a cabin in the woods. somehow i am mad at parents and want to go sleep in the cabin. it’s a glorified garage, with lots of stuff everywhere, and a motorcycle, musty, crowded, with shelves of stuff. but there is a reasonably clean bed in there, and a sleeping bag, and with a flashlight i know i can be ok, warm enough, comfortable. mom and dad are looking too, and i am being a defiant little cuss. i don’t know why i was mad. 

later, we are inside a bigger cabin-house, this one nice, somehow in ski country i hear, though there is no snow that i saw and no one is skiing. it doubles as an italian village. there are a few bedrooms with beds crowded all together in a row like dwarves. there are several of my friends and family sleeping in the beds, mom dad cass kev nori maybe tyler and a few others. we have a lot of food, some tvs, there is a little neighborhood italian bodega candy counter a few doors down with an old man bald on top and a grey ruff encircling the crown of this head, he is a little bit portly and round nosed like you expect an old shopkeeping man to be. a lot of kids are hanging around his establishment. we have kids at our place too, cute ragamuffin boys a toddler and an elementary school aged one, maybe 8 or 9. 

there are concerts and museums we can go to, it is a vacation world. there is a lot of food, bread and chocolate. everyone keeps brinigng home bread. suddenly we have a few staff in the tiny kitchen, they are also staying here in one of the bedrooms, but they are not friendly, they refer to us as “they” or “he” or “she”, they don’t know our names. they are japanese and young, kind of hip in that salesperson way, late twenties, lean and awkwardly fashionable. 

everyone keeps bringing home more bread and it begins to be apparent that we can’t eat it all, that it will go bad. i start devising ways to eat it, and to make it into other things. we all must eat copious amounts of toast for breakfast. there have to be sandwiches for lunch. i am thinking of making a batch of bread pudding. we can do croutons. what else?

My last dream reminds me of this old Sugarcubes song. Fucking in Rhythm and Sorrow. 

Naked man, naked man, come down. I’ll give you some strawberry cake…

»i’m in osaka, looking for her apartment then hanging out with a girlfriend.wandering down the neon lit streets and their back alleys, under a giant yellow don quixote siggns and some signs in chinese. we wander around the city, going to her school, there’ s apurple haired girl passed out on the landing and she is derisive, the girl is trying for sympathy, trying to get picked up and taken care of, then we are in new york. still in the streets then a school, then a piace like a park with picnic tables in an orderly fashion. there are kids there, maybe college students, they are in groups and cliques they are trading tables. there is a handsome and haughty kid called god there. i go to my house and find someone has invaded my backyard, a girl in a bathing suit and she wants to use my pool. i demand to know what she is doing there and i belly up to her and rub myself against her. «

My darling passed away on 4/28. He was my loyal companion for 16 years and he had the most kissably furry face. 

i miss timothy.

»hiking in the forest down from a magical alternate reality. i am a teacher at a school. i am giving out cranes and valentines and things to kids and adults. there is an otherworldly train that blazed through the ground level vestibule/parking portof the buidling, killing a guy that was there and somehow connected to the building and the school and the other world. hiking was with bodhi maybe? deirdre was there at the school. the guy was at his wedding and had something to do with an air conditioning company. he had a small pompadour and was lighting the cigarettes of other male guests who were his business associates. i don’ t recall his bride in much relief. there are tuxedos and fancy tables and everyone is at dinner. he is trying to take over the school. there is a japanese small busniess man with something resembling a yatai or an old shack maybe with grown dusty boards and thin dusty glass window and maybe a noren.. how is he connected?«

I’ve been having intense, strange, and vivid dreams lately. More so than usual. Jet lag plus thinking about change. I’ll post a few. 

»a boar is chasing me around an abandoned playground. not exactly chasing me, but there are boars in the bushes, and i am alone, and i feel menaced, and i am trying to get away from them. but its raining and the playground is soaked, the ground muddy, i’m slogging through the mud and i can’t move, feet like glue, crawling, trying to put distance. i reach the playground equipment wooden, with platforms and ladders built in and try to climb it to get away from them. i am hungry and i have to go to the bathroom. in the distance i can see some naked warriors with buzz cuts, they are sexy. i am naked too. it is warm. i find a bathroom and make to lock the door but i canYt get it closed and people can see me. amber and nadia and jess are there. i close it best i can and put my coat over the door to block their eyes. i sit down to pee and martin hands me toilet paper. 

there are apples on the ground in the forest cleaning where the swing set and playground equipment are. «

I saw a lot of boars in Fukushima. I learned about writing dreams down in a class once. The teacher told us to write as soon as possible, in the first person. don’t worry about punctuation, sentences, just stream of consciousness as possible. Maybe in the dark, maybe longhand. I usually have my computer nearby, so I open it and write in a sticky note on the desktop, with the screen on the lowest brightness setting, eyes closed. That way it’s easier to keep living in it. If you put it in the past tense, when you’ve moved out of sleep, it’s easier to forget them. 

I don’t understand how a gun-toting non-cop can shoot an unarmed person to death on the street and not get even a little bit arrested. Can someone explain that to me?

Carly Rae Jepsen - Call Me Maybe

This song that’s on the charts right now is super cute and catchy. It’s retro-feeling, ’80s dancey, and she and the band are cute. Also adding to the retro-ness is the idea of giving your number so someone could call you. Remember that? Giving a number, getting a number, being all nervous to call, having to deal with awkward pauses on the phone… doesn’t really happen any more. At least not in places where everyone uses Facespace and texting. 

I can remember the last time a hottie called me up unexpectedly and we talked for an hour, because it’s so damn rare anymore. And it was a couple of years ago.  

Creepy student “accidentally” bumped into me again twice yesterday. Ugh. But I did quit. Next week is my last week. Otsukaresama,me, 7 years at this job.

Shit. I just thought, the random english printed on my bag makes my outfit look better.

Been here too long.