i had a dream of a grand house. like the one in the middle of the

Tuesday, 30 November 2004

great dream campus. the one with the sunken steps that’s off sort of by itself with the trees on the opposite end from the dorms. the building itself is one long, large hallway (taller than wide) with large rooms full of expensive furniture off it all the way from end to end.

there are also doctors’ offices on this campus (a medical annex) that remind me of the police building from UNM (while i was there, not the new one).

the house was also like the dream harvard house with the large basement where i’d lived on both levels at one point or another.

in the house (seeming smaller than usual and quite dark—it was dark) i was sitting with someone having a conversation or some food. there was a woman in the other room (i couldn’t see her, only heard her) playing meaty kashian music on an acoustic stringed instrument. the sensation of hearing it was like hearing in hallucination. it was loud and the tone of the instrument was thinner than an acoustic guitar would be and it should have been quieter too but it was extremely loud in my ears. from the inside of my ears.

the person i was with told me to go talk to her. i went and sat on a couch opposite her with a coffee table between us. the instrument was pretty. it looked like a cross between a mongolion instrument and a banjo but it was made of dark wood. the neck was not wide. she was amazing on it and played for only 3-4 seconds after i sat down. i remember thinking that it was polite she stopped right away to talk with me. and that i wouldn’t have stopped if i were playing that same music.

she had bangs cut in her jet black hair. she looked like a cross between helena bonham carter and that thin pretty brunette that’s always in mammet movies. her eyes were lined but i didn’t notice any other makeup. she was pale in the dark. her voice was pleasant and entirely american.

she was trying to console me for someone’s death, i think. i wasn’t sure. i just knew that someone was going to try to facilitate some tears and i didn’t feel like crying. i expected maudlin or heavy handed tales but she started to tell me about an after hours raid on a dairy queen, presumably led by the person who had died.

her story telling was in prose poetry. easy to listen to but you had to concentrate to get a story out of it. they broke into the dairy queen and someone wanted a chocolate drink and this was very funny for some reason b/c they only had chocolate syrup and it was cold anyway. the tone of a dairy queen raid in place of a “we-will-all-miss-him” was not silly at all in the dream. it was serious and beautiful and i found i couldn’t concentrate on her words b/c i was concentrating on not letting her open my emotions like so many poorly sealed tupperware containers.

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