magicbeans. nothing if not awkward.

my handwriting, which is normally quite readable, excusing the fact that my 'a's look like 'z's and other letters a re beginning to meld as well, is not at all readable when i'm half asleep. in other words, i tried to make some notes on my dreams, but.

and, even having puzzled the handwriting out, the notes themselves make no sense. but judge for yrself. i think it says:

docks - machines
   kidnap people
fight back
   bear & ? against.
woman guarding

bits and pieces come back to me. but not enough to fashion a coherent narrative.

---

i was expecting aaron to call pretty early this morning. but the phone call that actually woke my up was from bret. cybèle had been musing on going to northampton today, and i had called bret to see what he was up to. he wished me a belated happy birthday, and said he was working tonight, but he could drive down to noho for dinner. so we made plans to meet (or the best that i could in my half asleep state, anyway).

eventually aaron did call, he hadn't been able to find any motels with vacancies and had continued on up to maine last night. it would have been nice to see him, but maybe some other time.

i called cybèle and told her my brother was no longer around, and so we could leave for northampton at her earliest convenience. which ended up being a little past noon, after waking up my downstairs neighbor so that i could get my car out of the driveway.

we ate lunch at the haymarket cafe, which has been greatly expanded (with quite a few vegan meal options) since the last time i was there. and then cybèle wanted to stop by the offices of the prison book project, with which she is involved. basically, they send books to prisoners (a worthwhile cause in my opinion), and we spent an hour or so there, addressing post cards.

after which we went to the old state hospital, which is long abandoned and all overgrown. all sorts of no trespassing signs, but if ignored, an incredibly neat place. a number of recent films have been shot at least in part there, and i can see why. there is one large courtyard between attached buildings that got my mind working on a possible film of my own.

as planned, met bret at six. went for dinner. caught up. cybèle went off to visit a friend of hers, and bret and i wandered around town for a bit. we stopped in an army/navy store, and as a birthday gift he bought me one of those long, bright orange, police-style rain coats that i had been eyeing. pretty fancy.

drove him back to where his car had run out of gas on the side of the highway before heading back to providence. dropped cybèle off. tried to figure out how to make my way through downtown, which i've never really done by car. got home eventually.

chris had been priming canvases. the whole place smelt of turpentine. splotches of white paint on the floor, the handles of the bathroom and kitchen sinks, and of course all over him. we are artists (provisionally, in any case) so i suppose i can't begrudge him.

we proceeded to have a long talk about my propensity towards quiet. branching out into, among other things, interest in / curiousness about / concern for other people, hair dye, names, alcohol and parties, and the ever-present question asking faculties or lack thereof.