some fillers

btw I had a scant babe dream last night, in between many little other dreams throughout the night, and this sentence so far I like because right off I used a word like scant and the sentence itself running along feels free like 2015 so lets not push it or overreach.  Okay, so far so good.  We couldn't run, so we walked.  That's the reality.  That's where we're at—at least we can't ever say April is never uneventful.  April is ever uneventful?  Later*.  So in the dream, it's nestled in between—well first, let's get to her.  I'm watching her talk, no, speak, she never talks she speaks.  She's talking to another girl, they're both women, you know, about all the men in her life these past ten years, which I have abridged, here, the figure—what she recounted though felt as deep as a lifetime, 100 leagues deep into the sea of some book that when I read of love affairs it's a tremendous and torrid trigger like a foreign film I can't help but click away on impulse and I'm listening intently, nodding along uh-huh uh-huh, it's not really vulgar, a lot of deep-rooted intellectual jargon, relationship know-how and concepts to me that would be like giving buzz-words to a baby and—hey, what the hell!  there's no mention of me in there!  I found myself waking up a few times in the night to hearing myself talk, it was quite pleasant, I was giddy, 'twas a wave of relief, Junior Soprano made an appearance in a dream, which he is always welcome to do, I felt like I had been swimming in a pool the last few weeks and as I thought I was getting out and it was 5pm then maelstrom 

There was a skinny girl, and two guys around her.  I had a perspective, is all I can surmise from memory.  Some white and green, perhaps light brown, long hair.  A wife-beater and green sweats.  Tall and skinny.   She had a knife and we had to step in to help her.  She was cutting herself, cutting her arms, her wrists, the knife was big and the slashing was swift.  As we spiraled around her to twist the knife from her arms, there was now red, white, and green.  There was a close up of the wounds, but it was a close up of the top of just her hand, as though under a microscope, some 100 tiny shreds, each one its own little marsh, red and green driblets, almost perfect, symmetrical with some formula missing, 

then onto a soccer field, oh it was a game now, we were watching a game—they had taken that fragile girl to the middle of a soccer game.  Apparently one of the guys was perhaps her boyfriend and the other one—who had also been of help—I got the sense in the dream that there had perhaps been some tension there, that perhaps one had aided her better than the other figure...but there was certainly tension on the field, as the two were now on opposing teams.  And the one who may have been of better help, supposedly the quiet hero, as he was being portrayed by the crowd—well, he was eating some goals now, to the dismay of the crowd, man he wasn't scoring any points.  Then a group goes, oh come now, this is all too silly now, to weigh this game, where are the hot dogs?

* research shit about platitudes, be clever, don't be scared