her whole look is overly photoshopped

Hello electric sleep,

I've been keeping a journal of remembered dreams on and off for the last several years. Went back and found some electronic references:

6/19/03:
With a group of people - involved in some sort of time machine - installed a filter made of human flesh underneath a stainless steel grate on the concave inside of a wide arched doorway. Had to time travel in two parts: after the installation returned to pre-order the steel grate.

9/7/03:
At an exit interview for the Vermont Studio Center, set up in some type of gym with booths that you move through. Each booth had someone that asked you questions about your time there: which individuals you most enjoyed handing out with, or had romantic attachments to, etc., but instead of answering you simply entered an enclosed space with some printer/scanner/copier type thing that gives some visual equivalent of your answer. I go through the booth and then leave with some photocopies and head out to clean out my studio. Then I'm in someplace like the basement of my childhood house on Church St, Dubois, Pa, looking in a rusty cabinet that contains 2 half drunk bottles of liquor, and I contemplate whether or not I'll have enough to make it through my stay. Later I go back to the gym and found that I've left some photocopies behind. They are arranged in a pattern similar to the queen of hearts in a deck of cards.

2/2/04:
I'm shopping in a 2nd hand boutique - looking up a spiral stair case at some shirts hung on the railing. There is this red shirt that reminds me of the shirt that the clerk is wearing. Someone pardons themself as they pass on the narrow stairwell. Then, I'm in Adamson's Corner Store, DuBois, PA, looking for blank recordable CDs, thinking about Bob Dylan's Blood on the Tracks and I'm living with Amber again.

5/7/06:
I am part of some small wind ensemble led by Zach. I am to play an oboe at a concert, except we never get a chance to practice. I am to introduce the ensemble before the concert starts. Zach comes late, as I'm standing on stage making the introduction. I file down to the first row of seats and Zach hands me a recorder, showing me how to blow a note, which I do easily, but then I realize that I don't know any of the fingerings. As the ensemble begins to play and I and mimicking fingerings without actually blowing any notes, a woman in the audience stands up, who is Zach's aunt or something. She has green hair and an orange blazer and her skin is pasty and her whole look is overly photoshopped. She tells me she knows someone close to me. It then becomes apparent the we must move onto the stage and I am afraid that the audience will know that I'm not really playing the recorder.

sleep well,
jeremy