IT'S NOT THE SAME LOCK AND KEY

My apartment mate is, I realize, much more on the spectrum than me. Seeing as her social media presence is quite minimal. She hasn't updated her FB profile in years, other than to remove all mention of her boyfriend (Wheelieboy), with whom she broke up quite a while ago. And while she has contributed to comment strings about queer obsessions, she's sporadic in that regard. Fragmentary.

Unlike her, I am not fascinated by pimple or cyst removal. Not at present, not ever. I tend not to obsess about things or occupy the same mental exercise wheel too long.

Yes, okay, you've noticed that the same subjects seem to come up here, and get overworked. But I assure you there is variety, a surprisingly wider span.

The fields aren't always the same, it's not always fluffy wheat

As regards to that scene in the painting, I may have also done a version a while back. It's fields in Autumn outside Valkenswaard in the Kempen, where I used to live. Certainly I've done similar and related pictures. A native of that region would probably feel something familiar, perhaps intensely.


I have NO idea how it relates to the woman in my dream. Younger, Indonesian Chinese, with a curved forehead like the waitress at the restaurant where I ate yesterday, and gentle eyes like the little Filipino Chinese boy who dined there with all of his family, fried chicken, rice, and something noodly. They drank Coca Cola. A quiet family, not loud. The Chinese news on the screen overhead showed a row of convicts being paraded and a listing of their crimes.
Which I believe were connected with education.


Earlier there had been a long segment about the bunkers north of Kowloon. The Gin Drinkers Line. Which proved ineffective against the Japanese. Maybe all that somehow relates to the Indonesian woman, who is herself a composite of Filippinos eating, a person I knew years ago who had never been anywhere near South East Asia, and a short Jewish woman with whom I worked for several weeks when I was much younger.

The background music in the dream was the March of the Drozdovsky Regiment.

Wheatfields in the Kempen were definitely in the dream.
Along with coconut chocolate bon bons.


I may have mentioned the effect of medication on my dreams.
Coffee before bed may have played a part.



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