"Life in our city becomes intolerable and we have to get out. It is very difficult. We escape to the countryside on the slopes outside the town. But none of the people who live in the country want to help us. We are bringing the plague. I look down at our city. Everything looks strange and perspective doesn't work any more. We climb the hills into the woods and we really don't know what is going to happen to us."

that pretty much sums up how i'm feeling. and the more stanley donwood i read, the more i love him. i am tired. didn't sleep well. very torn as to whether or not i like dreaming anymore. i suppose i still do, and always will, and should appreciate the fact that i can remember my dreams every morning/afternoon/night i wake up. there they are, right in the forefront of my brain. i fell asleep thinking of earlier dreams. i don't find any true relevance in them. i don't think they have much deeper of a meaning than Reestablishing the items you heard, saw or thought throughout the day prior. they are very interesting to me however, and i often do wonder where some of the shit in them comes from. for instance, the "settings" of dreams, where they take place, the scenery. and in my brain, the settings are always completely counterfeit and surreal, and i wonder where my head came up with these places. i'm usually in an incredibly dilapidated place, where everything is pathetically falling to pieces. lots of rubbish and rubble and decay.
i'm still in lima. i'd like to go home now, or get a cigarette. maybe i can steal one from the old man. i walked several blocks to get some today, and by the time i was almost there i thought interiorly, self, where did you put that five dollars you found in your back pocket this morning? i stood pondering for a second and decided to sit down. i began veering towards a cement step, to finger through my belongings for the crisp bill and rest my bleeding feet. they were bleeding because i had worn fancey shoes the night before. just as i was prepairing to sit, a very tall, very strange (in my eyes) looking man walked by, inching towards me ever so slightly. he said huhllo. in one very fluid movement of the mouth that made it look like he was dry-heaving in slow motion. i said hi. and decided to continue walking. i was afraid that if i sat he might talk to me or simply sit stand there staring at me, drooling. i felt bad, because it so strongly appeared that i went out of my way a great deal to walk around him, not past him. i'm not always sure why i feel bad about avoiding people. i've found myself beginning to care less. i don't know if this little story makes sense. and i don't know why i wrote this. but i'm still in lima, and i had two dreams last night. one involved being intentionally forgotten by the person i hold most dear. and the second involved holding them when they had blood all over their face. bipolar dreams. they both made me wake up crying. in the first my favorite scene involved me sitting under a huge tree in the dark, crying to myself. i felt my eyes fill with water and my face trembling with vast amounts of hurt. my favorite scene in the second one involved him saying to me, you're suppose to stay with me for a while. which may simply be because those are the only words i remember. except for the end of the dream, when some kid came into my grandma's house and asked i my cousins were there. i told him no.