the 4th before the 4th

 

Sunday 6/4 7am

I lied to you.  Sorry some. Second dream account this year in this here place. So much came up from our conversays yesterday.  

Dream - I can repeat a sequence of events to my hearts desire over and over - events, people, situations, circumstances that I imagine only when I do not censor myself in any way - with shame, blame, lewdness.  The only catch is if I accept the dream/the sequences again and and again - because of their tasty worth and result, I also must accept the final scene/scenario which doesn’t waver either. It takes place in a Southern agent orange polluted swamp where I sit chest deep in dirty water amidst the invasion of hungry, buzzing big time mosquitoes who have found there home sweet stinging home. I made it though the deal/dream a half of a second time and then went on to hosting parties in my squalid Village apartment where I never have ample wattage and a lot of significantly warped LPs.  No one shares their powder with me before we go out to eat Chinese and I swear to never make a habit of giving my coked up colleagues a place to hang their hats. 

It’s a little before nine and the day might stay a June Gem as we like to call stunners. Mostly blue color block sky and easy on the body breezes all morning long.  A soft start to a Sunday day. 

So a strawberry moon is one in June that Native Americans thought brought of good tidings of fruitfulness - seasonal promise. I saw it last night at it was something.

The house was blessed this afternoon by a colorful congregation of nuns, rabbis, high priestesses, spiritual gurus and church ladies so we’re good to go. Overcast day, Blossom Dearie in my speakers and looking forward to a noteworthy nap. 

Phillips dad died so I’m not sure about them coming on Tuesday. Time will tell as it always does. I’m having a long little rascals learn that poem moment currently. A little this and a little that. 

It feels like October. Three layer like. Walked down the beach to Cherry’s for a beer. There are maybe 30 people in the room. Long Islanders over for the day and on their way to the Pines.  Aggressive girls wanting smooches and their well fed, eyebrow man scaping counterparts seem more interested in liberating the Tiny Tears Doll stage where they lift their tight tees, hopefully, aware of all the ironic semiotic implications. Suddenly, all thirty of them board a water taxi for the Pines after trying to buy many pizza pies from a young kid who waits for the ferry and acts like he’s carrying something lethal and essential to James Bond. Fuck. I love this place. So full of fascinating things to watch and enjoy immensely. Really. Immensely be da word.