I am buffy, again. the hero thing comes back. often.
where is it that I am saving?
the monster is a table with a mask head. when he is visible. again out there to possess me. (now I hear the pun.) he is downloading to my brain-computer all these evil songs. he came from the costume store, where the hats are made. (now I remember the play.)
I am afraid, but not afraid. it is too harsh a dream but not a nightmare.
I run down the stairs--but feet don't touch the steps--I fly down, turning. the chilean vehicle greets me downstairs--it is open air, people are sitting in their gardenly manners, no need to worry.
I sleep some more. Cannot wake up just after this.
and then later on the same day I find myself at the mastershipwright's house, where there is a ghost, and the first thing I see entering the decrepid mansion is a glass display case full of hats. I am taken up many flights of stairs, uncannily like the ones in the dream, only to wash the remnants of a harlequin off my face.
