(Entered in paper journal at 5 AM at my friend R's house in Brooklyn.)
Dream 1
It's like I'm small. I'm probably at some housing projects, though also near a playground and a dank tunnel. I am supposed to or being made to sing five Aerosmith songs to make something mystical happen. But XXXXX (my friend R?) hasn't found all the right levels and neither have I. Now R wants to leave. But he wants to force me to sing the songs I already know. I remember a saying that I will be killed if I sing an incomplete version of the five songs.
I see a sycamore maple leaf and then a comic version of myself like I'm in the comic strip Agnes.
Back to the projects. I have seeds in my mouth, palm, fingers -- it's like I'm tasting them.
I decide to walk out of game instead of singing incomplete. "Aerosmith" (unseen) comes up, though. Asks me what I'm doing. I tell them. They say, "Oh, no. Didn't you know we were generous? There are ladies over there. Just sing the song to call them. They will bring all five songs and sing them with you."
I felt ashamed, as if I should have known this.
(Daytime journal entry.)
The dream recorded from last night is almost perfectly recorded. Only two things I will add. The seeds were small, about the size of mustard seeds or mites. They stuck to me as if they had been in some wetness or juice. They were also in some thin, black, plastic transport pots which were now empty. There was a big tray and a bunch of small pots inside that, all strewn with the seeds and slight residues of dirt and whiteness and smell. I was mulling over the ones in my mouth as a shamed kid might sadly, slowly mull over a graham cracker.
The view of myself like the boyfriend from the comic strip Agnes (by Tony Cochran) was a yellow frame against which was the silhouette of the boy standing by a kitchen counter.
That's all I want to add.
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