Dream Journal - October 23, 2013
I’m on the set of a Quentin Tarantino film, which also happens to be my grandmother’s house. I resent the fact that my character should have to kill anyone, so I murder as mildly as possible: by touching the tips of kitchen knives to the adam’s apples of intruders. One of them is a “femme fatale” who claims to be my “mother”. She enfolds me in her legs as we make slow, passionate love. Quentin comes down from the attic, sick of waiting for me to get up there. Apparently I was supposed to fight a bunch of A-list actors, including Samuel L. Jackson.