...we were sitting next to each other at the frame of an open door, i felt dumb for not knowing the architectual terminology of a rounded door...it was very much like the door in rome when i met carmen from romania and took her picture...suddenly marie anne was sitting opposite us...none of us were speaking as if we understood one another by simply being there - i woke up for a moment then, i had been looking at her ring...studying it to find a talk show host engraved on one side - it must have been the middle of the night when my next dream presented masha which is spelled like mawa but is a nickname for maria, i say masha to distinguish from aria and neverova - masha had been on my mind through the day as she reminds me of someone i can't place - or perhaps it is merely someone from a past life - in the dream i am still audience and she is decked out in heels and a cat print bikini - she is swaying more than dancing but i can't make sense of the dream and awake a bit baffled like maybe this scene was intended for someone else -it's still dark yet the day is coming fast - i have some cake along with the coffee and get in a chapter of the tenant of wildfell hall...i steal away for a nap before the sun gets any higher into the sky - in the sugar filled dreamscape i am on a sofa facing a tv and there is a girl there with me...i brush away remnants of clingy socks from her toes...like always there is nothing on the tv, i play with her breast and try for one of the music stations - i am surprised - it wasn't like before as all the music channels are labeled by country yet no matter the nation there is an ozzy osbourne song blasting out on each...i lower the volume and realize three women from my family are arriving - i guess it was lotta or sierra - i'm really not sure as i have not televisioned since mother was here a year or so ago - she tells me to get her my sister's phone number - i stand in front of my sister in the dream and notice a spider web tattoo on her right eyelid...she says she can't remember that number number and vanishes while i now face a closet of my onw clothes - sierra or lotta says something about the spider web design - i sense mother and aunt but i can't see them, then start to doubt that it was my sister...it would necessarily take a larger face for that design, maybe it was all a masquerade or the dream of a couch potato somewhere - i don't know but i did play i'm losing you again a couple of times and even took a minute to feel the vocal, that is mine in contrast to lennon...i suspect i will only have trouble with the chorus which goes a bit against the grain as if to plead lighter than the argumentative verses in four syllables that sometimes sound like three - not that i actually know how i will do it in the end, but i wanted get learnt on how he did it.

six september


someone is speaking to me in a dream, i do not know or recognize who it might be...it seems we are in a lobby or shop...something street-level since after talking i find myself on the avenue... i am shown pepperidge farm chessmen cookies - there is writing upon the package more like a letter or note than ingredients...i actually have one in the pantry yet i had overdosed on these sweets and it's been there a couple of months now - the font is a light script - easy enough to read yet i don't recall what it said - upon waking i find myself thinking of astrid, i had just learnt she was in lisbon when the following day told of a streetcar all the press called a funicular for some reason...she has two pictures are i admire - i was relieved to see her post a new photo as it then stood to reason that she was more or less in safety - in the dream, i saunter and spot a man i do recognize although i have not met him - i suppose he reminds me of the jamaican in the exchange loft with the slide out key as a transaction counter - for some reason in the scene he is having a sale, the dime bag comes with some sort of hallucinogenic side-kick, twisted roots in licorish color resembling peppermint christmas candy sticks or canes in surreal or abstract miniature and also encased within the common jewelry zip bag...i am eager and receive a ten from my twenty disappointed at the nnumber of visible seeds well at least they are visible and not embedded into the bud like a surprise in a cracker jack box...i walk away and awake - it's seven in the morning, i'm nearing the mid-way mark of the tenant of wildfell hall...i will carry on with it as the start of my day, then mix the new recording i did yesterday before guitar ritual when i again strummed through the aforementioned song yet did not sing it for the smoke filled room and upset stomach... i had viewed unknown number the high school catfish, which proves frailty thy name is woman might yet hold ground, hail willy shakes - and i reluctantly added it to the list of films about writers...what i disliked the most was how miss licari reminded me of miss mcderby from grade school... who left me a cherished remembrance... ps, for reasons unexplained i created wordstar.straw.page