Dreams with Entertainment Value

Baby’s never seen New York City before. We’re in Central Park. I wink at a child. I take my baby to the NYC branch of the Vatican, it’s like the catholic embassy. The complex is empty except a few clergymen. Boycotted due to the latest scandal. Even the church’s orchestra plays arias for an empty sea of chairs. Normally tickets are $35.

The Pope and his counselors sit in the room with the safe. The safe contains 6 billion dollars in the form of sustenance dating back to biblical times (pistachios that are over 2000 years old etc.) This stock is all that they have to pay off the sexual abuse lawsuits. One eats a pistachio that must have cost a hundred thousand dollars.

Something shifts. The Pope and his counselors become aware that some thing has entered the premesis. High heels clicking in the stone corridors: an upper class woman with black hair approaches. The stoicism of the clergymen is stained with the scent of Elizabeth Arden Red Door perfume as the woman arrives to face the Pope.

She drops a red Door Dash delivery bag at his feet and leaves.

CUT TO:

The Pope and his counselors are now in a sedan, two in the back securing the red bag. The men are silent. A deep, distorted voice commands them from inside the bag: “You answer to me now. I am your mission.”

No one has opened the bag, they already know inside it is the prince of darkness. They already know it looks like a skinned lamb from the butcher, with a fetal human body. One of the men can feel it’s teeth poking through the thermal layer of the delivery bag.

The men are driving to a volcano. We see paintings by islanders showing the lava come down into the town, encircling the prince. They long predicted his coming.

“Can I ask you a question?” One of the men breaks the silence to address the prince. It responds in tortured, glitching timbres.

“iffff you are resPppectfullll. Orrrr I will showwww you what I will do to the nonbelieversssSSS.”

The prince begins to speak in tongues, ancient words that should have been muffled by the bag but resound like surround sound system. One of the men feels something burrowing into his armpit.

Janet Jackson brukout during a warehouse show. She walked off the stage, past the audience, and into the rainforest. She had a stressed Japanese tour guide who was taking her around the jungle, but Janet kept breaking the rules. She posed with the giant, poisonous spiders for IG. She jumped off a cliff into a river filled with underwater Orangutans. The monkeys passed her off until she safely reached shore. No one knew if she had jumped from depression or out of freedom. She had a connection with the animals that was hard for scientists to accept. Later it was revealed that while she was in the orangutan river, she accidentally fertilized an embryo in the water with the orangutans. Scientists said the embryo would never grow to a complete form, it would hover as a microscopic being, like a new form of bacteria. People went crazy over this new embryo, reproducing it and putting it as a topping on desserts. It’s health benefits were countless. “She’s a true artist,” we said of Janet.

Took me 3 tries to break the wine glass. Finally I had a sharp edge and I nicked the sergeant’s throat. Decided I was going to take a stand when he told me I wouldn’t amount to anything. So began me amounting to a nationally wanted criminal. The dogs searched for me as I treaded lightly through the woods in socks. Had to do laundry more often so my clothes didn’t smell so strongly. Mistake #1. 

I wandered through towns trying to stay off the main roads. Found a brothel in a strip mall but I could tell it wasn’t safe, officers came in al the time. No one wanted to help me. I made to an auto mechanic to try to get a car. Couldn’t take amtrak because they asked for ID. How the hell was I going to make it out of Ohio. The next big city was Cleveland and fuck as hell if I was going to get stuck in CLV. Tried to explain the situation but I could tell the mechanic was going to the back to call the cops. His sons were staring suspiciously but his daughter had mercy on me and took me out back to give me the keys to a silver mini cooper. She said she wanted to come with me, was so pretty too, only 14 or 23 though. 

As we were backing out the cops pulled up. I swerved out into the road and it was a chase. Something told me to crash into a wooden garage. So I did and a parade float dragon came out of the garage, breathing fire incorrectly and causing explosions. The police redirected their artillery to the explosions and we were able to escape--the mini cooper being below the line of sight of the policemen hypnotized by fire. “They got the explosion they wanted.” said Marie, my companion. 

Told me my resume would never function in the Western world.

I pressured him (using social capital) to take the white table cloth spread before us and wear it as a toga. We then simulated a negotiation between Caesar’s Rome and Cleopatra’s Egypt. I explained the value of my choices by comparing them to the qualities of Isis: maternal qualities that are foolishly overlooked in today’s economy. 

I paid this straight couple to love me. It was on the menu for $35 but I paid $25. The male (Mr. Fox) nudged me the way lions show affection. We looked for places where they could love me. We were driving around in a black leather interior Jeep at rush hour through a city that was coming apart at the seams. 

We arrived in a concert hall, where concert pianist Mitsuko Uchida was preparing for a performance and directing a stage crew of 50 people.. She asked us to chop cucumbers. I gladly did so even though it was my day off.

The couple and I found our way to the sound booth of the concert hall. It was small, with a tinted wall of windows and a Windows desktop computer. Porn girls were the desktop background. I felt a strong attraction to the occluded nature of the space. 

I stepped out of the soundbooth and the concert had begun, an interactive baroque banquet with musicians filtering around the dinner tables. My father was at one of the tables, speaking loudly. I told him to keep his voice down because the concert had begun. 

who preferred me to hype boys.

A baby in an over-flowing bathtub, the tap still on.

Sleeping on the floor of the Alexandrian library at night-- the telescopes, globes, and walls of books eerily still in the moonlight coming through the window.

The Real Me was packing objects into boxes to be sent to my other dreams so that they would have the props necessary to be played out. 

Was this even a dreaM?

Lights herself on fire because she’s on X and wants to feel The Intensity of Being on Fire. Because it would make her fully present, if every cell in her body was combusting. 

of a stone house. It was a Polish restaurant with a bootleg nightclub interior: a black pleather couch, a vase of fake lilies, a fake fireplace, standalone tables with white tablecloths and 2 wineglasses on each table, no silverware. It was lit with dentist-office type lights, elementary school type lights. 

I said “you should really turn down the lights and I bet you’d have more business.” but then I saw how wrong I was, the surgical lighting was unique and raw.

I kept repeating “Los niños, los niños” and crying without scrunching my face at all

I was in an fluorescent-lit art gallery, 25 ft. ceilings, surrounded by a crowd who was yelling, drinking and making bets as if it were a dog fight. I had a mop, which I dipped in water and painted with it on the floor of the gallery. The crowd would react cheering or boo-ing and the water painting would soon dry up and I’d do another one.

The yacht tilted but it’s part of the cruise experience. If you didn’t put on your seatbelt, that’s on you.

Subsequently my teeth on the left side rotted and fell out. I looked more of a meth head than ever, I would not be attending any more family functions.

I grinded up on this puppeteer I know, while someone was trying to give instructions to a large crowd, but the crowd was side-eyeing me and the puppeteer go off. He flipped me over and tried to put his street trash sculptures in my ass.

After that I realized we were not good for eachother, I didn’t really know him.

I saw a plane go torpedoing down and crash into the ocean. I kept walking along the shore until night. At night, I heard a deep belch from earth and turned to look to the dark ocean. The plane-wreck was spit forcefully from the depths of the black ocean in three giant pieces. I had to dodge them.

The cadaver of the pilot still spinning in his seat in the cockpit (still wearing his seatbelt), his hair was in the style of Johnny Bravo. His head was deformed as if it had been stretched by spacetime rather then crushed by impact. 

I thought the cabin of the plane would make a good home and I installed storefront windows, and white steps leading up from the sand through the glass doors into the cabin of the plane, which was lit by white neon tubes and mirrors. A seven year old boy came to live with me and helped me discover the old boxes of tomato juice and chocolate Dannon™ yogurt that were hidden in the beverage cart of the plane. “Dammit if I found these yogurts earlier we could have refrigerated them.” But they were too old now.

Our life was like a paradise under the white neon tubes, we spoke without anxiety or aim, and the night had not lifted since the plane was projectiled ashore. But soon after we found the tomato juice, the winds changed. I could feel a threatening presence approach our little cabin of light in an otherwise pitch black shoreline. I looked outside and I was wrong, it wasn’t pitch black there was some soft moonlight. There was a creature approaching, 4 bodies bound together in a sack of silk, bearing 4 heads with the faces of clowns. 

They had come for a dance battle, to mark their territory. It sounds lighthearted but it wasn’t. I invited them in the cabin of the plane, not sure if they would kill me. I put on a Luxury Lounge youtube mix and dragged myself across the mirrored walls, half in anti-gravity but it was a struggle to maintain. Anti gravity hair whip and pushed the mirrors, floating away from my reflection.

The clowns had chilled out because of the mix, they said “what is this?” And I said “ambient music...”

The clowns no longer cared about the competition but someone had called the cops on us. They showed up and cuffed the seven year old boy who it turns out was a runaway. A cop whispered in my ear “His mother is beautiful and we want to impress her.”