I'm so turned on in public, get so hot, I start to hump a mysterious sailish dream: a rounded wedge, girl-long, fabric rolled, flattened, like a cream filled pastry. Unfurled, a giant's map, with California curled along the inmost seam-- the fold I'm thrusting in. Am I try- ing to fuck the State of California? So I seem.

NOTES IN THE MORNING

• Sex in public: today I took my turn managing our cooperative art gallery; I sat, and when no one needed me, I tried to cartoon an otherworldly dream of sexy magic animals. But I felt tense and inhibited; didn't want gawkers to see.
• Folded curved sailcloth-thing: a huge triangular banner saying DREAM, painted on a surplus yacht sail that I painted for Burning Man but never used (due to a windstorm). So: dreamwork? Or projects censored by adverse conditions?
• The fold I'm thrusting in: the San Andreas Fault, I guess.
• ACTION: Cartoon my dreams in solitude. With others around, I cringe--and censor myself! Either that or the dream means: sex causes earthquakes! (If so, we're dooooomed.)

A NOTE YEARS LATER

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