Peter’s birthday. He would have turned 54 if he hadn’t been taken out by a trigger happy *friend.* I’m preparing to go to LA to attend a memorial, meeting up with his sister Gretl. I am going be performing poems from my new book, Three Blocks West Of Wonderland, dedicated to his memory.

Sucks. Still sucks after a year. Still can’t believe he’s gone, haven’t entirely assimilated it or been able to write about it. It took many years before I could write about my mother after she died in 1992.

Dreamed I was ambling down the road on a hose! Like riding a snake. If I yarded the thing just right, it stayed up high, rigid enough to keep me aloft. Surely it was due to riding the horse the other day, learning to use the reigns. Lovely and bizarre dream, like the best of them. I don’t remember my dreams much anymore, am happy when I do.

Trying to tie up what seems like a million loose ends before I leave. Junior is digitizing some old cassettes, recordings of the band Peter and I had with Jon Huck and John MacAdams a long time ago. Josef transferred the footage we shot but the editing software keeps crashing. Need to get it rendered and to Roderick so he can start working on it. I have to view it though before I leave in case there is anything that needs to be re-shot, though at this rate, I am running out of time.