Woke up in the middle of a dream. In the dream I was in an small old elevator and I was trapped, kicking at the door. I jumped up and held on the the bar on the ceiling the old elevator in my apt in Spanish Harlem had and I kicked the door with both feet.
In the dream I wasn’t afraid, I was angry. I kicked the door over and over again until there was a huge dent in-between the two sides, which I then used to push the doors open. I was between floors and I crawled into the floor above just before the elevator dropped.
And then I woke up and wrote out this scene and tried to figure out what happened. Why was I in that elevator? What made it stop. Then the person in the elevator wasn’t me anymore but a character and who was he. Why was he filled with rage?
And that’s what I will do for the rest of the day.
Until I go to a sex party later tonight.