this project involves listening to a recently-released piece of music right before i fall asleep and describing the dream i had upon waking. if you are interested in submitting a piece to this project please email firstname.lastname@example.org
1/27/16 : Upper West Side, NYC : i wake up at 9:15 because i’m expecting a phone call re: medicaid renewal.
music : https://soundcloud.com/izfernor/a-jar-to-put-hope-in by Izfemor.
DREAM : i am staying at a friend’s house. there is a bathtub where yoga classes are held. it’s a normal sized bathtub and everyone gets naked and i find this idea frustrating. i really just want to take a bath alone and so i do, albeit with the discomfort of being barged in on by a ghost. i have been sharing a suitcase with someone and there is an argument. i hide the shirt they got for Christmas. everything somehow results in me staying at this house longer. there is snow outside (surprise) and my parents pull up in a car. i get mad and shout that they should go to alanon. later on i offer to take someone’s virginity. i’m a martyr.
1/20/16 : Columbia, MD : i wake up at 9:30ish to a conversation with my mother. as a result i immediately forget the dream. i remember it later as i prepare to shower.
music : Dream Fodder by 2kjb. https://soundcloud.com/2kjb/sets/dream-fodder
DREAM : the house is a 50’s style rancher. there is no one there, suggesting that it is either on the market or i’m trespassing. the house is also a display window. i check out the spices. there are a lot of tags, note, pieces of scrap paper that take on the significance of ceramic trinkets in a collectible series. i check out the basement and there’s something wrong. the dampness and patterns of light suggest that there’s someone there. the experience takes on an otherworldly stillness, an inexorable peace. i am then living on a gravel beach. i am struggling to survive on an artist’s income. this is a project of sorts, everything shifts rapidly.
1/19/15 : Columbia, MD : I wake up at 11:39 realizing that i am late to get my bows re-haired. i am worried that i’ll forget the dream if i call to say i’m running behind. i call anyway, as it would be inconsiderate not to and i am trying to be a decent human being. i don’t forget the dream so everything’s peachy.
music : Still/Free by Sarah Bernstein Quartet. https://sarahbernstein.bandcamp.com/album/still-free
DREAM : the farm is filthy and pitch black and i am totally overloaded with pills that i need to watch the x-files reboot. there is something being screened on an old projector in the barn and i am trying to crawl up to the wooden benches so i can see and so i am not sinking in the mud, a reality that is both omni-directional and impossible at this point. i’m losing what i need. i’m picking things up and licking them. there’s shit, mildew, and beautiful antiquity. the whole routine is heart-breakingly gorgeous. there are alien boys with burnt potato chips. then there’s a house. an old warmth like once you cook it it’s preserved forever, the kind of flickering glow that indicates marooning. we just end up here. urban planning doesn’t make sense. there’s a play on the top floor (attic?). it’s a one man show but he’s charging participants like a children’s drama camp. he’s an asshole alcoholic and both of the women are here. they are on my lap. they are running away. there are a lot of rooms in this house. number 5 is important. top floor. i want to sleep with both of the women. it is cold here but the potential for warmth is extraordinary. i never want to leave.
1/18/16 : Columbia, MD : I wake up at 10:30 unsure of where i am.
DREAM : frankly, I can’t really recall. I know that as i woke up i felt like i was simultaneously made of stairs and crawling out of myself. I am aware of this lingering sensation of being wrapped up in a hand (like a big hand, god-like) that is saturated with pimples and that moves with the consistency of a cheese grater. I am not sure what “not really remembering” one’s dreams means for the context of this project. Do I kill the project? Do I try listening a second time? Do I continue moving forward? Obviously, i am not just referring to this situation but Life in General.
1/17/16 : Upper West Side, NYC : i wake up at 10:15 after hitting snooze for an hour and forty-five minutes.
DREAM : there are a lot of stale pastries procured from some kind of complex that my friend has renovated the basement of and encased in fake wood. i think he’s in boy scouts. there are remnants of air conditioning vents everywhere and the toilet is covered in clear beads (pearls?). i think it’s piss at first but it’s not. there might be some kind of theater production team based here (or pep rally?) but in any case you are only supposed to take a pastry and a half and i’ve filled my bag with them and i don’t even want them. i get a phone call from my parents that my cat is sick and has been taken to a rest-cure place in mexico and they don’t know what to do with her next and i freak out and wake up.
1/16/16 : Upper West Side, NYC : i am woken up around 10:30. benedryl hangover.
music : Clarifying the Natural State, or, Where is the Bubbling Surface? by Start/Again Ensemble. https://startagainensemble.bandcamp.com/
DREAM : i am in a way station which is also, i’m told, an LGBT hotel. i’m relieved; ending up here makes sense. there is a lot of dashing back and forth, from the front desk to a room that is full of antiques. i have a roommate who resembles CATFOX. Not surprisingly, there is a performance space in this complex. I am fighting to keep my spot. I perform upside-down. at some point later on i am leaning against my car and negotiating with people i can’t see. this most likely involves a flavor of KIND bar that i don’t like.
1/15/16 : Upper West Side, NYC : i wake up at noon with something in my eye. i feel calm.
DREAM : there is this mythical mexican restaurant in my dream-world that i return to every few months or so. the actual location shifts. there is always something 80’s-cop TV and desolate about the scene; there’s never anyone there, sometimes the food just appears, sometimes there’s this orb of light like an insect-soul. basically, the food is just so fucking good. this is the last meal i’ve been searching for, the missing taste that drives my waking distress. in last night’s dream Leila Bourdreuil was at the restaurant with me. At some point the rice broke down into microscopic granules, then everything broke down, and we struggled to consume, we suffered. there is the problem of wanting something when you don’t know what you want. this is pertinent here, on a really grand scale. all of desire; as a force governing human behavior, every facet, as love, connectivity, momentum, symbiosis, hope, etc. has been totally exorcised, gone. people turn into other people and there’s something about shipping equipment, sex work.