Sometimes I wish I could live in the places in my dreams.
Most of my dreams, I think, take place in some unspecified and indefinite location. Of the ones that do take place in a definite place, most take place in the house where I grew up. The rest are set in the most awesome places, which I wish I could paint or something. Last night I lived in an Escherian city with peaks and valleys of concrete and wrought iron. In the radio station someone was playing Bach--I think--and I wanted to see who it was. Then I went out on a porch that must have been hundreds of feet up in the air, overlooking the rest of the city, with a tiny staircase leading down to the streets. There was one bar where I could have met The Strokes, but I was like fuck that, who wants to meet The Strokes, and so I went to the cheaper one. It was a cool place, trust me.
Divided highways and strip malls are destroying us.