MALLaRME'

Dream Journey: Someone panned a new Mallarme' translation by calling it: "A Throw of the Dice Does Not Eliminate Chance Starring Erik Estrada" and I set out to look for an old VHS copy.

The Twelve

What I find most disagreeable about last night's nightmare was that it was predicated on my yearning for justice. Justice?! That cottage industry, like plastic surgery, golf carts, and pet grooming!

I appealed to a small room of Twelve Passive Agressive Men With Foot Wide Spotches of White Glow-in-the-Dark Paint on their Faces.

Museum of Modern Art

The warden was gone from the prison, which had been converted from its previous use as the Museum of Modern Art. A mob functionary entered in a suit and murdered an inmate, and a prisoner realized he could escape. He ran out the front door, and ran towards a field in his stockinged feet. Then a feeling of laziness and futility came over him, and he realized that there was a chance he could strike a deal by testifying about this and other murders. He returned hoping he would not be charged for escaping. The warden has just returned with his wife and daughter with department store bags and a take-out lunch. He told the warden that he had just gone out to get them both coffee and donuts but the place was closed. The warden nodded his head.

Anonymous

When I go somewhere I always forget to learn the word for 'anonymous.' Then at the 1:33 mark at the Old Masters Gallery I say 'this guy with the funny one word name is sure prolific!' It is only when his work begins to span five centuries that I come to a realization.

Bright lights

Dreams last night were a caricature of my thoughts on the way home from a party last night, and I would like to think that that would lend itself to something interesting or entertaining, but this wasn't it. Someone complaining that 'Gandhi' the movie had been reissued and was being shown in two parts, seperate admission. Or loitering in a small book store with a large window and bright lights where everyone could be seen from the street, which was significant because I had just escaped from prison. It was a good book store: it wasn't that I didn't care about getting caught but I just lost myself in the moment.

At Night Time

Dream: There was a small tower with a bronze statue of a man with the head of an owl, which my brother had the job of guarding with a machine gun.

Place Blanche

Dream: I had arrived suddenly in Paris, but got into a bus at the airport (impossible) and it took me northeast of the city center despite the sign saying Place Blanche, where I couldn't get out into the street but was trapped in a social realist amphitheater that had a slide show of wax animal sculptures and a brochure about the artist.

I was at the Jersey Shore, folks were building a tacky restaurant/bar where the sand dunes had been. I apologized to the hosts that I didn't have my special guidebook to the area, which only exists from a previous dream, which lists the addresses of old radical newspapers and birthplaces of jazz icons that aren't there.