Dreams, dreams, so many.
One: I was walking with Kit and friend in the bush. There were multicoloured cockatoos guarding one gateway of leaves, and every so often on the right, a restaurant or something, set back. I went through one of the doors on the right and I became a Muslim boy called Abdullah. I really was him. Having been moderate, my father had turned fundamentalist. He had grown a beard and so on. My mother and two sisters and I were standing by while he searched the place for anything infidelic. He was looking for jewellery and so on. Writing. Meanwhile, my younger sister, Dana or something, was desperate that I help her find these purple earrings of hers. They were deeply sentimental for some reason: something either to do with our grandmother or some boyfriend, a date. I hunted in wooden boxes and things, pretending to help my father. What’s that in your hand, he said, when I found them. I was helping my younger sister get away to meet someone, driving her quick in my open topped car. But back at the house, he was asking, What’s that in your hand? And yet, like a film, in the end, he forgave us. We foresaw the possibility of living together, in mutually accepting tolerance. But for the moment, though there was love, it was uneasy. My mother, I barely recall her saying a word. I had no consciousness that I was in any way me.

I’ve had so many. That was a week or two ago. I should have written them all down. One, I was DJing for James brown and my intellectual property teacher was having us right our exam on closeted women in Victorian novels instead, and then I announced I’d already done the exam and she sent me off, and up above, in these little garret nun’s cell rooms, she was helping keep the women in hiding.

Last night, jungle. Skinny dipping. Some sort of animal, I’ve now forgotten what kind, maybe an orangutan or something more unusual, that I was caring for. Felt it was in danger. Supervisor and aunt and uncle about.

I can’t remember any of the really lengthy amazing ones. Sadly: because I remembered them all perfectly on waking from them. Maybe I will on reflection.

Weeks ago now, the one with the mall with the red cushiony walls with women buying crystal jugs and so on, all so red velvet wallpapered and oppressive, all the women were shopping, while upstairs the world leader with his dark eyes and his slicing charming smile had his lego forest set out with the little LEDs in it that lit up when he and his board of decisionmakers, all male, made their decisions about how to release hate into the world. That was it, the map, mapping the spread of different forms of hate with these little red lights.