dreamed again last night, or maybe for the first time--my dreams often feel like sequels--of a farmhouse that was now an artists' bazaar and farmers' market (must be based on spoutwood). wandering upstairs through mazelike wooden-planked halls (adam's father's converted barn upstate) i came across the proprietress lying on a wooden bench, now in seclusion due to a terrible disease wasting her away, she looked like a horror movie extra with skin dripping down her face, she shook my hand and it felt like hardened latex.