john reily was in my dream last night

2003-09-18, 4:47 a.m.

you sat down, the dream caught on slowly. At once that was a second which, as believed to be true in the quantum world, two sets of you were born. Flash, it's gone, residue on your eyes tell you it was real; so you concentrate. Moon, that water over the waist high wall, another face.

jump forward, in the car and this is your first time hearing this album. new music must be like reading your autobiography. down below, you watch parabollas of light searching out the road, cars following the light step for step. The buildings, signs, parked cars; they all bleed with my razor incisions. Not bleeding, but glowing, oozing out unnusual matter, sticking to my brain.

jump forward to the second band. Music, newly approached, is becomming mathematic communication or physics. Entropy, bass loosens, sparatic guitar, then there is no handle; entropy. Unnoticable, unless you accept its existance, bar glasses fill quickly, just as many clank in metal sinks. "It is a math problem that fools you every time. You continuously start over with a new plan"

back now, you are going up past Frank Lloyd Wright's GATTACA facility. The other direction, cars arepiled up, and they look like strands of christmas lights strewn on the road. Those trees, those are shapes that have no description other than their mass and shade of black; ,much like the craters on the dark side of the moon. A sea of black masses, devouring yellow and white, green, red, absence then rebirth.

Your story is filling your head, your dream is catching its breath -sucker punched by time- every minute you think harder.

over that hill, clouds plunged on the sky like purple parchment cut by Monet. Soemthing about the head, the strands of earthen purple on charcoal. The words are caught. The horizon is free to sleep. You know the moon and the sea could be a dreamscape again tonight.