One of the cats is vomiting dark blood.  I don’t know which one.  I’m very concerned.

Kirkland, Washington, who are you?  Jill? Why do you keep coming here?

Dream that I was trying to view some sort of spectacle (a singing contest? yes, maybe a singing contest… I had wanted to enter.  I wanted to sing back in the USSR, that was it) from the window of a house, was it my house?  A guy I love was in the house, at a couple of moments he walked through the room naked or almost naked, but with some kind of fetish apparatus around his cock. Chains or leather or cloth, I don’t remember.  And maybe something in his nipples?  I don’t remember.  But he avoided me.  He was on another floor of the house.  He twice came to talk to me when I had some kind of heavy tape on my lip.  I was trying to remove my moustache? Humiliating. I was trying to assemble a low chair in front of the attic window, it seemed easier than going down into the crows.  I mean crowds. Maybe it was too late to actually enter the contest. And then I was going with my mother somewhere… outside the house… a shady street covered with yellow plums that had fallen, almost making a carpet, some of them rotting, and an old Saddhu guy eating the plums under the trees… back roads, green, narrow, like the American south… but it surely was in Asia. I don’t remember where we were trying to go.  Too much I don’t remember, I should have written it down earlier. The morning is too weird and too quiet, as the nights are, too.