i didn't sleep much again last night. by day i feel intermittently calm but the virus is still jangling my subconscious nerves. i woke from a dream about a plot that i exposed to destroy the island. the last scene was the stern of the thugs' boat heading out with a kid looking out the small back window and smiling as i gave him a double thumbs up but i woke all congested and glad i dint hafta walk the bear. i got two loaves of seeded rye three large bananas (org) and a bottle of pomegranate juice (org). there are more trumpian debacles yet to come in 2020. we abiden whatever wicked plots the empire devises and call ourselves lucky if we so much as survive. anyway i got to page 193 of the dead are arising. i'm going to read the desert notebooks next, then the caretaker by doon arbus (is that diane's kid?) then kant's little prussian head by clair messud and i got claudine and coda:ryuichi sakamoto for our viewing pleasure. am i getting a little head of myself, yes, but then reach will exceed grasp especially in the pandemic matrix, oh btw there's a new matrix coming out and soon into my hungry purview and if i die i'll still be in the matrix with a full or nearly full queue.