Waking Finnegan

“We are such stuff as dreams are made of, and our whole life is rounded with a sleep” ~ Shakespeare

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Location: zurich, Switzerland

Monday, January 31, 2005

Big Bird Dream


Can't figure out a question asked by a female student--she begins making snorting oink noises at me, then horsey-cows goats and roosters. Class is whooping it up and I'm completely lost now flush-faced embarrassed and feeling totally inept and I ask her 'Why?' She responds with more barnyard noises and it goes on and on so I get up and try to leave and class starts stomping their feet in unison--a 'recess' bell goes off and everyone is smiling now completely oblivious to what just went on--saying 'oh yeah!' 'break time!' The culprit female walks past me then winks while grabbing my crotch and I spring back shocked and say a lot of gibberish curses like 'whatfigunnin shitzin gottnofukkinhell!' and she just cracks up hoarse voiced and then begins coughing violently and shooting off phlem-chunks with some landing on my new sweater and I'm now thinking about how I'm gonna kill her.

Riding the tram looking up out the view windows--curved skylit like the ones on some of the trans-Alp tourist trains---a sign plastered on a humungous billboard looms into view: 'Big Bird is visiting Zürich!' But the image of Big Bird is seriously different--his face has a real man's--a down-and-outter and not the chicken beaked one from Sesame Street; this one looking filthy and weather-beaten, and I'm thinking 'Big Hobo Bird' and start cracking up out of wildly out of control and point at it and directly at others on the tram laughing harder now just to get everyone going and one by one they do and we're all rocking the tram swaying it in unison--some people panic attack but the rest not--everything finally tipping too far and BAM the car falls on its side and I'm clenching a hand rail so it's no big deal to climb out--a bunch of others climbing out too and now they're jumping up and down and someone across the street turns up his car stereo full blast playing a techno version of 'God Save the Queen'. I see a tiny monkey dancing on a chestnut grill--tiny hot smoking monkey feet and all but s/he's totally oblivious and keeps dancing as the music pulses louder.


Sunday, January 30, 2005

January 30, 2005


Riding a massive metal shovel-as-sled down an insanely steep slope in some Alp mountain now too dark outside--a big bell sounds and the folks are all cackling in dialect about how we've got to get down soon but I'm thinking 'it's all good' and so pay no mind.

Standing in some 30's moderne swing era ballroom with war posters plastered o walls--some saying the ordinary stuff like 'Support Our Troops', but then the odd ones-- 'Get out of 'Nam' and 'War Whores' faces of politicians with Nazi insignias superimposed over their faces including one of Humprey Bogart in an officer's uniform---his face mostly obscured by a blood-dripping swastika--I look up close and see his lower eyelid veins protruding thick and vericosed like narly blue worms crawling beneath--but I know it's him anyway, making me awfully sad that the Bogart I thought I knew is marred by this forever. A waiter is walking around with a tray full of thin-stemmed champagne glasses but nobody seems to want any. I wave him over and he's got a huge smile and walks up to me and saying: 'Don't need to explain at all sir, everything is in order'.

Back on the shovel but all alone now. Earlier folks far gone and I'm being conveyed up the mountain with a hook and rope apparatus tied to the comically big handle through a metal grommeted hole--the lift now moving up in violent jerks as everything gets much steeper--making me hang on to the handle base so as not to fall. Looking back now and all the world's snow's clean and pure and nobody at all in sight so I yelp 'Oooohhhhaaaa!' and let go and now tumble backwards with sliding slolom flags whizzing by and whacking me but only lightly and no matter it's such a gas and I get up at the end with sinking sun darklight my heart about to explode from all the cold burning frost air--I have to get back up that big mountain for another and so wait for the hook-and-rope clamp to come get me.

Saturday, January 29, 2005

January 29, 2005


Dream of a vast theater in downtown Los Angeles from early silent movie daze; arena black vast with opera house tiers steep and frightful distances from the stage and screen. Plushy seats but itchy in my shorts and I feel a rash and scratch it furiously and I'm telling myself to stop or else it'll crawl up my crotch and 'Oh boy Jesus no need of that!'--looking for the movie to begin. Where is everyone? I can see a group near the stage from my balcony seat right under the projectionist cubby but hell they're so damned far away. I walk down the much-too-steep stairs to the railing and lean a bit to get a closer view and the railing gives and I'm holding on and the whole thing keeps unplugging from the barrier like some kind of heavy-duty toy part and I'm descending one big hitch at a time but my initial horror gives way to utter control and confidence and the railing is now a ladder and I can see the same group watching me amuse and amazed expressions flashing--now I'm climbing it like a trapeze artist and wondering what kind of trick to do and the projectionist is casting horror house shadows all over the place by watching me in front of the white light. I'm swinging and the feeling of control is total, like my mind and not my body is swinging the rail-trapeze. But my arms are tired now and I try to climb up but they're too numb and now can't even hold on and gripping with my legs now shit! what am I gonna do? but my legs-as-clamps manage to hold me and then come to rest on a cushiony seat and the group is now seated in front of me and turn around in unison like nothing happened and the lights go out and the MGM lion appears and roars.

Friday, January 28, 2005

January 28, 2005


Standing up fishing with a bunch of nameless men on a metal fire escape balcony--too many of us and I'm leery of it all collapsing into the river directly under--no sidewalk-- just the red brick industrial apartment building and a fast moving river. Across the waterway are others fishing from balconies up high and I'm trying to figure which fishing line is mine--everyone crossed up and Katsu is standing next to me tangled too but serene--nobody pays any notice when I ask them to let me by. Fishing robots I finally get my line free and reel it in but it snags a guy's porkpie hat along with a cheap looking wig with netting attached. He doesn't seem to notice until another fisher guy whispers in his ear--they look over at me--I hand Katsu my pole and go into the apartment I thought was small but is actually a big loft. I check to see if they're following, but nothing. A big bank of windows facing what looks like Manhattan--but far too many gigantic buildings and all nearly the same height. I'm realize I've got really bad gas and had better leave before the guests arrive. I see a young woman sitting in the corner of a long divan reading with a dim lamp. I go up to ask where the bathroom is and it's Elizabeth and I'm overcome with happiness to see her after so long, but apprehensive about the gas. She's quite animated and begins talking about her brother Paul and says 'Did you know that he died in Viet Nam?' I tell her I thought he was working for the Southern California Gas Company and she's now laughing her hysterical Liz laugh and comes over to poke my stomach and says: 'You're the one working for the gas buddy!' and presses firmly and I let out a huge one. She's delighted and does it over and over again--each time producing a full blown effect, like I'm a squeeze toy.

Thursday, January 27, 2005

January 27, 2005


Santa Anita Race Track in a strange sulphur light--trying to anticipate whether to pick a mud horse or not for the 8th race. No mud yet but a storm coming on soon and an old pro next to me with a cigar telling me Delahoussey is the best mud jocky and I know that but don't tell him I know--letting him be an expert--but he's now not that man but my old friend Katsu from Tokyo--old now--much too deeply creased and raspy voiced frail. He says he's won a lot recently and no longer has to work--he's found 'a method'. I tell him I don't believe him so he becomes defensive and sulky. I don't really care and start to walk away and he's now quite friendly and wants to give me a bunch of tickets all neatly stacked in an old fishing tackle box with 'CIGAR' branded inside the lid.

Walking in the snow in Seefeld at night with Cécile--I'm barefoot and she's wondering where my boots are--I tell her 'Don't worry it's not cold at all--you should try it too' but it's not real snow at all but little spongy white styrofoam packing beads. They're floating off as I step down and statically cling to my face and keep re-clinging each time I try to brush them off. I pull out my camera from my backpack. It's got a rotary-like head attachment clamped on the body which I attach in place of the lens and start shaving my face while walking around in a circle. My foot sinks into a cold water hole and Cécile is panic-stricken for me to 'Turn the razor off!' I'm fumbling with the shutter button but it's not the the off switch--then I remember in the back of my mind that it's on batteries. I start laughing and then fake being electrocuted and she's now crying hysterically. I play dead with my eyes wide open staring at the tiny white beads swirling and I'm thinking of the Milky Way.

Wednesday, January 26, 2005

January 26, 2005


Snow shovels lined up along the wall outside the bedroom on Ottenweg. I'm counting the usable ones and some old white whiskered guy is waiting for me to finish so that he can have the broken ones. He's speaking a toothless Swiss German dialect that I can barely decipher. Snow is building up around everything and the reflected white light off his face makes him look saintly, but not when I see his teeth.

I'm having a party at my studio but not my studio--trying to clean behind conversing seated folks--everyone getting annoyed and a woman tells me 'Why don't you serve us something to eat for Godssakes' and I panic thinking I'm screwing things up, but somehow I don't get up but continue cleaning. I bump into black nylon- covered legs of a young woman--but then I inspect them and see dense hair underneath even hairy for a man. S/he bends forward and tells me not to tell anyone--but I see the 5 o'clock shadow and lots of pock-marks and I'm wondering who he's fooling. S/he's talking now about Johnny Depp and Ed Wood and seems to know a lot about both--telling me how he knew Ed Wood and was an extra in 'Glen or Glenda?' but I see he isn't old enough. I can see it's Mr. Wagner my math teacher at King Jr. High who was an excellent magician and used to write on the blackboard sideways without looking while talking to the class and I was amazed.

Receive a package in the mail. I know it's a dvd and struggle to get the package open..scissors broken--screw holding two halves comes out and can't get it to screw back in--packing tape way too glued down--package reinforced--impossible to tear away with my hands I wanna scream. Finally get it out and the dvd packaging more horror-struggling to get the cello/taping off with no fingernails. DVD box starts playing a tinny children's sing-song message-gram from a tiny speaker telling me the wrapping is edible like Japanese rice candy. I lick it and plastic box melts and now there's just the disk--all mosaic-like colored tesserae with hundreds of tiny puzzle pieces laminated very high-tech--my computer keeps rejecting it from the disk slot and I'm freaking out.


Tuesday, January 25, 2005

January 24, 2005


Dialing on an old phone in a London phone booth--red but with a Chinese-style pagoda roof much too big and it's snowing outside and insanely cold and windy--this booth is my safe harbor but I can't connect to anyone and it keeps asking me for more coins which I'm feeding from a tin chocolate box piggy bank slot. The wind is buffeting the booth and I'm frustrated as hell trying to pry off the lid--which unexpectedly opens too easily and now all coins jumping out of my box and scattering while I'm trying to hang onto the phone and few remaining coins. 'These coins are too tiny', I'm thinking. 'They don't look right'. I look at one closely and can see it's not a real coin but instead a token from one of those sad old spinning money machines from ancient L.A. buses.

Lying in bed next to my old paint-chipped and dusty window on Bellevue Avenue. Wind rushing past along the driveway between duplexes. I can see Luticia watching T.V. in the reflection of her bathroom mirror. I look out on the ground and see snow and I tell Mom and she doesn't seem at all surprised. 'It used to snow a lot in Los Angeles. It snowed the day you were born.' I'm amazed beyond belief at this and thinking it had to have been an omen and so now hunting sad browned Herald Examiner newspaper stacks in the garage out back but they're too old and crumble in my hands. There isn't any snow on the ground when I look out now--just my grandmother digging up weeds in the garden next to the sad old splintered porch.


Sunday, January 23, 2005

January 23, 2005


At a carnaval trying to unclog a paint squirting container nozzle--add color to a fast-spinning paint support. I squeeze too hard and the whole cap shoots off and it everything splashes on the spinning canvas and splatters the people eating corn dogs at the next stand. I start cracking up and a woman grabs a plastic squeeze bottle of mustard and tries squirting the guy selling hot dogs. A bunch of police squad cars are slowly approaching with spinning lights and no sirens through the dense carnaval crowd barking something indecipherable through a bull horn. I start walking away from the paint booth and the guy working there yells 'Hey wait!' but I start moving away even faster. I'm wearing an old pair of flip-flops and the toe-hold fastener keeps popping out of the base. I throw them away and gingerly walk through the dense crowd and can see a gigantic white roller-coaster like The Colossus in the distance move towards it. As I get closer I can see that it's hundreds of times bigger--goes on and on and with insanely high drops hundreds of meters in the air. The crowd is moving together and we're now passing under the white strutted edifice with coaster cars moving above us and around us all screaming and unbelievably great. I ask some kids walking alongside if they'd been on it before. They start hee-hawing but not in a mean-spirited way. One says: 'You'd better have a good heart dude, 'cause this sucker rearranges your skeleton'. They all guffaw some more and we get to the entrance of the ride and can see a view off into the distance and it's full of roller coasters everywhere. 'We're in heaven, dude', the same guy says. We all crack up and I'm beside myself with joy.

Saturday, January 22, 2005

January 22, 2005


Curly baroque letters; etched on a chicken bone that I'm examining up close--but can't read clearly--much too tiny. Running my fingers over it trying to decipher what's written but instead get a small sliver and it hooks into my thumb skin but it doesn't hurt so I dangle it around. But it breaks off and drops on the dining room table.

I'm with D.K. in a weed-overgrown corner of a train yard washing down a large wooden freight car with ornately laquered slats--can see there are animals inside--dim light from within won't reveal their identity. A big one kicks the back of the car with a sudden violence and dust is shot through the slatting and I can't swallow because my open mouth is dirty inside all dry-caked. My eyes have grit and I'm wondering if I'd put on my contact lenses. I hear a woman inside with the animals speaking Chicano to them in a lullabye voice.

In some forlorn port section of Oakland. Barges and tugboats all half submerged and bobbing in rusty, slime-grease water. The sunset is molten red orange and I put on my sunglasses and it all animates like an old silent film. I hand my 3-D viewing glasses to Ty and say: 'Look!' He takes the glasses and says he can't see anything. Laughs at me and says I'm blind.

Friday, January 21, 2005

January 21, 2005


Winds blowing, howling. Cold rain and tons of trash strewn about. I'm in Zürich. There's no one on the streets and I'm trying to walk through the windy rain and arrive at a tram stop but it's uncovered and I'm standing there with my umbrella trying to hold onto it but it's oversized and yanking on me too hard and I let it go and it flies off like a kite into the sky. Then see it descending off in the distance and worry now if it's going to hit someone. I hear a horrible crashing sound of cars just as the umbrella comes down. Car alarms and a woman begins screaming and I'm petrified and start running towards the screaming. An ambulance. Incredibly loud. I see an apothecary and there's a nurse in white working behind the counter and I'm trying to open the door but it's locked and she shakes her head 'nein'.

Sitting in a 50's style diner watching a man on his knees picking up french fries from off the floor, dipping them in a bowl of ketchup and eating them. He looks very poor and then I realize he's a homeless. He looks over to me, his eyes terribly sad. I offer my plate of un-eaten food and it falls out of my hand and shatters on the linoleum. I get down on my knees--he's there with me--we're picking up little dirty peas and bits of mashed potatoes and he's not being careful about the shards of plate and eats everything he picks up. I can smell his odor and quickly try to get away and fall backwards into a dirt pit/room where the benches had been. There are lots of dried up food bits, old newspapers and magazines scattered about. A plaid blanket with someone under it looking at me and glassy-eyed. It's the same man.

Thursday, January 20, 2005

January 20, 2005


At mom's house but everything looks wrong--large plate glass windows re-arranged and not plumb--more rooms and everything white. Silverlake is gone--just a big open pit, white, and I can see little whorls of whipped-up chalky dust. The Eucalyptus trees are gone and there are very large bonsai-like trees in their place. I ask her what happened while I was away and she tells me they've made improvements-I ask her who 'they' are and she doesn't answer. I'm beside myself and tell her ''This is a Neutra house. You don't make 'improvements'!''. I go to the backyard garden--it's bone dry with more strange bonsai landscape trees but these are miniatures--I touch one and something barb-like pricks my finger--a metal prong--and it's a fake bonsai shaped Christmas tree with remnant shards of hanging tinsel. Old dusty plastic-covered telephone wires strewn about. A sick feeling in my stomach--I go looking for mom to ask who did all this and why but can't find her. Downstairs t.v. flickering with a shadowy video of a cat walking forward and backward--a distorted track of Japanese children singing in the loop.

Nancy there now. I see her through a tiny wall aperature between the kitchen and hallway corridor. She's standing at the stove cooking but can barely reach up to stir the pot. She looks really small and much older and I ask her what happened to mom. 'She's gone'. I ask where and she shrugs but never looks at me and keeps cooking. Inside the walls of the small opening are ballpoint etched-in phone numbers bleeding through the white paint.


Wednesday, January 19, 2005

January 19, 2005


Having breakfast at a long table with a village of tsunami survivors--can't understand how I got here or where I really am. Everyone is speaking English with an Indian accent, very kind. A priest in orange saying prayers but I can't understand what he's saying. The man sitting directly across from me is staring at me and smiling, but it's not sexual in nature--very spiritual and I can feel his vibes very clearly.

There's a group of musicians playing in the background, and it's ceremonial with hand drums and flutes and chanting. The priest at the table now takes a large bowl of dry rice and people begin passing their bowls to him one by one to receive a scoop of rice. I pass mine but the man across gestures a subtle 'no' with his head and eyes, so I stop. I'm wondering what to do.

Tuesday, January 18, 2005

January 18, 2005


On my Mac trying to use some strange Terminal-related application and I'm completely lost and in a panic when a window appears asking me to identify myself. The font is a hideous red one, and when I look at the faint shadowed background image on it, I notice the pixels are moving like some sort of microscopic organism, wormlike in motion.

I touch the letters and the screen gives and indents till I can feel the back of the lap-top lid. The letters are move under my pressed down finger and I'm worried and pull back. The screen is stuck to my finger and I hold it knowing it might tear, but I pull back anyway thinking maybe not--it rips and a sort of sparkling ruby red liquid like sparkle paint oozes out. I begin smearing it on the table fascinated and horrified about the screen.

In my old studio on Sunset Blvd. painting on an ebony block of wood--a block of ebony?--heavy and dense and extremely black. The paint is viscous but brushable; I'm painting white code from my blog. 'It is just like Babylon' I think to myself. Now a tablet. Now many tablets. All around me and in room after room are these ebony tablets--pristine, blank, and needing codes. I know I must paint them all and the feeling is a good one.


Monday, January 17, 2005

January 17, 2005


Playing with Ignatz the cat--she's looking at me ready to pounce and then she does and hooks her claws into my arm and it's painful but not really. I can see them in deep so I grab her at the scruff with my left hand and try to pluck her off but her claws are meat-hooked so I've got to lift and 'curve' her claws out so as not to rip off the skin. Can't get her claws out and she's struggling now-- I'm trying to hold her tight because it's all going to rip up my skin and suddenly she growls and hisses and rips free with a sudden movement. My arm isn't bleeding--Huge hunks of skin--flaps which I calmly pat back into place. No pain but I'm looking in the bathroom cabinet for some Mercurachrome. Nothing there except sad old rusty Band-Aid tins. I open one and a black spider starts coming out and I drop it into the sink horrified and now the spider is trying to crawl up sink but keeps sliding back down. I pull the plug lever and start filling the sink with hot water--the spider is swimming in circles and I feel sort of awful but now push the plug lever and the spider goes down the hole and I'm glad.

Sunday, January 16, 2005

January 16, 2005


I'm delivering letters as a bicycle courier. My letter bag strap breaks and drops and I look back--it's lying on the road but I can't stop because it's like a one way freeway suspended up high--no shoulder--everything running too fast. The road is a deep velvety black and rubbery ike a synthetic athletic track. No off ramp and so I have to keep going forward. Another cyclist pulls up and points behind us about my bag and I nod. He points ahead to the left and I see an offramp but it's hard getting across--but he's managing easily and barely pedalling. I miss the offramp and he's gone and now I need to get over to the other side but everything going to fast.

At an old green chalkboard writing down some mathematical formulae I haven't got a clue--the chalk keeps breaking and is drying my hands--can't grip the chalk and it keeps slipping. I say 'fucki it' and everyone in the class laughs and they're amused by my actions. I grab a magic marker and begin writing on the chalkboard and everyone hee haws and I begin drawing an abstract sort of image and ask another volunteer to come up and assist me.

At Rincon Beach. There's a cave. I see some people huddled inside and so approach. There's crying from a baby but it's deep inside the cave. The twilight is orange and lighting parts of faces. I'm thinking 'Oh my God are they a lost tribe?' and what are they doing here at Rincon? Chumash Indians? But I'm afraid to come closer because I can't see clearly. Somehow I know they are actually tsunami survivors.

Saturday, January 15, 2005

January 15, 2005


I find a huge warehouse full of incredible DVDs from Criterion, even the unavailable issues--'This is the mother lode!' and I'm freaking out that there are all sorts of titles available that I'd never seen--I see a stack of K. Mizoguchi's 'Ugetsu' dvds sitting under a sink and the the beautifully designed jackets and fibre paper are all soaked and puffy from absorbing the rusty water dripping--I open the top soggy one and there's no disc inside and then the one underneath--nothing. The same with the rest. I start checking out stacks of others and they either have no discs inside or the discs are stupid throw-away film titles bad kitsch not good. There's a huge floor to ceiling stack of cello-sealed boxes and I try sliding out one from the middle of a column and everything comes down and I'm buried now and it's like a dark tent but I can see all the match-shaped flourescently lit interstices and then I blink and can't get these shapes away and I'm terrified more than disturbed because they're so bright.

Knitting a brilliantly-colored sweater for Censy out of some strange soft neoprene-like tubing somewhat fuzzy and in day-glow colours. She asks me how I learned how to knit so beautifully and I tell her that it was when I did time and she doesn't understand the expression and I try to remember when I 'did time' and somehow a vague sense of being in Camarillo with Charlie Parker and Miles Davis visiting in a Cadillac and Mingus there too.

Friday, January 14, 2005

January 14, 2005


Holding a book with an unreadable cover title black on black--can feel the embossing and try to get a braille-like reading but it's too spongy--I begin peeling to find out what's under and find another title hidden and it's white on white but I see the words 'Das Buch der Toten Namen'. The book of dead names? or The book of the names of the dead? I can't figure the German meaning. The book is new-- pages have a printing ink stickiness -- some don't unstick and then the binding lets go and the cover comes off and all the pages are scattered, some still stuck together. I'm looking at the pages--like a Sears catalogue of objects and clothing but this book has lots of strange cooking and medical supplies. Some have no info and I can't focus anyway because lights too dim. Get up to turn on the lights and my foot is numb and feels like a dumpling.

I'm in the middle of some sort of televised conference with panelists and a television audience but haven't got a clue what it's about so I just improvise and ask tongue twister questions like 'How much wood could a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?' Everyone is laughing at me and the camera lights are much too bright and I can only see a darkened audience. The man on my right whispers to me: 'You need to ask about the T-Set groupings' and I tell him I don't know anything about it but somehow I realize I'm supposed to. I'm sweating profusely and someone in the audience yells out 'He looks like Nixon' and everyone cracks up and then a loud mariachi band with way too many players starts up and the TV announcer yells out over the PA that the audience member has just won 10,000 dollars for the answer. I can't stop sweating and the panelists (players?) are all smiling at me with huge toothy grins.

Trying to wax my bicycle and the wax is much too hard so I light it in the can and it flames up and spills out all over the floor and I throw newspapers over it and they catch too but nothing seems to panic me and I calmly wait and it goes out. My bicycle is like new after the fire, as though it were purified. But the leather seat is scorched black and it crumbles in my hand leaving only the post end clamp.

Wednesday, January 12, 2005

January 12, 2005


Driving around LA in an old Citroen with lots of little pieces of newspaper scattered about--arrive at Bogie's Liquor store in Silverlake but no more Bruce Bogosian--'Bogie'--he's in Hollywood the un-friendly Korean guy at the counter tells me. I know he's Korean because his t-shirt says: 'Proud Korean'. I look for money but have no idea what I'm purchasing and then while leaving the alarm goes off and the same guy pulls a gun on me and presses it to my temple and I get tangled and wince as I'm expecting the trigger to pop but it never does and in my mind I'm thinking about that Vietnamese guy in that famous photo wincing before he gets dropped and I'm still tangled up and he smells like rancid garlic and I tell him 'You smell like shit motherfucker' and he starts to cry like a little kid and I kick him in the nuts while he's not looking and see that his gun has 'A Hasbro Product' written on it. I get back in the car with the gun and it's now not the same Citroen but my old Mazda RX2 and it's like new and I'm freaked out with the same excitement I had when I first got it.

Little baby Siberian tigers on display in Chinatown LA in a display window-- a crowd of people looking on. I can't get a good view---whenever I get a peep I can see they're like kittens but they're adults and they look ratty and sad. I tell a man next to me that 'this is wrong'--he stares at me blankly and turns back to gawk mouth open. I want to move forward and help the little tigers but the crowd is stiff and unmovable. I'm feeling hemmed-in and begin to get a claustrophobic panic and as I'm struggling to get out, a huge hand grabs me around the neck and lifts me up and out. I'm petrified and look straight at the face of the giant man--it's Yao Ming and he's smiling in a frienly manner and doesn't say a word but places me right up to the little tigers. Everyone gives me respect and I can feel it all around. I turn to tell everyone that the tigers belong in the wild so they won't be dwarfs. I begin talking about tigers like I'm giving a speech and have no idea what I'm talking about but everyone seems to be listening intently. An old lady hands me a little red book and nods. I open it and it's all in Chinese. She nods and I begin speaking in fake Chinese, mixed with Chinese accented English like Hop Sing from Bonanza. People begin boo-ing and I feel mortified.


Tuesday, January 11, 2005

January 10, 2005


Trying to purchase a house with a total stranger who'd ridden up to the 2-story fixer on a '65 Triumph motorcycle. He goes around casing the place and letting me know what needs to be done one thing thing after another; I'm overwhelmed and feeling unsure about the strange smell 'like rotting timbers' I say, but he reassures me that the lady selling is giving too good a deal to pass up and all she wants is for us to let her stay in the house out back way down the hill and so I ask to see the house and it's half way down a steep cliff incredibly steep and my stomach drops--I ask him how this old woman can negotiate such a climb and descent--he tells me it's really his mother and she's actually much younger than she looks and now she's right behind us and listening in and I look at her up close and try not to let her know I'm looking so closely at her hair which is a straw-like rat-nest and now I see it's a wig half falling off and her third set of teeth are clicking as she's talking gibberish and now half out of her mouth and she adjusts them and looks at me all of a sudden and asks: 'What are you lookin' at?' and I pretend nothing and don't answer and she tells the motorcycle guy something in his ear and says she's 'Goin' out back now' and sprints to the cliff edge and jumps and my heart pumps furiously and I'm sick inside and she just returns backwards from the same sequence and Mr. Triumph has a remote and he's making her foward and rewind and cracking up--

Inside the same house but with Ty now and he's asking me where Karin is--I say I have no idea--he slumps down and takes out his alto sax from its case and starts assembling it--there are too many parts and it's much too big for an alto much more like a baritone and he begins playing something so sad and beautiful and my tears start flowing and I feel heartbroken because I somehow know his mother has gone and I don't know how to tell him.

Another woman appears while I'm cleaning the kitchen cupboards with Simple Green--much too strong and potent--she says good thing that fake proprietor and her sick son have left that they're now both in prison for life without parole and this new proprietor looks a lot like Elena and yet her voice is like a very young girl. She's not Elena and I ask her if she knows an Elena from Ventura and she says never heard of her--She tells me that there's allergenic crap all over this house and if I clean it out I can have it for free. I'm wondering what she means by allergenic and ask her, she says it's minor stuff and I'd be doing a service to humanity if I cleaned things. Ok I say and go back to cleaning.

Ty is gone and I'm looking around for him and the house goes from one room to the next and I'm at the back now near the cliff and notice the floor is pitched sloping downward towards the edge and it starts slipping and down I go. I bounce off a thick shrub and it's like rubber. I'm ascending now and turn my body to look back at the house which is unbelievably huge. A lot of blackbirds are on the roof and some are circling about like vultures and I'm floating backwards further and further away and closer to the water now.

I'm water-skiing backwards in my shoes--total control--my arms behind and holding an exercise rubber band and every few seconds I get catapulted quickly and lift off the water. Then it stops all of a sudden and I'm way out at sea and the sun is near the horizon and the water feels incredibly cold and dark-- something is bumping me under the water and I'm in a panic and begin to swim frantically away but it keeps following and sliding up against my leg.

Sunday, January 09, 2005

January 9, 2005


Cold evening dark no feeling in my hands zilch control trying to get on my sweater sleeve stuck frustrated to the point of screaming many layers trying to get warm have to pee but no pants zipper or button fly opening can't get off my pants too tight and now getting all over panic so must stay calm. Pants really beautiful upon inspection--velvety lining and high quality exterior manchester fine delicate and yet strong wondering where I got them...Paris? Zurich?

Trying to get Macromedia Dreamweaver fired up but it doesn't open and tiled windows start popping up one over another can't stop them--try exiting but to no avail--press start/stop button and nothing so pull the plug and sparks flying all over now and smoke filling the room emergency alarm extremely loud now door is open and people milling around trying to see what's happening I scream at them to please leave and so more arrive and windows from neighbors looking on my cat whom I thought was lost appears but Ignatz is too skinny and cancerous-looking really terrible. Oh God I think and pick her up but she's not really Ignatz and has hollow eyes nothing and it's horrible and I try dropping her but she clings to my sweaters and crawls up my chest looking right at me now looking like a baby sloth or koala though not cuddly or cute but horrible and making a low baby sounding whine repugnant and now I try to tear it away but the big claws hold and are now clamped on me through the sweaters and nobody is here with me.

Saturday, January 08, 2005

January 1, 2005


Standing knee-deep in a murky pool 50's Creature From the Black Lagoon style--flax seeds dispersed all around more like spores and shiny almost metallic. No shoes feeling in the ooze panicks me I'm stuck like in quicksand. An old friend walks up to me but I can't make out who. Is it George?