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05/10/11

I am in an after school SAT prep class. My group is told to walk to the front of the room, by the projector screen. As we stand up there, working out some story problem, a wall comes up right in front of us, the ceiling drops down, the side walls move in. The lights are very red. We start to panic, but still want to solve the story problem. We remain in the chamber for a few minutes, trying to talk our way through the math, we can see the teacher and the class looking at us from the ever decreasing opening. I am watching over my group, and finally order, "Fuck this, get out of here!"

We scramble out of the garbage compactor student trap, and my other group mates sit back down at their desk. I am gathering up the items at my desk, and notice a gorgeous blue and green head wrap that appeared on my desk when I was not watching. The teacher comes over and asks what's wrong. I am simultaneously stoked on the beautiful new scarf which I am wrapping around the buns on my head, and fiercely angry, "You tried to kill my crew! Fuck you! Fuck this institution!" She asks if I'm ever coming back. "NO!" I decree as I slam the heavy door shut.

Outside it is sunset on Venice Beach. I am still rocking the new head wrap, in my loose white top and light blue Thai pants. Ah, there is no schedule but the sun's schedule. Nothing in my head but breath. The boardwalk is warm beneath my bare feet.

I see two layers: I am walking on the boardwalk, toward the ocean, and I am also walking on a street covered in summer night rain, towards a hill that is either Yesler Street in Leschi or it's 22nd Avenue in Bellingham, both of which are my old neighborhoods. I walk by a house party that I recognize from a dream last summer, and wave. Keep walking.

In a locker room young mom stripper is called to dance at an Italilan restaurant. As she gets ready, she tells me about her son. She looks more and more familiar, and I realize that she was my best friend from yoga teacher training. Oh it's good to see her!

During the performance at the restaurant, the stripper multiplies. Now there are two, three, four strippers! Luscious, licentious; I like watching the hetero women squirm when they get lap dances.

As everyone leaves, one man tries to get my contact info because he live in San Fran and is going to LA for America's Got Talent tryouts. I tell him that I don't live in LA, but he won't listen, waving and hollering that he wants to visit me as he walks away. I holler back, "I don't live there! i just go down for yoga training!"

I realize that the restaurant is right next to garbage crusher high school. There is an army of zombies dressed as cops. I assume lucidity. "I know that I can make this worse if I want to," and as i start to imagine their faces rotting off, their faces start to rot off. They cannot move their feet but they shoot a lot of ammo. Bullets shoot through me but I don't care. I get up in one zombie's face and extend my hands like a wizard. I pause to stare at his eyes, his stupid mustache, and then blow the front half of his head up with my magic hands. I turn around, squat down, and say "Motorcycle, motorcycle!" I strain as I try to manifest the motorcycle, and am suddenly swept away by the invisible motorbike. It materializes into a black crotch rocket and I zoom up the hill towards my old neighborhoods.

I am doing breath work with one of my girlfriends on her double ended dildo. We are two trees and the dildo is a river running between us. Eye contact! Healing. Learning. The air is thick with profundity. I wake up laughing.

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