death drags a bum leg

Our show last night at club cafe was our best yet. we rocked it in front of a dark spangly curtain to a small but receptive audience, and Nikki got up during the next set to do an improv spoken word bit with soma mestizo.

And finally i got to sleep in a bit, and though my sleep felt scattered i still managed to remember a dream before i woke up. i guess that's been one benefit of working on this dream novel, that my recall is up to about three dreams a night, growing in vivid detail and symbolic content. we were riding over a desolate tundra stunted with white fir trees, in some cross between a flying car, a miniature airship and santa's sleigh. except the old bearded man with us seemed more like god than santa claus, and he was arguing with death, who had come along for the ride even though no one wanted him there. death was dressed like darth vader, had a limp, and talked with a high nasally voice like "c'mon guys, please let me come along?" we landed shortly, and set off across the snow dunes towards the city, with death dragging his gimp leg and falling behind, and when we looked back he was still there, but lagging so far that he would never catch us, though i kind of felt bad that everyone was picking on him.