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so yesterday I had a dream -- I was walking up a sand dune. more importantly i felt very vividly the sand under my foot -- warm, soft, brown. i coddled myself with this dream all day -- on the train, walking up and down stairs, hauling my bag. highpoint of the week -- this passing sensation. the destructive qualities of addiction are only secondly pysiological.the first thing it does is to make ordinary reality not enough. i feel only contempt for simple pleasures and why---because they are so transparent -- to be avoided, just like transparent people. but yet im one. i valued honesty above all else. honesty to ones self. the honest truth: no coherent self. I is other and myriad. so ive splintered and become aphasiatic. nothing I say approaches what I really [want to say]. I'm mealy mouth and unmotivated to communicate.


after 9/11 i had a dream where i was taking an elevator up and down Coney Island Hospital -- I was trying to make out a slip of paper. It said: and blah blah blah, , therefore cruelty must exist. it made perfect sense and this is how i have lived my life. i believed it made me wiser. seeing involves keeping both eyes open -- etc etc. all that vision is maladaptive for most things true, but i wanted to be an artist anyway. i didnt see over that hill; i didnt care to. and now i'm at a transition. I do in my heart of hearts believe that a person should live several lives that a person needs to die to be reborn again, and all those other things that have already been said. Brenda in Six Feet Under (the kind of person I always without fail fall in love with): the older you get the more honed you are by your experiences, so the number of people who really get you dwindle and dwindle. this effect is multiplied the more lives you have..

in india this summer, one of the dogs wasnt warming up to me so i spat at it; also i tear up uncontrollably and at odd moments, like when i see two young children holding hands, and the like. this is all followed by self pity -- a lot of it, about ive turned my heart into ash, intentionally -- and for what?

i felt nothing towards jeff. not even satisfaction over using him so exquisitely. i believe it would have been different were it someone else, someone decent. there would have been guilt involved, for example and now he is where he belongs, in jail. im interested in the things that happen in that soundless region, the one that is always right, which does not ever feel the need to glance at our gauche efforts to generalize, think things through, get a hold of (it).