Ch. 5: You can’t fling a fake zippo.

"Am I Dreaming" is a series for Eternal Sleepover written late at night by Emma about things that actually happened and things that didn't, things that were thought and things that were said by others, all blending on a subconscious plane. What is real and what is not is for you to decide." 

GOODMORNING! woke up slow, woke up and ran around beverly hills-grove. Remember to post on bluemarze that if any of my friends have any messy merch to send me some sexy selfies.

DOn’t really remember what we did in the morning: the usual. It’s usual and bland now that I have done it three times. I’m so happy that my life is not the same anymore,I had a flashback to me angrily walking up to east village in a red rage with a granola bar ii my hand that Cybelle made me buy because I hadn’t eaten. And I also remember standing outside in the rain at Tompkins, which clearly smells like piss and cigs. New York was depress and messy and it’s crazzzyyyyy how in denial you have to be to live there: to the trash on the street, the pace of life, the coke and coffee and weed to regain sanity, the crowded metros… The more I type the more I miss it, it’s the biggest gathering of psychopaths I’ve ever seen. It’s wonderful, really.

Also note: there are two suitcases under my bed that I don’t know how I might get home and I just chewed and spit out a cherry sour ball.

Windows are open and breeze is coming in, chains hang on hips and girls are in silks and it will be a week until we get money. You can’t fling a fake zippo. My brother has a tin box that used to hold Parisian candies and now it holds paraphernalia. Is everyone a stoner rn? Are we coping with the anxiety due to overexposure and fast pace of the modernity we have forced upon our own brains? have we gone to far? what’s the safe word?

My brain is peaches and flower and chokers setting into my esophagus. “I’m just from LA, but I’m moving in 35 days thank god,” she said with curled hair and butterfly clips and rainbow socks. Where would you rather grow up? wholesome or be corrupted early? I wish I could re-grow up a million times, I did it not the best time the first time around. I think I would have sex more and also make more art, care less what people said about me in school because now I can barely connect their names and faces yet at the time their presence held so much weight over me, but maybe it was all in my head and I excused my fears with imaginary pressures. Everyone seems to use the same excuses, are they valid excuses or actually adversities we face? Seems everyone is sick of the place they grew up in and how close-minded it is.

Here we go again, looking out the window, run into someone at a camera shop wearing the moon yeezys that look like they are cut out of moon cheese and morphed around a foot, bubbly soft and cheeky. They were a fan before he went crazy, I was a fan after.

Fan myself with a scrap of paper and keep every color of pen even though half of them are out of ink maybe one day they will work again.

Here’s some tincture to put under your tongue, it will make you high or something.

I hear an insta story playing instead of music, who is DJing?

I want to shoot someone wearing cut out jellos stars on their naked body and tits. Can be a guy girl or genderless.

“Last time I went to the cheesecake factory I didn’t get a cheesecake should I get a cheesecake today?”

Smush the cheesecake and scan it in instead.

Let’s make art that is really stupid because I’m really stupid.

She’s leaving in 30 minutes for cheesecake factory so we have to put the jello on her body now…

I’m driving down to Malibu and the sky is baby blue. I’m in the backseat and wind is twisting my terribly box-dyed hair into a nest and I forgot a swimsuit top because I’m so used to the feeling of being braless under a t-shirt that nothing was off. Rifle through suitcases and bags for styling to find a cobalt blue scrunch one piece swimsuit, says her and her boyfriend are on a strict health diet as we drive to get guacamole. I ask her what she likes best about her boyfriend and she describes their first date, which took place over a year ago.

Beach is blue, beautiful if you look one way out towards the horizon but if you turn around and look at the shore (for reference, you are floating about 50 feet off shore) it looks green and the houses on stilts look cheap but everything is an illusion. Hammocks drape under like spiderwebs and girls grill their bodies like hot dogs, 30 minutes, turn, 30 minutes, turn. I stay mostly underwater hoping the current pulls me out to sea. WOOOSH.

Drive back in the black listening to every california song there is. The one by katy perry, the one by the beach boys, the one by the mamas and the papas, the one by led zeppelin, the one by that one band… Scream along to all of them, I know my dreams by heart, I know the head bangs and where to air drum and where to air guitar and where to scream out the window to the guy driving beside us.

Drive back in the black, back to a home that’s a room to me. Sand in my sheets.