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August 29th, 2011

A President-threatener had called my red metal flashlight, I guess mistakenly thinking it was the President's phone. That was the situational backdrop for the action, in which I don't know what came over me but I called the threatener back, even though I think the Secret Service, or the President himself, had at least suggested I do nothing.

The threatener answered "Hello?" and I paused and hung up (the flashlight), which had two sections of a bubblewrap-like stuff around it, left over from the federal investigators' work.

Then I realized maybe I shouldn't have done that, or at least I needed to report it. And I went to the computer in a rush to try to find the President's phone number, expecting it not to be easy. But I remembered of course I already had his number in my phone, from when he'd called me earlier. So I called him back that way.

It's surprising how much time the President has to talk to somebody like me. He assured me it was no problem. I think he had a social event going on, but he's a multi-tasker, you know.

Toward the end of the dream I found myself wondering whether he's really such an affable ordinary-fellow guy, or maybe he just acts like one cuz after that experience someone like me is more likely to vote for him, to support him. Less likely to consider him a shill for the oligarchy. Cuz the humanizing of our interpersonal connection was doing that to me.

Must have been "up" that night at Ikea

I thought this rug was the rug for me:

It may still be, someday.


Postcard of the Day

(a feature involving a postcard on a day)

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For another postcard thing, see
my old postcard poems tumblr or
its handy archive.

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Many posts are friends-only; livejournal "friend" me and tell me who you are if you wanna read.


"What was once thought cannot be unthought."

-- Möbius, The Physicists


"The moment of change is the only poem."

-- Adrienne R.


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