last night was like every other night I
again  dreamed that I was (the) Full Moon
pretending to be (a) Ripe Banana

&
when that Dumb Rock turned into "Her"
I ...erupted !

wrote a poem:

full moon
I think I'm in love
with a rock

and the this Stone Girl became my "me"


 

My dream last night, one that I at least remembered, centered on my breasts, but I was looking at them most of the time from a distance rather than carrying them. They were like two enormous mushrooms one slightly larger than the other. They were strung around my neck on some sort of cord and I was having trouble making them face the right direction. They kept flipping backwards with the stems on the outside. Then when I got them facing the right direction and creating a little décolletage in a kind of trench coat, they’d flip back the wrong way before I knew it. Their color was golden brown and shiny and they were untamable. And that’s all I remember.

 

I was sitting in a circa 80s school bus. I wiped frost off my window and saw a televised speech by "the dictator of Poland." On the balcony of a building like a Bavarian cuckoo clock, a giant effigy of the dictator cleaved the air with his arms and harangued the crowd in Hitler fashion. He was a Macy's-balloon-sized puppet with a loudspeaker built into his throat.
My late paternal grandmother sat next to me across the aisle, babushka'd, staring at the front of the bus, apparently unaware of me. I started singing "Anyone Who Had A Heart," wondering if she could hear me, if she knew the song, if she liked Bacharach. I felt a sentimental tenderness toward everyone on the bus, as if I'd had a drink or two. Some little boys were stampeding down the aisle and trampling one another. I thought I should intervene, as when I sub at elementary schools. I joked with one of them about the Green Bay Packers logo stuck to his forehead. "A third eye, eh?" And suddenly I was Barack Obama in a Macy's parade, marching through Manhatten, beaming and waving at the throngs of cheering onlookers. But at the same time I was watching myself as if on television.

I was in a busy urban environment, daytime, much happening on the streets.
 I was discovering some sort of complex, quasi-encoded creative project.
This somehow involved a map of the US w/ a few black dots on it of some
particular significance.  The logo for part of it was a detail of an
Hieronymous Bosch painting that was delineated by a diffused-outline
circle.  Surrounding the circle the painting was in color but the isolated
detail was in black & white.  W/in the circle there was probably a Bosch
character that was semi-human - perhaps a creature w/ a trumpet-like mouth
or beak.

I had found an object created by the person behind this project.  It was
like an industrial paper-towel dispenser the size of a Rolodex.  It was a
cylinder, mostly encased in plastic, w/ a central axle around wch fairly
sturdy paper was wrapped on wch there was a printed interview w/ "N" - wch
stood for "Noun" but may've also been connected to "An".  "N" was the
person behind the project.  Also wrapped around the axle & interposed
between the paper was a layer of translucent blue plastic.  Encasing these
2 layers was a hard plastic shell that only allowed access to the paper &
plastic thru an aperture.  My interpretation of how this interview was to
be read was that as one pulled the paper & plastic off the spool-axle one
was to cut the plastic off to make seeing the interview-paper easier.
However, I was unsure whether I shd really be cutting the blue plastic off
as I was.