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And Although I Was Burning

Yep. Something uncorked. Heavy frantic dreams for the past three days. Nothing much unusual. Anxiety dreams about the dog peeing all over the kitchen (this time involving the sudden appearance of a new pet: a white rabbit). A strange Jinsy-flavoured dream that involved a murder mystery and a commune of the deranged including myself. A curiously proprietal dream where the Polar Bear display at the Bronx was turned into my personal garden (with the walkways leading up to a post French restaurant with a lovely overlook of the valley-that-is-not-there), and a stoned suburban boomer showing his golden child how to uproot my plants. And last night what started as a wish-fulfillment kind of dream but ended with me making it back to The City; main street again, with flavours of Connecticut Avenue and Main Street, Baguio, and Calle Del L'Ovo, Venice, all combined. It was late at night, and I was knocking on the doors of everyone I knew, having been handed a variety of gas canisters and glue cylinders as tokens of esteem. My friend tagging along, telling me not to wake people up and me assuring him that "they're up all night. All of them!"

I recognize many of the elements as parts of TV shows, or scenes from books. Except for the Polar Bear house. That's a new room being built, that one.