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A bunch of dreams, and then some more dreams. Dreams within dreams. Is life itself a dream? Why are these all called Dreamscapes, anyway? Who are we and where do we come from?

Dreams i (6/26)

December 23, 1990

Choose a different dreamscape

I arrive in NY the day after returning home from this trip. I let myself into the Dex apartment, find the bed in which I am supposed to sleep. It is night. I study the layout, noting that there is another room, but filthy w/soot and sooty cobwebs. Still, looks habitable…

Next day (?) Dex comes in and we discuss matters. The 3rd room is not usable for some reason (belongs to the apartment next door?). But Dex sleeps on a comfortable futon, and there are 2 big double beds in his room. Something about something about something. Beds are very expensive in the city. He asks how much money I have. I thumb through my wallet and find more than I imagined if I count a check I found made out to so + so but, perhaps, cashable by me. I ask Dex if he thinks it is feasible. He takes the worn paper and scribbles some numbers, crosses them out, scribbles some more: phone #s. I see that he has a devious + crafty plan to aid in the validating of his future claim.

Looking at Dex, I see that architecture + academic life has not been healthy. He has pudged up considerably, like RP. His hairline is receding. His face is red and sunburned ecept for an odd, oval white patch, circling close around his eyes + under his nose. As if he had been wearing a diving mask. I ask him about this and he looks at me as though to say “isn’t it obvious? Are you kidding?” I understand that the ring is caused by peering through a light-rimmed magnifying glass at architectural models for too long. Perhaps a common occurrence among arch. Students. The sunburned area is from the thin tubes of fluorescent light which frame the glass. Not healthy. 

We get separated. Other people are involved. Dex’s roommate who offers a very weak + shaky + distracted grip when we meet. Some people from other apartments who all seem involved in the same, vast architectural project. 

I find myself walking through a hilly + crowded park. Looking for Dex? People shuffle past. One man (a geologist) offers a danish to some homeless Rastafarians, and I wonder if I could have one too, although we all are aware that I would look down upon all the people involved, were the situation different. I arrive at a turning point. A fast food movie theater glows toward me through a gathering dusk and I realize I haven’t been to  a movie in a long time. The thought of going now depresses me slightly. I turn and head back, aware for the 1st time that just the day before I had been on the boat, cleaving through glassy bluegreen swells. I also realize, somewhat surprised, that I have not talked to Dex about my trip at all. I resolve not to, luxuriating in the peaceful memory, knowing that later, when he remembers and asks me, the modesty I have displayed will lend increased power to the mystery of the trip. Then I wonder if perhaps I should just introduce the subject, especially if it is present in my mind, occupying valuable RAM space. I decide to wait and hope the memories sit quiet + faithful + dormant in the back of my mind whenever I am talking to Dex. Better yet, I can forget it entirely until called upon to divulge. Then, reluctance and placidity are the best attitudes to assume. I decide,  finally (all this in thought time: a split second) to play it by ear, let the winds blow. I am in NYC. Right where I planned to be for the last 8 months.

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