The Poisonous Botany.

I fell asleep after reading Amy Stewart's Wicked Plants: The Weed That Killed Lincoln's Mother & Other Botanical Atrocities and all night long my dreams were overwhelmed by Stewart's interesting shrubs, trees, flowers, etc. 

*If you've ever wanted to know how to nix someone (with plants), make them hallucinate (with plants), or, just give them really bad diarrhea (with, you guessed it, plants) then I recommend reading this book.

Really!?

Draw, paint, scribble, scratch, and carve it, but never try to dissect, it'll just get messy. And I won't make anything up either, otherwise things might start to look like this:

[Not a Dream. Also, more of a cloak than a coat.]

Maybe I'm crazy? Or, maybe I just have really great dreams? I dunno. Regardless I'm having a nice time recording them, so, the project shall continue. 

Ce n'est pas l'extrémité. It is not the end.

Librarium.

A swim-flying adventure. No water, just books and fish. 

(delightful.)

He's a Deep Sea Diver.

"With a stroke that can't go wrong." (And a new wetsuit too.)

I had to drink 300 glasses to get him out.

Holidayz'd.

Every year I purchase a handblown ornament from Neiman Marcus as a gift for my mother (we like to pretend we're fancy). This tradition is always fun because it requires a trip to Union Square, which is quite the holiday spectacle. 

Anyway. (In a dream that I recently had.)

I realized that I had waited too late to make my trip to Neiman's and as a result I wouldn't be able to bring the much coveted box-o-class to Christmas. In a panic, I thought long and hard how to appease/please/delight my darling momma. Alas--   

I crafted her an ornament. With some old broken bulbs and a little glue, tape, and staples -yes, staples-, I made a super bad-ass, one of a kind, Christmas heirloom. 

You're welcome, mom. It's really the least I could do. Really.     

Paging Dr. Vomitus.

1. I'm eating a bowl of room-temperature blueberry yogurt in a hospital waiting room.

2. FLASH.

3. I'm a doctor who needs to check on a patient --irritated because I still have that disgusting yogurt, which for some reason I'm compelled to keep eating--. 

4. At first glance I assume my patient to be the new mother of a recently birthed infant, HOWEVER, I quickly realize that a. the 'infant' is attached to the woman's left side, b. the woman is drinking a beer and is clearly intoxicated, and finally, c. no one else in the room seems to be fazed by any of this.
5. I vomit. (Goodbye blueberry yogurt.)

Fin.

Snake Bite.

I was on Safari in Africa (?) when a corn-on-the-cob snake bit my right arm:  

Subsequently, I broke out in strange hives resembling swollen pustules, or rather, ready-to-pop pimples; it was more disgusting than terrifying. And although a snake bite is never really pleasant, I did enjoy the strangeness of it all. Twas' an adventure indeed (fucking corn-on-the-cob snakes).  

Giraffe For Hire.

They ran out of boats so they had to send giraffes across the bay-- the commute just got sick. 

Sex, God, and Rock 'n' Roll. (And garbage too.)

1. Wainwright and I are driving through Colorado when suddenly trash begins to line the road.

2. Rather quickly, the trash builds up until it creates two walls on both sides of us. 

3. Eventually the walls lead to a giant God-Haus in the midst of abundant detritus and refuse. 

4. We enter the God-Haus and there is a large motionless mass congregated around a DJ.

5. We explore further and stumble across an orgy.
6. And while I'm intrigued and 'enlightened', Wainwright is horrified and confused.

fin/ The End.

The New da Vinci? Doubtful.

I had the most delightful dream that I flew northbound from San Francisco. The Following illustrates how I flew. And please note, though it appears that the propeller is attached to my feet, it's actually affixed to the bottommost part of my 'fly-chair'. Also, yes, that is a plastic bag...

[Text Reads as follows:] 

Me flying. *Requires extreme arm strength, I was noticeably sore after my flight from San Francisco to Healdsburg (?). ? Might not have been Healdsburg, was possibly Sonoma. 

...Really cool shoes I bought after my flight. *The 'shoe store' was attatched [sic] to a large pearl factory/store & they had lots of unique shoes for reasonable prices. I believe I paid $50(ish) for these. 

–––––––––––––

It really was a strange dream. Though the flying could have been potentially scary -in fact I almost flew into a moving train at one point- it was actually very peaceful. And for the record: I will make these shoes someday (Christian Louboutin eat your heart out). Also, I promise to stop taking plastic bags for granted as I now realize that they make perfectly lovely parachutes/wind-conductors. Who knew?  

...

(this is only a test.)