dream record 1
I am in an apartment but it’s also a warehouse, a tall blank factory. I share it with 4 queer women, some of whom are dating and some of whom are breaking up and writing long poetic texts about it. Everyone is constantly in a state of getting ready; swishing in and out of our shared bathroom, changing clothes, listening to warm music. Outside the sugar factory windows a sharp drop into False Creek where, inexplicably, a pod of orcas have gathered to feed. Some of the queers, the most athletic ones, are down there, swimming and in canoes. The rest of us are worried about them, and about the intentions of both the whales and the queers. Up in the apartment, our attentions flutter between the window, folding our bodies out to see, and the hair curler that’s been left on in the bathroom.