cracks pops and scraps

i can't sleep in my house very well. the traffic is loud, the furnace makes all manner of weird noises (as it did when my house was broken into with me here before - one sound sounding like someone bumping into my chair - which it was), the walls are the same walls I left 9 years ago. all my shit travelled all the way there, (and there and there and there), to just wind up here waiting for the screwdriver. i feel there is no reason for my return. i should be near the girls at least. in the dream i am back in nycity meeting my mother for lunch and i ask myself (furnace crack) if i'd e happier going home to my little house across the river. i felt a strong 'yes'. i meet gilly's baby who is darling and gilly is extremely dear and says we were all wrong and asks me to be her sister. in the room behind is my actual sister. she is very sick but trying to recover and we are all there to help her. we are bringing her home. actually though we are all going to go party for a bit first which i want to do fairly badly as all is 'back to normal' and i want to go out. andrea is serious though, distant and trying. she wants out of the van. i go with her. I don't quite remember going back to her apartment on 80th. but i know that it is okay, even if I'm back in my house. even if i'm sleeping alone with scissors under my pillow. the furnace pops. whatever we have lost is well lost, as long as we have her and she still has a chance to live. i am impressed with how hard she is trying.

i am very tired this morning, typing with my eyes shut because they were open much of the night. i don't seem to know how to start again. not depressed just a bit spun. a friend wrote to say she dreamt of me. that i was living in San Francisco and ran a place called the Hibiscus Cafe. She said I was very well dressed.

maybe i should sell my house.

Dancing on the Stump

Is this really what I want to bring home with me from our lovely visit to the big trees - this humiliating evidence of human small-mindedness, the sixteen drunk couples on the stump of the tree that was born in 600 A.D. and felled and skinned and shipped to New York in parts, the rest bowled on in the 1890's? Not really, but the pit in the stomach lingers. (or is that still from too much pie....)

Anyway, the memory I'd rather keep and will is from our friendly late full-moon walk through the giant sequoia grove - the path easy to walk in the milky BRIGHT light, the bears likely asleep, the sequoias, some of them still there towering towards the moon, their 'slow consciousness' as Joe once said, abiding. Then my small-mindedness, smallness, briefness, was a pleasure to experience. (Why is that so comforting, I continue to wonder...) The dance someday will end, the road will return to impassibility, invisibility as the world turns round (even we can't stop that, try as we might) - night and day at once, future and past for a moment meeting as just present which will still speak as it does at this moment, without us, or the moonlight even- the slight rustle from the higher canopies settling gently onto a perfect world.