Finished the blue book. A dream book compiled of over two years of dreams and notes. It smells slightly of patchouli and has deep sentimental feeling for me. I'm going to say that it, along with my drawing books, are the most important material items I possess. The objects I would look for if a fire were burning down the house. For they show my history, evidence of my interior worlds made manifest. They tell me who I've been and maybe lend clues to where I'm heading. All I am is in these books.
I started my new dream book this morning with a entry about me not participating in a orgy; yelling 'alligator' in a crowded dining hall and fooling everyone into believing their lower limbs were in danger of being devoured and chomped; and was attacked by Matthew Barney in a Versailles type garden while a large hedge came to life giving me time to get away. I am in love with dream logic.