March 2, 2015

Complicated, detailed dream about taking back the gallery I used to run in an urban mall in downtown Syracuse, renting space from Dick at Westcott Cordial. Of course there was never any such place, but the dream was so thick with history I must assume for a while it was a recurring motive.

Blurred my lines at rehearsal yesterday. I know them. I must conquer interior distraction, place them at an exact position in my head for them to come flowing out. This process is entirely visual.

I believe I have lost my sense of taste. Everything is bland, though still pleasing or not according to texture. If it is not some temporary flourish of this endless pulmonary infection, then it happened in a single night.

Having no life at the moment. . .