Dreams: space and relation of time is always contrary to what one normally accepts as a given way or reality. Time is passe, irrelevant and besides the point, nearly always. Past love become mixed with present loves or the lover of present can somehow dissipate, while dire questions of hurt or past misunderstandings might continue to haunt the present or present-less state of past or present or future thus impending. Last night I dreamt in this strange way of timelessness, mixing the past and the present. I went to the house of former in-laws to visit, only recently knowing the couple is no longer together. They live/d in a ranch on a fairly large plot of land. Thus entering, I saw the children who were once my nieces and nephews, all grown up but somehow still the children they once were but with adult bodies, all still sharing rooms and living at home. The father now lived there with the kids and the mother lived next door. The father kept renovating the house until the house, with various underground passages and tunnels and strange attachments took up the entire plot of land. The wife said, if only he actually built up the rooms, but instead he just continues to build more, tunnel more, leaving rafters and rooms to rot. The wayward and complex house seemed much older than it ever was really, and somehow like an ancient Swiss barn with a medieval village structure attached to the side, some rooms were missing roofs, like the one which was allocated to me for the night I only noticed though when it began to rain. The wife now worked as a barmaid at the nearby (thus attached) pub, "one must make their means somehow" she told me as I surveyed the surroundings, I agreed. The inn/ crumbling house attached was the house of an old woman I had known who had passed away, I was eyeballing her curios and old photographs wondering if anyone would mind if I used them for collage. The house also, incidentally, was a house my family had tried to acquire as it was also somehow connected to our land and old ties. Somehow a lake was also involved in the dream, many poets were wandering lost around it. Somehow I was shirtless for most of the story. Then, the wife, my old sister, informed me that I better have books with because we were having a reading in the new/old lounge. There were a few readers before me, namely Jill Alexander Essbaum. Her reading was more of a modern theatrical performance bordering on the burlesque. At one point she was dancing around with masks, inviting audience participation. This was poetry! It was so late it was early, the light was evident thru the smoky glass, I could even hear birdsong. Whenever I attempted to read, something would occur, an old man jumped me and we ended up doing strange windmilling nearly drunken tumblesaults together (though the drinks never came)...or poets would call me about making editorial changes now on their manuscript, or perhaps I wasn't the right editor. My mother had apparently sent my old sister photos of me and Stella, etc since my old sister did not want to talk of times from before. The maze-like house, endless stairs and bedrooms, winding in and out of past and future hovering around us.