I had a dream last night that I was in a car with Larry Eigner and Allen Ginsberg. Larry was driving. We drove over wooden slats in a muddy field and got stuck. Larry was extremely upset that he ruined Allen’s car. Allen didn’t care. And then Gregory Corso appeared and suddenly we were standing in a wooded area beside a rotting graveyard. The moon was so large it consumed half the sky, and it was light orange. An eerie orange. I fumbled with my phone to take a picture of it, and then I woke up.

I dreamed last night that Donald Trump kidnapped me to work for his campaign ("Because you watch a lot of C-Span," he said) and kept trying to win me over with gigantic — I mean, huge — cookies and shots of liquor. I woke up feeling rattled.

Last night I dreamed I was beatboxing to an entire stadium full of people. The crowd was on their feet. They were loving it. I woke up covered in slobber, but I felt proud. I still feel proud; I'm carrying that feeling throughout the day.