Had the most ferocious dream last night about trying to buy a can of soda and a barbecue inside the equiv of the Titanic tearooms.

Some kind of antique wooden housing, like they housed fishermen in, that had fallen into ruin. You walked or rolled on some kind of trampoline material and it ended at a staircase where the sea began. Exactly the way that staircase ends in the Woodwards building. Beyond the trampoline fabric were the sinking and sunk houses/housing could be seen through the glass. The demarcation between inside and outside was vague.

The culprit clearly is the vending machine and the multitude of steps climbed and descended and the long hours spent reading on the 1930’s/ relief camps. What a combo. Pop meets the bunkhouse!

The other notable detail was the fact I could not hear anything in the dream.

Someone emailed me a message subject FYI this morn about some psycho analytic gathering Existential Pioneers in London. Wonderful. Telepathy. Bit of a commute tho’.