I was moving through interior spaces, willfully–with a determination to carry on a creative project I am working on. Somehow the situation is both getting desperate and also coming to a crucial turning point. I feel that I am in some kind of trance, a creative spell, a daimonic possession. I can feel the glances of others who are intrigued, fascinated, worried, frightened by my state. It is not clear whether I am writing a film or in a film or if it’s just a reality.

Things have now turned violent. I am considering violence, or addressing a need for violence–on the order of breaking in somewhere, or breaking out. Seizing something, grasping something I need to complete my task. There are others “with me” but my choices are my own, and what must happen must be radical.  It seems like robbing a bank. And suddenly–without details (flash forward)–I have pulled it off (whatever “it” is, or was). Some crime was committed. It seems there is a bullet hole in the wall. It is not clear if anyone has been hurt or even killed. But what I have done is/was criminal. This was the required act that has changed everything. Everyone looks at me differently, and I am supercharged. On the other hand, I continue rather quietly to move along with the next phase of my creative process.

I have a thought that “Mother” will find out, and I will be in deep trouble. On the other hand, I am vaguely aware that Mother has long been dead. It actually adds energy to feel a lingering vector of her disapproval–it’s an affirmation that something actually has happened. I am back at my work desk, and there are others (again, unclear of my process, my motivations, my crime or possible crime) who are intrigued (et etcetera). I am focused on the aura of the disruption I have now incontestably caused. I go out in search of a thesaurus. Vaguely I am back at Northwestern [University] which carries a sense of beginning, and of contemplation, and adventure. My mind is drawn back to a bullet hole in a wall, that I caused, or discovered. But it’s not clear there even is a bullet hole. It may be another kind of hole. Beneath a clock. There could be blood on the wall (in my memory). There is a situation I have left behind in chaos, and have brought the tincture of the chaos with me. I feel good in my body, feel my primal senses and primary sensations. Invigorating.