Headless in Summer

I was walking through a refugee camp with tents. There was a rabble of campers and socialists playing guitar. In the middle, though I could not see her face, was a stunningly beautiful woman in purple lace underwear. I walked up to her boldy and lifted her to her feet. She didn't have a head. led her down to another area where a whole bunch of people were fucking on the grass. Her body was wet. I squeezed it and fetid breath came out of the stump in her neck. I wanted her, but I worried that because she didn’t have a head I would need to wear a condom. She said (from a pair of lips in her neck) that it was not worth looking. I asked her how many sexual partners she had had, and she began telling me a long smelly story of all the socialist campers she had been with – men “who never leave the sun” as she put it. Together we walked to a small town lined with ash trees. People honked at us. I was walking down the highway hand in hand with a beautiful headless woman in purple underwear. We got to a town called Stratford and found an exotic store that sold all sorts of safe-sex things, like powders and plastic tubes filled with spermacide, but there were no condoms. I found something hard that was a piece of plastic piping, and thought it would do. Outside, she said she wanted to go to the sea. By now I was frustrated and I told her a cab would be too expensive. Have it your way, she said, and I suddenly woke up.

The Giant Boat

I am walking in some God-forsaken place, say Budapest. I am near the river at night. The boats are lit up. But there is one boat that is far too large. It barely fits on the narrow river. Inside, the boat is as bright as daytime. Children are sitting at long wooden tables, while old ladies spoon slop into the children's chipped bowls. This disgusts me, reminding me of my old schooldays, and I turn and began walking in the opposite direction of the boat. I am looking down at my feet, proud of myself for walking away, and soon I find myself in the boat. I sit down at one of the tables and a beautiful woman who looks like Candace is there with a man. She tells me that she does not love me. I don’t know her but I feel devastated, even though I know she is not Candace, and the man is just grinning at me, and then I want to kill them both. I begin to scream at them but my mouth is full of slop, but it's dry slop, my mouth is full of cornstarch, or yellow flour, and my imprecations come out as a puff of yellow.

Dan Brown

I left my mother in a restaurant to run an errand at the South Coast Plaza. I passed by a bookstore to see if Dan Brown’s book was available. (And yet this is absurd, we all know Dan Brown’s next opus will not be released until September 15.) Instead, there was a book cover of a Dan Brown book, one I didn’t recognize. I reached out to touch it and it was made of gelatin.

A Perfect Garden

I walked through a beautiful garden. There were statues of dead Romance princes and celebrities. All the statues were blue. There were fish in the air. Green and purple fish who could swim through air. They breathed like we did. But they could swim. There were bright pools on the ground, iridescent orange. And I bent down to taste the water, and it clear water, only orange in color. I touched the statues. They were soft, like they were made of rubber. Were it not for the strange colors and textures and the fish and the celebrities I would have thought that this was the most perfect garden.

Preservation Fluid

I see a TV show about a killer who pours decomposition fluid on his corpses. Then I am running through my house, pouring decomposition fluid on my corpses. They are stapled to the floor. Some are still alive. – What are you doing? one screams. A bald man. – It’s preservation fluid, I say, almost crying. I step over him, drenching his face. Then I see my old calico cat. She is staring at me, judging me. I flick some fluid at her. I feel terrible, grab her and begin to wash her off frantically in an old spaghetti pot. Suddenly I am outside, and a judge in an orange toga who is called Hercules asks me what I have done. I tell him I am sorry, that I thought it was preservation fluid. He laughs, and then tells me to release my imagination. I feel really good and suddenly everyone around me is inspired. – Wait a second, a man shouts. If George is innocent how did I get all these scars? But no one can hear him; we are all runng around flapping our arms like birds.

A Dark Haired Woman reads Le Dépeupleur

In my dream, I saw a dark-haired woman reading Le Dépeupleur by Samuel Beckett, then sleeping with Le Dépeupleur open on her chest. I stared at her for what seemed like hours, then woke up and did these drawings.

WTF

There is yet another party in my house and I was not informed. I come upstairs, annoyed. A bunch of people are rehearsing a play. In the play, the actors are pretending to hold a séance. But someone has also driven a raised car into the living room. I try to make fun of them all, but suddenly feel embarrassed. A man named Dean comes into the room. He tries to take out a glass bathtub from inside the car's back seat. He is having a lot of trouble. I realize I am holding a candle and have been spilling wax on the carpet. Then I walk outside and my mother is talking to a woman from New Caledonia who won't shut up about money. They are both stealing food from the neighbor’s buffet table. But the food is either pre-chewed, or it is bits of garbage and bone.

Coventry: an analysis

(A friend of mine told me I should offer some analyses of my dreams. I think they are all obvious, but I here offer a basic reading. The original is below, post of May 23rd.)
Nero – He used to dress up as a bear and sodomize children tied to a stake, he also watched Rome burn playing the violin
Coventry – My father told me he went there on an archeological dig once and that they were a bunch of pig fuckers, hence the connection to Nero. (Nero also had built a Roman fort there.)
Theater Director – I took a theater directing class at UC Santa Barbara and dropped it in 1997.
Australian – Kangaroos. In other words, this man from my (theatrical) past was trying to replay an instance in the life of Nero by becoming “kangaroo” and sodomizing me. (He got it wrong, I would be the kangaroo.)
Two people rush up to me – these are my balls, no doubt, because when I was young my father told me that the balls are two little heads, and we know from Desmond Morris's The Naked Ape that seimal fluid and brain fluid communicate and coalesce via a spinal conduit
I am completely naked – Typical dream topos. The saying makes it so. My balls speak to me, I look down, and I am naked, ready to be sodomized/castrated by the Aussie. Mental castration, insofar as I know nothing about Nero. Actual castration, by forcing me into a catamite's role.
Running around – Needs no comment. I am always naked in dreams. It is a way to keep active, keep the paranoid dream libido healthy. I also like running around naked in reality. But we are taking about dreams.
Suitcase – I would say this is the forbidden anus of homosexual penetration a la Freud or the incestuous schizophrenic vagina which conceals a vagina a la Deleuze but actually I added this part because I changed the dream. In the real dream, I was actually running around naked trying to kill people, tear off their clothes, and that segwayed into a nice long disembodied sequence where I was sodomizing an albino trannie.
Car – OK, there was no car. In the real dream, a film director from Canada was forcing me to perform as a Roman soldier in Cape Cod, Virginia and I was trying to get dressed in a tent and two people came in and told me I had missed my cue and then shouted that I was completely naked. But I felt this didn’t capture the essence of the dream so I changed the whole setting via the rules of first revision (See Interpretation of Dreams) to me showing the theater director around a Roman fort in Coventry.
Hadrian – Roman emperor a few after Nero. His legacy was in fact a giant wall but I just learned that, I confused him with Trajan who built a giant column (picture above). It is very nice but you need to know another language to read it, even the pictures.
A man with a moustache – was actually a man with a THINNING moustache, i.e., vagina osa, a.k.a. the rotten mouth, which one sees a lot of traveling abroad. Thinning hair, rotten teeth, of course, are castration, i.e. me missing my cue in reality or knowing nothing about Nero in the first revision.
What do you mean, etc. – Well, there is no dialogue really in dreams. I just added this. It is all just what one is feeling. No one spoke. I am just running around, naked, trying to sodomize, being sodomized, forgetting my lines, in Virginia, a Canadian film director yelling at me.

SUMMARY: the dream says that my regret of the past (my failure as a theatre director, my failed books and screenplays, my mother’s absence, my father in prison) is as stupid as an Canadian dressing me up as a kangaroo in the hopes of sodomizing me, itself derivative of the story of Nero and the bear, Nero derivative of the earlier Cesars, and Ancient Rome derivative of Ancient Greece. The bear symbolizes America (our current stock market) in whose shadow lives Canada (where I live now). So I must continue to work on my fourth autobiographical novel, Genius Insane Blaster Tron 4, The Duty of Genius, and the adaptation of my third autobiographical novel, George, into a screenplay, for between all these binaries of reality/dream, dream/revision, theater/film, bear/kangaroo, Canadian/Aussie, Roman/Greece (I am Greek), Coventry/Cape Cod, Freud/Deleuze, stands ME, immortal Trajan, he who came after Nero, he who is now, the unknown navel of the dream, the phallus of Trajan's column thrusting up from the dead earth of burning Rome (hence the naked me between the two men who ran up to me) defiant of Christians and gentiles, George the Jew, George’s column, George the phallus, carved with living veins in the wisdom of my toil and pleasure. (And finally, the increasing size of the column of this post, for in my dream I must have anticipated that my friend would tell me to write an analysis, c.f. Freud on condensation.)

Coventry

I am at one of the emperor Nero’s Roman forts near Coventry, England with a very famous theatre director from Australia. I want to show him that I know a lot about Roman forts, because I suspect he thinks that all Americans are ignorant. As we are walking through the archeological ruins, two people rush up to me and tell me that I am not wearing any clothes. – What do you mean, I shout, at the same time realizing that I am completely naked. I run around looking frantically for clothes, eventually running back to the car where my suitcase is. I rush back to the theater director, who seems to have stood completely still right in the place where I left him. I tell him that both Nero and Hadrian had strong interests in Brittany, when a man with a moustache rushes up to me, alarmed, and tells me that I am not wearing any clothes. – What do you mean, I shout, and realize at the same time that I am completely naked.

The Mummy

I am dining on the back terrace of a white mansion in New England. We are chatting about golf and getting ready for a nice meal. We are overlooking a wide lawn. Then a thought comes to me, stirring a nice glass of tomato juice: the mummy is coming. I look out at the lawn, and, in the far distance, a white figure is running towards me. It is a mummy. It's old bindings are unraveling. – What is that, a woman says. – Call the sheriff, a man says. But the sheriff is already there. He tilts his head back and spits, unimpressed. – Holy cow can it run, he says suddenly. I hear the sound of cymbals crashing. The mummy reaches the back parking lot. It smashes the window of a Porsche, and pulls a young woman out the driver’s side window. She is screaming. The sheriff fires. The bullet pierces her heart. A schoolmaster is charging the mummy with a shovel. The sheriff fires again, and he hits the schoolmaster right in the temple. The sheriff is a bad shot. – Do something, the man beside me says. – What can we do, the woman screams. The mummy picks up the dead schoolmaster and flings it away like a dead rat. Now it is running up the terrace steps.

Enemies to Society

On TV there is a Fox show called Enemies to Society. I see a picture of my house. – This is a family of known sexual criminals, the narrator says. Then the screen cuts to an actor portraying my father, drinking from a bottle, while his wife and daughter and son cower out of fear. – That’s not my house, I say. That’s a bunch of actors. I pull down my pants, as though to indicate my disgust. I turn around on the couch, and spread my ass apart. – Come on and fuck me, daddy, I say. At that moment a woman comes in my room, holding a glass of punch. She is startled and turns back again. I run after her. – You are the daughter and I am the son, I say, grabbing her arm. One day we will kill our father. We are already working very hard to destroy him in our minds. But until then you must never tell anyone what you saw. – Let go, she says. I don’t know you. I am at the wrong party. - Yes, I say. And my father is dead. That is why my name is George Death the Second. Becuase I killed my father, George Death.

The George Bernard Shaw Dream

There is a party at my house. No one told me about it. Downstairs, a woman is playing a song from Cats on a harp. I am taking care of two small boys. They turn into wood-ticks. I run shouting for help. I call out to my sister. (?) The wood-ticks are trying to escape. I use a playing card to stop them in their path. But I keep catching their legs under the card, and soon I have only a little pile of wriggling legs and cut torsos. Someone comes into my office and tells me that he has made a website for a philosophy course he will be teaching. He is sitting in my chair and is fiddling with my computer. I pretend to be interested. Then he gets up and I realize he has been sitting on a cat. It is a beautiful sea green colored cat. I have never seen it before. My sister comes in the room (since I have no sister she is just a kind of white blur with long dark hair) and picks up the flattened cat. I realize te cat is one of the two little boys. It has no legs and only one arm. – It’s George Bernard Shaw! my sister shouts, triumphantly. I must write this dream down, I think. And someone hands me a book where The George Bernard Shaw Dream is written out beautifully, with everything explained.

Uncollected Dream Fragments

1. Charles Bronson looks at me quite intently. - George, I’m going to marry your wife, he says. We laugh together. (Charles famously said this to David McCallum, and then married his wife.) I hear my mother cry my name upstairs. I run to help her, open the door, and Charles Bronson is sodomizing her.
2. An Arab man points at an orange triangle. – This triangle is impossible to look at, he says. He is right: I see only a blur, then a teddy bear.
3. (Redacted at the request of my mother.)
4. A town in Croatia is made entirely of chocolate, the tour guide tells me. But everything tastes like matzo.
5. A piece of blue cheese has got a little mouth. It spits out chicken blood.
6. Dolph Lundgren and I are looking at houses. I get frustrated because we can’t decide on anything. Dolph tells me that he has had enough, and goes and waits in the car.
7. I am trying to deliver a letter and get confused about which mailbox to put it into. Suddenly I am bent over and chained to table by a hungry rat. (C.f. The Rat Man)
8. Candace is on a diet and she will eat only blue flowers. – Find me a lot of blue flowers or I will divorce you, she says. (C.f. Novalis)
9. I see a plane on fire hurtling towards me. It smashes down onto my front lawn. What luck, I think, watching it burn. Then a propeller gets loose, goes spinning towards me and slices off the top of my head.
10. I am trying to do my (turbo)taxes and all the numbers turn into little smurfs.
11. Robert Ludlum rings the doorbell. He is wearing aviator glasses and carries a long cane. He opens up my first autobiographical novel and reads aloud, tapping out the rhythm of my prose with his cane. He is unimpressed.
(Above drawing entitled, "Thought.")

Exam

I am taking an exam. It is in a white booklet. On the first page, I have to fill out my personal information: my name, the date, my race, my marital status, and my annual income. The second page has more questions: they want to know my blood type, my allergies, if I have any STDs, and whether there is a history of mental illness in my family. On the third page, I am asked if I am autistic. I check no. Immediately, a woman comes in the room and hands me a little booklet of five arithmetical questions. The first four are easy, the last is impossible. She says I have ten minutes, and watches as I answer them. Then she leaves with the booklet. On the fourth page, I am asked if I have leukemia. I check no. A black man enters immediately and takes my blood. The fifth page is blank. Where is the exam? A woman enters the room and puts a paper with a Greek word on it in front of me. It looks like LEAOUKON. I don’t remember all my Greek letters. –Write whatever comes to mind, she says. I write down, “Farm Landscape.” - Anything else? she asks. - No, I say. She leaves with the paper. Another woman comes in with a long, flat candle and a little knife. She tells me to write something about farms on it. - On the candle? I ask. - Yes, she says. I try to carve a little buffalo but it ends in a mess. – Where is my exam? I ask, handing her the candle. But the woman is gone. Suddenly, three children burst into the room, with a moose hide. The hide has been bleached white and is very soft. They stretch the skin out over my desk and hand me a pen dipped in black ink. – Try this, one of them says. -If you have never thought, think now.

(Attached is my drawing entitled "Inspired by Robert Ludlum.")

Lily Lady

It is a sunny and murky day. The clounds hang low but there is sun from the east. I am on the dock at my father's old cabin drinking a tall glass of vodka and lemonade. I hear the sound of a toad [wnaack] and I see a naked brunette on a lily pad beside me. – Well well, I say. – Come and fuck me, she says. It’s as simple as that. I swim out to the lily pad and we start fucking. Then I wake up and Candace is there, watching me. – I saw your body convulsing with pleasure, she says. – Yes, I said. It was a beautiful dream. I fucked a brunette on a lily pad. – Well I am leaving you in the morning, she says. Then I wake up again, only this time Candace is sound asleep. I got up and wrote this list about the cabin: mint ice cream, sailing boards, gasoline, loud motorboats, sweet tarts, dragonflies, the orange spoon, ninja throwing stars.

Ride

They have opened up a new ride in the mall. I have never been to this mall. It is a roller coaster that goes into a pair of red doors. The cost is fifty dollars. I pay it but I complain about the cost. – Shock me if you dare, I say to the Indian man. – If you fail I will return and collect my money with interest. No sooner am I strapped in, the car blasts through the doors, and it sounds like a sheet of ice hitting concrete. The car goes up, it goes down, there’s not much to this, except the decor is very well done. Mountains surround me. It's even cold. The air is fresh. There are birds. The car stops in the middle of a giant ice pan. There’s a man there who unbuckles me. He looks bored with his job. And he leads me to the edge of the pan. – Jump, you weak fucker, he says. Jump. I can’t see the bottom. Only fog. Children run past me, screaming, and they jump, and disapear in the fog. – Jump, you fucker. – Is this part of the ride, I say. – Jump, he says. – The ride is over, I say. I won’t jump. I can’t jump. The man grabs me like he would grab a tiny dog, and hurls me into the abyss.

Angel of Death

I am on a mission. I have a fishing knife. I am in a factory. – Who are you, a tall man says. He has come up to me so close he could kiss me. I push the knife in his ribs. His eyes go wide. I pull the knife out, ducking around him as he falls forward. There’s a boy. He can’t be more than 14. No matter: 14 year olds have to die too. I twist the knife, hearing the bones crack. The boy moans. I run up a metal staircase. There is an office at the top of the stairs. Aha, I think. The file. The secret dish. Two old woman are speaking French sitting in front of a desk. One wears a canary yellow dress and has a matching purse. The other is in mourning. – Who are you? The yellow woman asks, alarmed. – My name is George, I say. I am the angel of death. – You have a alot of nerve, says the the woman in mourning. Confess! Two little doors open behind the desk. And two tall men crouch out. One is bald, the other has got greasy black hair. I lunge toward the bald man, punching the knife into his chest. Blood squirts from his torso. I whip around and slash the blade across the neck of the other. Blood globs out like a tongue. They're on the ground, their eyes wide open. – Now I will confess, I say, turning the two men over so that they cannot see me. But the women are dead too, their eyes wide open, staring as though out a window. I am looking for the secret file, getting worried.

Seal-Fish

I was swimming in the old lake I used to swim in when I was a child. I swam out further than I ever had before. What does it matter, I thought, I am not young anymore. I can swim out across the lake. Then I saw a giant old fish, a fish as big as a seal, and I immediately thought, That’s a seal-fish. There was a thick piece of old rope around its neck. I followed the fish as it swam ahead of me. I could see underwater and barely needed to come up for air. When I got close to the rope I grabbed it. The rope was slack, so I pulled on it. I pulled and pulled, it turned into a chain, and led me up the shore and towards an old cottage. No one was home, the door was open, and there was coffee and brandy and even a warm fire inside. This is an ancient cabin, I thought, no one has been here for years, and I am the first discoverer. And just as I had prepared my coffee and brandy, I saw an albino man in the window. His hair was bright white and he was shirtless. – Hello, I said. – Hello. – Is this your cottage? – No, he said, sadly. I’m just passing by. I was reading the bible. (This made sense to me at the time.) He came inside and I saw the thick piece of rope around his neck. – You’re the seal-fish, I said. I was following you. He nodded, then handed me a saw. – Will you saw me in half? he asked. – Why, I asked. I’ll saw the rope off around your neck, and you’ll be free. – Fine, he said sadly. He had a nice voice. He took off his wet pants and lay his cold white body across my legs. – You’re a very delicate white thing, I said. – Yes, he said. My skin is as soft as cooked asparagus. I had the saw in the my hand and I was sawing away, sawing him in half. His guts were pouring out of him.

Tic Tac

I am sitting on my driveway on a hot day in Anaheim. My old archrival Canyon Carlyle is there, and we are drinking red (?) lemonade. – You didn’t always used to be so arrogant, he says. – What do you know? I say. – In the old days we used to skateboard up and down this street. – I was a master at the tic tac, I say. – Bull, says Canyon. I get up and show him I can tic tac. Tic Tac is when you move back and forth on a skateboard without touching the ground, propelling yourself forward. I am racing down the street, tic, tac, tic, tac, and this is too easy; it was never this easy.

Advice in the Hallway

I have been told a very important piece of advice. It will help me in so many ways down the line. I can become a better person. But the problem is that the girls who told me the advice are on the volleyball team. They are one year older than me. They are lined up against the hallway, waiting for the hour to be up. I am in the ninth grade, and they are in the tenth grade. They are big and round with giant thighs and sweaty shirts. They wear short shorts and have good teeth and wear their hair in ponytails. I want to crawl under their legs and cover my eyes. But I have to be at geography class. How can I think about what they told me? What was it? I want to crawl under their legs. I want them to kick me and laugh. I want them to step on me with their dirty shoes and stuff their sweaty feet in my mouth. They have fifteen minutes to kill. Kill me, I whimper. One of them stops kicking me and she says she will kiss me. – Yes, kiss me, I say. And she kisses me, she licks my cheek, she laughs. I grab her ankle. It is a nice ankle. – That’s not your ankle, another one says. She knows a lot more than the others, she is more plump and sweatier and laughs louder and her thighs are thicker and she returns every volleyball and gets good grades. Now she opens a little knife with a wooden handle and press it up into my throat, right through my puckered lips. The blade goes up into my head. I have forgotten everything you have said, but you told me something important. I am George, tell me what you said, because I love you, and I don’t think I heard what you said.

The Lozenge

I was picking my mother up from her pottery class in Anaheim. And she got in the car and immediately said that I should have left ten minutes earlier, because I was ten minutes late. I told her she was wrong, but her face was blurry and then it changed into a man’s face, then into a Chinese man’s face, then into an Indian woman’s face. I thought it was ugly for a person to be changing faces but I said nothing. – You’ve been drinking, she said to me. – Drinking has nothing to do with it! I shouted. –You’ve got a drinker’s personality, she said. – That doesn’t matter, I shouted, I’m not going to change, why should I? I’m my own man on my own life mission. You be nice to me or you can get out of the car. We drove home in silence. I went downstairs and began to wash my hands. She came into the bathroom, now as the Chinese man. She placed a lozenge as big as two thumbs on the sink. – Swallow this so that the police don’t smell the alcohol on your breath, she said. I swallowed the lozenge, which make me choke. – No more battles, mother, I said. – Oh George, she said, in a way that made my heart ache. I’ll destroy you if I have to.

Indian Run

I was on an empty train going through the snow. I jumped off, and then realized that I was in the middle of nowhere. I ran after the train and I came to a small town filled with Indians, and they were all running to catch the train with me. But the train didn’t stop in the town. One of them was running beside me. He had feathers of blue and red in his hair but was wearing ordinary clothes. – I’m George, I said. – I’m a Crow, he said. – Why is the train not stopping? I asked. – Because you jumped off, he said. Now we were running along paths in the woods, there were green pines everywhere. The train was not in sight but I thought we were still running after it. And now I was leaving the town, and the Indians became trees. The Indians were standing like trees in the wind. Their bodies hunched. I ran faster and faster passed the frozen Indians and disappeared in my running.

Tune In Tokyo

I had a nice apartment, and then A. showed up, that girl who was always getting beaten up and felt up in grade 9. T. used to play Tune In Tokyo with her. I always wondered why she let him. Anyway, she wanted my credit card to call her fiancé. I told her to leave, and then ran her out of the house. Then she said she had left a garment inside. I went inside to get it. Then she must have broken in because she was running amok screaming and smashing things. I woke up with the thought, Why didn’t I lend her my credit card? I would tell her she was a naughty girl for breaking things and then she would let me play Tune In Tokyo with her and we would fall in love or at least have lots of good sex.

Daryl Hanna

I was with Daryl Hannah by her swimming pool on a tropic (synthetic) LA night. Daryl was a horse-faced exotic bird with long relaxing hair, her body under the limey light glowed and suggested caresses. She was compelling in a plastic and pleasant way. I felt naughty and frightened. We were jumping from topic to topic with a false omniscient air, derogatory. I was touching her face and hands and arms and I looked at my arms in the greeney, moony light. There was a festival in the distance. Was she going to make love to me? All the guests had left. Then a small child, like the one in Blue Hawaii, came up pretending to be a fawn (fawner?) and plopped a handful of marine paint on Daryl’s bare chest. Then Daryl’s daughter (?) (the children were all mulatto and bare-chested, oiled up) threw a handful of Homeric green paint at her. Then a black woman threw bright red at Daryl. Daryl was laughing, and she was suddenly wearing my bathing suit, and she had forgotten about me. Finally the fawn came at me and I threatened him. His mother saw this and she was disturbed. She goaded her child on. I wondered – should I drench the little terror with the real open can of house paint I have on the table? [their paint was play paint, mine was real paint] And then I am suddenly globbed. I want to strike the boy, and then beat and smack his mother, and rape her, but I think this is going too far, what am I thinking, I have been reading too much Ovid. I woke up furious thinking that just because they threw paint at Daryl they thought they could throw paint at me. But I was an afterthought. I felt guilty, like a criminal, for wanting to rape the woman, and a terrible feeling of having missed an opportunity to get to know Daryl.

DECEMBER 25, 1998

Combat in a structural amalgamation of the Monument and the St. Denis School [in Montreal], as well as the dream version of SJR [private boy’s school in LA] with the silent emptiness and the metal tower. We were fighting with high impact pellet revolvers which killed people. I met a guy I didn't like; I took him into the big theatre (which was more like the Centaur's main space [in Montreal]) and then ducked out dramatically into the deserted spiral fire escape on the right so that he would follow me. I wanted only to rid him from the world. Careening down, faster than I could go, then stopped and ducked and heard him, saw his head, fired my gun, [pig fucker!] missed, he stunned, came further to look down and I planted three in his chest, what a feeling, left his body at the bottom, exited at the bottom door.
Lo and behold the secret classrooms, which I think I've dreamt of before, ones looking like the ones at NTS [National Theater School] but a whole new configuration, probably used by French, I surmised. Walking through, and suddenly hordes of Commerce (?) students filled the halls, I noticed they were lined with books and it was also a library. There was a large looking cot-bed which I sat on and it unfortunately took up much room. So that I could get to the bottom to look at a soft cover book on [Ezra] Pound. People were slightly inconvenienced. After, I got up and a woman took my cot and folded it over to make a chair. She said to me "There isn't that better?" and then someone else said relatively the same thing to me. I laughed.

October 3, 1984

The Origin of All Dreams Was Not a Dream.

I was six years old. The succubus entered my bedroom from an open window, ripped away my blue Star Wars sheets, and tried to feast on my undeveloped genitals. She wanted to castrate me and hence stop the passage of semen up my spinal cord into my brain, which is an integral developmental process of the insane genius. I might have perished, had not a Fraggle warned me of her coming in a dream the previous night. I had prepared a straw filled with pepper, and I blew it into her horrible sticky green face. She recoiled, and screamed. The next night she returned, and spat acid menses at me, which burned my tender neck. She said, in a frighteningly tinny voice, “From henceforth, you will desire me, child. For I am succubus. I am the Force of Complete Horror and Total Annihilation of Genius also known as FCHTAG [fuk-tag]. I will impede your rise to power. I will castrate and destroy you. I will leave you to die in the garden like a turd. And you will never know what it means to love – except your mother. For I, succubus, structure your desire.