(Entered in paper journal at 6 PM at Starbucks on 43rd Street and 3rd Avenue in Manhattan.)
Dream 1
I was in an office with little light, almost like the peripheries of things were lit by a spotlight in the distance through a window. I was by myself, but I felt my boss EB's presence somewhere.
Now I was on the phone. I held a book (like the Witchcraft of the Southwest book at the Mid-Manhattan library) in my hand. The person on the phone -- possibly a cop -- spoke of a murderer, who was either I or my EB. I could feel EB's presence telling me to hang up the phone or he would kill me, too. But I was too intent on solving the mystery and proving my innocence.
The book's inner lining, I "noticed," was "human skin" "instead of" paper. It really was paper, though, a bit wadded up and with some kidney-shaped pen drawings on it. I saw an image, maybe a "prevision" of my own body: my back with two slabs of skin cut off in the area of my lungs, somewhat matching the shapes drawn on the lining of the book.
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