I dreamt I pierced a giant tiramisu sphere with a shovel and dozens of baby black window spiders started crawling out.

 I dreamt I had time traveled to my junior year in high school. My current mind, memories and knowledge inhabiting my adolescent body. It went as one would expect - an absolute nightmare.

This morning was one of those days where wakefulness was like a slap in the face. The feeling of loneliness after being jettisoned from dreaming was so intense, so palpable in the way it bore slamming down on my body, as if it was sprawled in the armchair with a jeering grin.

 All systems red by Martha Wells. 7.5/10. A very enjoyable, light read of a novella.

 Snowcrash, Neal Stephenson. 6/10, if I were a grading person.  I'm past the target teen/YA demographic and reality, for better or worse, overtook most of the ideas in the book making them feel dated dated. The one thing of interest, the language virus takes a back-seat to pandering action and violence. Still, that's off the list.

Woke up from a dream about caseotypes, i.e. photographs made on slices of cheese using different cultures of bacteria inducing chemical reactions in the cheese and in effect staining it a given color, depending on the wavelength of light.

  稲荷大神. I saw two of your red messengers today. Or was it the same one, only the second time with prey in its maw?

Sadly it turned out too bitter for my taste.

I never got around to buying the 2020 Hobonichi Weeks. Perhaps with good reason. When I convinced myself I want one, it was June and the store, that carried it didn't ship here because of Covid. Still a bit of a shame, the Tokyo tower design was beautiful.

It's a warm night. No stars, just a brown-black sky, faint scents o wet earth and plants mixed in with the occasional hum of cars passing.I'm listening to Fennesz's and Sakamoto's Cendre. It's one of my Fall/Winter albums, but it fits today of all days so much. Somehow even more than Sakamoto's Nagasaki(...). Every year I am reminded and every year I cannot wrap my head around the sheer scale of it. We are such an ugly, ugly species, so deserving all the ills we wrought upon ourselves.

It's a warm night and I count my blessings.

I dreamt of an annular eclipse. A black sphere with a golden fiery corona hanging in the sky, with an empty city stretching towards the horizon from my vantage point on a small hill. I had my friend's telephoto lens with me and started taking shots, but on every photo I took there were two spheres, as if there were two moons and two suns eclipsed at the same time. The lens was broken. Or was it? The city looked different too. With gigantic, brutalist structures almost defying gravity and, certainly, construction safety laws.

If only this thunderstorm would continue forever. Wash all of it away.

So yesterday's bottle of wine drank to a two hour clip of summer night ambiance may not have been the best of ideas. Then again, I've had worse ones.

I dreamt that one of my exes drowned another one of my exes. This is getting funnier by the night. Sin tapas.

I dreamt that there's a giant moonshine distillery run entirely by anthropomorphic foxes in a cave complex located under Mt. Inari in Kyōto. A clear sign I went overboard with the tapas last night.

I dreamt today that I could detach and reattach my head from my body, Washington Irving style. It was pretty convenient, really. The deal-breaker was slight bleeding repeatedly causing collar stains and excessive need for doing laundry. Funnily enough I almost never wear collared shirts in real life.

Also, for the first time in I can't remember I woke up in light sleep, so I don't feel like a car hit me before I even got out of bed.

There it is again. The bad kind of nothing.

The dolphin knew he couldn't swim among the stars, though he refused to accept it.

Picking home-grown tomatoes straight from the bush, then reading about the multivectored anthropogenic apocalypse inevitably crawling towards us a couple hours later.

With my every visit she is a little more brittle. She's almost weightless, like ancient paper-thin china. Seemingly birdlike, as if with pneumatized bones holding a charcoal mantle of silky fur over them. And yet she meows her opinions, purrs assents and hisses protests unfailingly and her slit-pupiled gaze is as arresting as ever. Verdant irises like pools of ineffable wisdom. Claws still needle sharp. I dread the day the light will blink out of those eyes.