An hour after I have woken up from the dream I can still see in my mind’s eye—whatever that may be; the third or ajna eye?—the garden hose which my wife in her blue jeans is dragging across the cement driveway. Little details, no plot. I wish I owned the mansion next to our house. I do? In real life, I wouldn’t own a mansion on a bet. These are rich people; I detest them. Who am I? How many people am I? Where am I? This plastic little apartment in southern California is not my home, but now I am awake, I guess, and here I live, with my TV (hello, Dick Clark), and my stereo (hello, Olivia Newton-John) and my books (hello nine million stuffy titles). In comparison to my life in the inter-connected dreams, this life is lonely and phony and worthless; unfit for an intelligent and educated person. Where are the roses? Where is the lake? Where is the slim, smiling, attractive woman coiling and tugging the green garden hose? The person that I am now, compared with the person in the dream, has been baffled and defeated and only supposes he enjoys a full life. In the dreams, I see what a full life really consists of, and it is not what I really have.

i had a dream today where i opened a freezer and found frozen birds inside. i took them out and roused them and they came back to life. some of them flew away. there were others who had no feet, and were screaming up at me in pain, and i had to put them out of their misery. in the dream i was crying because i didn’t want to do it, but i knew it was the only way they would stop hurting. it was awful. i basically woke up screaming.

•  •  •

•  •  •

•  •  •

•  •  •

thank you nick splendorr, my friend

book hain’t exactly NEW, but i did just update it with a back cover and a forward and all that, so i reckon it’s new ENOUGH

zip up them diapers y’all cuz new gritt stories inbound!!! just finishing some sh*t up. my babies must be beautiful before i put them up for sale, you see

I think I am trying to make my head as empty as it was when I was born onto this damaged planet fifty years ago.

I suspect that this is something most white Americans, and nonwhite Americans who imitate white Americans, should do. The things other people have put into my head, at any rate, do not fit together nicely, are often useless and ugly, are out of proportion with one another, are out of proportion with life as it really is outside my head.

I have no culture, no humane harmony in my brains. I can’t live without a culture anymore.

i don’t care about anything i own or much else in my life. if most or all of it went away i wouldn’t care, because all i care about is dante. i have put all of my love into dante, and have protected him and made him comfortable because taking care of him is the only thing that makes me happy anymore. all day long i think about how i can’t wait to get back to him, and how he’ll be waiting for me when i get there. and every day we go outside for a half hour and walk around the yard and sometimes he lies down in the grass and takes a nap while i read a book. and he’ll go to this tree by the gate and grab a leaf and bring it to me, and i’ll throw it into the air for him to catch, and then he’ll take it in his mouth and run inside with it where he has a little pile of leaves he’s been collecting. at least half the week i sleep on the couch to be near the chair where he sleeps, and when i wake up in the morning he’s curled up by my legs

when dante hears me crying, he comes to me wherever i am and lays down on my chest and goes to sleep