Floating atop a raging stream of media backlash. Just driftwood. Woke up stumbling through the blue light. Blue room. Heard the electric stream outside my window. "What do you have to say about the verdict, Mr. Stonehenge?" and the lawyers voice ringing loud like highschool PA: white noise static: "No comment." Big white voice from thin white man. Deep with authority. "no comment." and another "no comment."

"TURN OFF THE SOUND: im trying to sleep." i screamed. let anger get the best of me. as often i do. slammed the window and fell to more lucid dreams. Driftwood. where i began. And i was on the driftwood carnival caveat. I was waiting for a place to dock, crowds milling waiting to unload their parcels. me, i traveled light. empty. looked around. you weren't there. i'd left you in the hotel when you stumbled into the shower. (re: great milennium hoe down) as i did in real life that same afternoon. finally, the pruple suit guys let me dock. and you can bet they asked about you. they always do, and it's difficult: difficult: to be your shadow. even in my dreams, my subconscious plays it out. i lashed out and the purple coats retreated, not without tying my driftwood to the dock however. dismount like a wafer thin gymnist, triple back flip karate kung fu to the end of the pier -- where it met the beach. remember, this is my dream, i'm allowed to be creative. humming that song in my head. the one trixie wrote: you know trixie is moving to new york. we should really get back there together sometime.

Anyway. the dream. walking through the lights flicker green blue, like a christmas tree without pine needles. everywhere, lights dangling from air. so bright i had to don the viser. im still a little sensitive after the operation. trixies pop rock hit fizzling in my brain and stinging my tongue, i think they thought i was crazy. walking around singing to myself. i was supposed to meet Geriatric at the ferris wheel: how a propo that it was his court case that woke me up? i wonder if i heard the neighbors monitor in my sleep. [note to myself: you remind me: call landlord about additional sound proofing]. im so scattered this morning. anyway. Geriatric, in this dream of mine, had turned against the command center (finally, his senses came to him) and he had the files about the Projekt with him. I was where i was supposed to be, and when, and he appeared from a steamy shadow, just like a 1950's detective flick. "are you ready dear?" he asked as he grabbed hold of my elbow, escort style. i just shot him a coy girl smile. we slid into the pale green chair, fastened our belts and the spiral started. up and over we went around and around the chrome wheel. silent. i really expected him to be more of a flirt, but he was suspiciously blank. and then i realized, this was my last ride (sorry to be so cliche) i was going down. i tried not to flinch, but you know, all dogs can smell fear. and so it goes, he realized i knew what was going on, and for a minute we both laughed at my stupidity. i thought maybe if we laughed long enough i might trick him into thinking we'd bonded. but we didn't. and he certainly wasn't a fool about anything. he pulled out a small needle and had the grimace of a cheshire on X: half seductive: half derranged: and i woke up to the court decision.

Dreamed by: Shel Kimen