<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036</id><updated>2011-04-21T20:50:18.592-05:00</updated><title type='text'>vagabondage dreamlog</title><subtitle type='html'>&lt;a href="http://sidbranca.blogspot.com/"&gt;sidbranca.blogspot.com&lt;/a&gt;</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default?start-index=101&amp;max-results=100'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>134</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-7418163609367333052</id><published>2008-03-04T06:09:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2008-03-04T06:18:12.494-06:00</updated><title type='text'>february 21st</title><summary type='text'>a dream from Barcelona:we were in a bedroom, watching educational videos in the dim very early light. someone said something to us through the door, but we did not answer. C asked me to run away with him to nashville (although he hadn't been there for a long time). but in the train station, waiting for the Chicago-Nashville train, he disappeared. It occurred to me that he might have left me, or </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/7418163609367333052'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/7418163609367333052'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2008/03/february-21st.html' title='february 21st'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-1207687556387602278</id><published>2008-03-04T06:02:00.004-06:00</published><updated>2008-03-04T06:08:04.340-06:00</updated><title type='text'>little birds</title><summary type='text'>Something was happening in my parents' house. I had run upstairs to my old room to get something, it was supposed to only take a minute, but when I got up there, I saw a very small (maybe three inches long) bright blue bird flying from the filing cabinet to the nearby bookshelf. At first I'd thought it was a moth.I started taking photographs. My camera was behaving strangely, taking four or five </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/1207687556387602278'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/1207687556387602278'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2008/03/little-birds.html' title='little birds'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-727937333385204293</id><published>2008-01-14T17:17:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-01-14T17:25:03.319-06:00</updated><title type='text'>12 &amp; 13 jan</title><summary type='text'>Ross and I were in a garden, but we were inside, but we were in the backyard of my parents' house. It was pleasant, but I had lost something among the plants. We were looking for it, but instead we found someone else's cell phone. Somehow we called Chris to ask if it was his, but Ross hung up on him mid-sentence. He intended to call from the landline of the house, but I told him it had been </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/727937333385204293'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/727937333385204293'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2008/01/12-13-jan.html' title='12 &amp; 13 jan'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-4789479033384234937</id><published>2007-12-30T01:07:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-12-30T01:08:17.242-06:00</updated><title type='text'>12/29 - japanese acid</title><summary type='text'>I was depressed. I found myself at an outdoor concert; Japanese rock musicians playing in a field. They tried to cheer me up, they fed me apples and acid and spoke in soothing, broken English. In my notes next I have the word "east".I was in a very dark, large, indoor place. There were cut-outs from fashion magazines, sliced and rearranged. There was a young man with all these cyborg parts, but </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/4789479033384234937'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/4789479033384234937'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2007/12/1229-japanese-acid.html' title='12/29 - japanese acid'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-7967892264367977375</id><published>2007-12-29T00:09:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-12-29T00:11:56.859-06:00</updated><title type='text'>12/28 - hurricane</title><summary type='text'>Julie and I were trying to get outside, but there was a big hurricane, or at least what we thought, giggling in fear, was a hurricane. We were in her family's house in Queens, or something like it, and the wind shook the walls. It was like the big storms of childhood; the excitement of seeing a familiar place lit by candles.The weather calmed, I walked outside alone. It was dark, wet, but not </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/7967892264367977375'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/7967892264367977375'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2007/12/1228-hurricane.html' title='12/28 - hurricane'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-969021013318610803</id><published>2007-12-29T00:06:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2007-12-29T00:06:33.636-06:00</updated><title type='text'>12/4</title><summary type='text'>dream:Ryland and I are in some strange huge building. We're going somewhere, but we stop in separate bathrooms. As I go to leave it, several people come in, adults of both sexes. I'm a little confused. In the elevator, I hold up in front of his face a small rock he had given me. I make some kind of joke. I explain that it was given to me by the real Ryland (as opposed to the dream one), and he </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/969021013318610803'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/969021013318610803'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2007/12/124.html' title='12/4'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-2885485849294751934</id><published>2007-12-29T00:05:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-12-29T00:06:06.386-06:00</updated><title type='text'>12/3</title><summary type='text'>dream:We were in the future, we were in space maybe, we were at that Star Trek time, there was no cancer, but we all made jokes as we suggested a smoke. Will went outside, but I got sidetracked. Wayne was playing a piano--its presence seemed strange yet almost unnoticeable in the meeting-room we were in--and I was whistling along. I played my kazoo, and some young woman sang.dream:Aileen and I </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/2885485849294751934'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/2885485849294751934'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2007/12/123.html' title='12/3'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-8965950343737962331</id><published>2007-10-18T00:56:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2007-10-18T01:06:19.187-05:00</updated><title type='text'>sunny day real estate</title><summary type='text'>In somebody's living room with a group of people. Dave leaves something with me, asking that I bring it with me when I meet him at a party later. He seems slightly anxious, although I'm fairly sure it's not over anything really serious. He leaves through what look like garage stairs. The rest of us sit on a big white couch in front of a tv, talking and half-watching something. Mike remembers </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/8965950343737962331'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/8965950343737962331'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2007/10/sunny-day-real-estate.html' title='sunny day real estate'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-7157085714460274066</id><published>2007-10-18T00:47:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-10-18T00:55:52.668-05:00</updated><title type='text'>dark house / warm clowns</title><summary type='text'>from several nights ago:I'm in a dark house, going back in between two rooms, looking for something. all the lights are out, and it's night, but it's stormy and I can still see. I hear a voice, young, male, that I instantly dislike, that is deriding me. We're in conversation but it's silent, he's outside and broadcasting himself into my head, I can't block it out. I respond by speaking out loud. </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/7157085714460274066'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/7157085714460274066'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2007/10/dark-house.html' title='dark house / warm clowns'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-5383069095953346342</id><published>2007-10-03T08:52:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-10-03T17:45:14.228-05:00</updated><title type='text'>but we were sincere</title><summary type='text'>I walked out onto a dark street, unsure of why. Someone slightly younger than me, some version of William, mentioned something-- in the form of a question that wasn't really a question-- about me leading parkour groups on the south side of Chicago. I left him behind and started running. People put obstacles in my way as a challenge, but I ran on.This brought me to a bar, one surprisingly brightly</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/5383069095953346342'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/5383069095953346342'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2007/10/but-we-were-sincere.html' title='but we were sincere'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-149798008408029674</id><published>2007-10-02T21:49:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2007-10-02T21:55:40.398-05:00</updated><title type='text'>typrex</title><summary type='text'>It was a gathering in an apartment, but the kind of vast apartment that real adults live in. I was out on the balcony with an older man, probably in his 40s, to whom I was somehow sexually obligated. I did what I had to do, and it was not violation, merely duty and mild discomfort, like the last few minutes of a job you have no passion for. I went inside, he didn't follow, I mingled. I spoke to a</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/149798008408029674'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/149798008408029674'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2007/10/typrex.html' title='typrex'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-2027299660421113957</id><published>2007-09-29T12:18:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-09-29T12:21:58.370-05:00</updated><title type='text'>photographs</title><summary type='text'>I was looking at photographs of you, you were blurry in the background of well-furnished rooms. Sometimes I couldn't even see you there at first. I didn't know anybody else but I kept going, hoping I would get to see your face clearly, although I never did.Then there was something remarkable and far-fetched, but it was less real so I forgot it.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/2027299660421113957'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/2027299660421113957'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2007/09/photographs.html' title='photographs'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-5135924295687699264</id><published>2007-09-15T10:24:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-09-16T11:15:56.423-05:00</updated><title type='text'>painted bike</title><summary type='text'>The night of the 14th/15th:In my parents' house. Collin was already home from school, or hadn't gone. A bus of middle school kids was arriving. I somehow knew with complete certainty that they were zombies. Somehow, the front door would not close, and Collin (or was it me, and I simply also watched it happen?) got sucked under the door.Evelyn wanted me to pronounce her name a specific way, and I </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/5135924295687699264'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/5135924295687699264'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2007/09/painted-bike.html' title='painted bike'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-4885498661747859414</id><published>2007-09-02T13:44:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-09-02T13:49:49.556-05:00</updated><title type='text'>haircuts</title><summary type='text'>I was outside a building, in a strange city, on a semi-crowded street. I was trying to talk to a girl I thought was Margot while she entered the building, but when she turned around in the doorway to speak to me, I realized it was a someone else, a girl taller and less interesting. Then somehow I was inside a room in a different place, a different state or country, sitting on the top part of a </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/4885498661747859414'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/4885498661747859414'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2007/09/haircuts.html' title='haircuts'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-4857074278946054205</id><published>2007-08-24T09:06:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-08-24T09:11:05.406-05:00</updated><title type='text'>tie yr shoes</title><summary type='text'>We were on a bus in Chicago, headed for somewhere far away. She was outside on the sidewalk, we thought she was still in New York, she was trying to get his attention and he kept not seeing her. So I told him to look. She was in the sunshine and looked pretty happy, I guess. The bus kept moving, and pretty soon we got to somewhere with snow on the ground. I had to tie my bootlaces, but for some </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/4857074278946054205'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/4857074278946054205'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2007/08/tie-yr-shoes.html' title='tie yr shoes'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-1656046474173741226</id><published>2007-08-20T23:14:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-08-20T23:16:24.666-05:00</updated><title type='text'>walrus</title><summary type='text'>A bunch of us worked in the zoo, and we were swimming in an enclosed sea when the walruses began their attack. It was a rough time; we had to control them without hurting them. Afterwards, the owner of the zoo-- an old, slightly flamboyant man in a suit-- offered us all drinks in sympathy.And then, in a dark kitchen, Thomas and I made waffles.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/1656046474173741226'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/1656046474173741226'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2007/08/walrus.html' title='walrus'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-9034833168884868686</id><published>2007-08-18T16:38:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2007-08-18T16:39:22.781-05:00</updated><title type='text'>space</title><summary type='text'>Adam and I went to space, and were sort of confused about it, but it was pretty cool.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/9034833168884868686'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/9034833168884868686'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2007/08/space.html' title='space'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-9153716367783786333</id><published>2007-08-14T08:56:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-08-14T09:02:01.030-05:00</updated><title type='text'>disposing of a body</title><summary type='text'>dream of the 12th/13th:In somebody's living room, in an attempt to watch television, we discovered a body under the couch. This was a body we may or may not have been responsible for. We tried to pull a plug out from under there, but it seemed as though he had died clutching it, so there was nothing we could do until we disposed of the body. We were still considering our options when some people </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/9153716367783786333'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/9153716367783786333'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2007/08/disposing-of-body.html' title='disposing of a body'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-1892671727610915419</id><published>2007-08-11T14:39:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-08-11T14:40:17.013-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Numen</title><summary type='text'>the word had changed to Numen, and we played a game of sorts.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/1892671727610915419'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/1892671727610915419'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2007/08/numen.html' title='Numen'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-871311110552409947</id><published>2007-08-11T12:51:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2007-08-11T12:54:35.400-05:00</updated><title type='text'>the man who fell</title><summary type='text'>something about David Bowie.something about waffles.Discussing the internet with Amanda Palmer from the front row. Julie is there, really drunk, and then Shulo unexpectedly appears, and it's sort of awkward, since I haven't seen him in years. He looked old. Then another girl and I began doing a contortion act as the crowd cleared out of the venue. A sweeping view of long lines of striped-stocking</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/871311110552409947'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/871311110552409947'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2007/08/man-who-fell.html' title='the man who fell'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-390758095291522469</id><published>2007-08-03T17:17:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-08-03T17:21:25.395-05:00</updated><title type='text'>brian would love to take care of you</title><summary type='text'>i was trying to tell brian viglione i was in love with him, but we kept turning into different people and getting distracted.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/390758095291522469'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/390758095291522469'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2007/08/brian-would-love-to-take-care-of-you.html' title='brian would love to take care of you'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-7112521764162564899</id><published>2007-08-03T10:56:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-08-03T11:04:33.840-05:00</updated><title type='text'>tattoo and church</title><summary type='text'>Walking down a street at night, probably around 11:30, midnight, with T. Impulsively going into a tattoo parlor, making plans. Suddenly I kept having to rearrange wires, unplugging things, replugging them in different configurations.A wedding, but it was unclear whose it was, because the minister woman was the only one standing up there. It may have been a demo, an example of how she conducts </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/7112521764162564899'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/7112521764162564899'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2007/08/tattoo-and-church.html' title='tattoo and church'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-13041052332840219</id><published>2007-07-28T17:22:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-07-28T17:43:42.700-05:00</updated><title type='text'>real candy dog</title><summary type='text'>my grandmother was visiting a house that belonged to either me or my parents, a big house up on a hill. she was leaving, carrying a set of tannish-pink luggage that matched the station wagon she was carrying them to. a kiss on the cheek, we all pile in, my father has to awkwardly squeeze past her when she doesn't get up. my mother gives my grandmother a card, and this reminds my father that he </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/13041052332840219'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/13041052332840219'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2007/07/real-candy-dog.html' title='real candy dog'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-3692039181463242863</id><published>2007-07-27T00:27:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-07-27T00:29:16.662-05:00</updated><title type='text'>radio voice</title><summary type='text'>We were sitting on a couch in a living room with the light off and then somehow we were outside, he leaned against a pickup truck with shadows everywhere and said in his radio voice I'm in love with you, enough to be something. And then nothing happened but we both knew.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/3692039181463242863'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/3692039181463242863'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2007/07/radio-voice.html' title='radio voice'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-234848141009500271</id><published>2007-07-25T14:11:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-07-25T14:23:21.029-05:00</updated><title type='text'>steps, chocolate</title><summary type='text'>last nighti--J, T and I were walking up wide steps to a large building. T was telling us excitedly about a hotel suite that L was staying in, that he would be staying in soon. He was giddy and ranting, and J said flatly: "It's sounds like you're pretty much set then." T was about to continue when I hit him hard with one hand across the top of his head. I ran up the steps to the left-most doorway </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/234848141009500271'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/234848141009500271'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2007/07/steps-chocolate.html' title='steps, chocolate'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-6637419970688197563</id><published>2007-07-10T12:05:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-07-10T12:11:57.299-05:00</updated><title type='text'>boardroom chaos</title><summary type='text'>I was in some sort of boardroom with a large number of people, mostly older men, all of whom seemed very important and angry and on the verge of panic. things were escalating. we were running out of time. I turned to the man to my left and yelled in his face.    Women's rights is an important issue, but it's not what we should be focusing on in Beirut! Everyone's fucked!    The police were </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/6637419970688197563'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/6637419970688197563'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2007/07/boardroom-chaos.html' title='boardroom chaos'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-3411000953565608028</id><published>2007-07-09T12:40:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-07-09T12:41:41.836-05:00</updated><title type='text'>cotton</title><summary type='text'>on someone's back porch, I covertly stuffed cotton in my mouth. I held it limply, awkwardly, when I was discovered.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/3411000953565608028'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/3411000953565608028'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2007/07/cotton.html' title='cotton'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-185850434746145949</id><published>2007-06-06T00:16:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2007-06-06T00:17:04.133-05:00</updated><title type='text'>post-Christ</title><summary type='text'>A dream in which I discovered I was the Anti-Christ, only that didn't mean what it usually does.To be elaborated on later.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/185850434746145949'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/185850434746145949'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2007/06/post-christ.html' title='post-Christ'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-468912250345450674</id><published>2007-06-04T21:54:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-06-04T22:13:47.815-05:00</updated><title type='text'>a game in the ocean</title><summary type='text'>(night of june 3rd)We were floating in the sea. There was a game we played in the water. He pushed all his weight on me, just slow slid fell leaned into all of me, that way he does, until all that bulk was no longer his responsibility. I had to keep us afloat. If I did, we would wiggle our toes in the air, just out of the water, and we would fuck there, floating. If I sank, there was a good </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/468912250345450674'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/468912250345450674'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2007/06/game-in-ocean.html' title='a game in the ocean'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-1746948503708788973</id><published>2007-05-18T12:18:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2007-05-18T12:22:20.353-05:00</updated><title type='text'>childhood footage</title><summary type='text'>by a large swimming pool, they spoke to me in German and I responded in French. this method of communication worked fairly well.I had discovered on my cell phone old film footage from my childhood. Nick P, Peter C, and I as little kids, running along the beach. The segments of us playing were spliced in with stop-motion animation sequences, swirling pieces of brightly colored clay and little </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/1746948503708788973'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/1746948503708788973'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2007/05/childhood-footage.html' title='childhood footage'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-2876347031753980787</id><published>2007-04-21T14:33:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-04-21T14:35:53.905-05:00</updated><title type='text'>crossing the street</title><summary type='text'>Julie &amp; Drew about to go into a bar in a hotel or an apartment building, but they remember at the last minute that I can't go in, they hesitate, they leave. But now we have to cross the street. We lose Drew-- he gets distracted by a row of shiny gold buttons, wanting to press them to see what they do. Thom is there, and we go to cross the street-- a busy one, a lot like 55th street. Augie and </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/2876347031753980787'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/2876347031753980787'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2007/04/crossing-street.html' title='crossing the street'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-2668317166476778189</id><published>2007-04-07T16:56:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-04-07T16:58:54.693-05:00</updated><title type='text'>vague</title><summary type='text'>Something with a ... a woman with... I know at least that he was there, all devilled up and dolled. Again, a table under a red sky. I tried to write a song, and forgot it.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/2668317166476778189'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/2668317166476778189'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2007/04/vague.html' title='vague'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-7498482458744659837</id><published>2007-04-04T20:20:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-04-19T12:08:21.497-05:00</updated><title type='text'>neoteny</title><summary type='text'>An older British woman and a young British man (who looked a lot like Matt V). He was probably about twenty years old, but somehow still very much a child. She was corrupting him, feeding him nothing but sweets. He was her lover and he was selfish and full of tantrums. There was a great big circus tent, and when it collapsed we found simply an infant underneath. A pretty nurse, somehow walking </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/7498482458744659837'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/7498482458744659837'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2007/04/neoteny.html' title='neoteny'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-6878884868803350392</id><published>2007-03-18T12:17:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-03-18T12:20:10.495-05:00</updated><title type='text'>james &amp; devil</title><summary type='text'>James and I, with several others, in a vast church. The devil was there, angry with me for something or nothing, and had taken over bits and pieces of the building.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/6878884868803350392'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/6878884868803350392'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2007/03/james-devil.html' title='james &amp; devil'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-8182965139147454945</id><published>2007-03-14T09:16:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2007-03-14T09:18:45.825-05:00</updated><title type='text'>wife-beaters</title><summary type='text'>I had to get to work (I was back on Long Island, working retail), and my father was asleep. My mother was still at work, and when I called to ask her for a ride she acted as if we’d been over this already, that she’d already had to refuse. I start walking, and despite the fact that it was night-time (there was some mention of six o’clock) while on the phone with her, it was sunny and bright </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/8182965139147454945'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/8182965139147454945'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2007/03/wife-beaters.html' title='wife-beaters'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-2765777094824388789</id><published>2007-03-12T11:56:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-03-12T19:58:47.849-05:00</updated><title type='text'>three youths</title><summary type='text'>I was on a beach. There were three of them. Young men-- pale, wiry, angry, bored. They beat me, and had great big knives. They cut off one of my legs, although somehow I had it back a moment later. I fought back, I crawled, I scratched, I got away.In a corridor/lobby full of people crowded up against the elevators. With Thomas, trying to speak to the two people leaving in the elevator (who looked</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/2765777094824388789'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/2765777094824388789'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2007/03/three-youths.html' title='three youths'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-1226651560188155905</id><published>2007-03-11T22:15:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-03-11T23:21:07.473-05:00</updated><title type='text'>80 degrees, lightning</title><summary type='text'>Waking up in my room in the dark-- not actually my room, but still sharing a southward facing suite with Meg D.A phone call from my mother, who was with Suky visiting Chicago, but not where I was. She wanted me to check the weather online. I had a lot of difficulty getting it to recognize my Hyde Park zip code. The monitor began to flicker-- lightning with a high of 80 degrees-- as lightning </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/1226651560188155905'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/1226651560188155905'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2007/03/80-degrees-lightning.html' title='80 degrees, lightning'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-1135588355431911787</id><published>2007-03-02T15:03:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-03-02T15:07:12.815-06:00</updated><title type='text'>hindsight</title><summary type='text'>Being told (rightly, I realized with the terrifying rationale of waking) that I was the one that pushed my first love away all those times, every drunken summer of my "adult" life. Being told that he could have, and did, love me, and that my dizzying fear of loss blinded me. A talking to on a cluttered porch in New Orleans, and apologies over four years in the making.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/1135588355431911787'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/1135588355431911787'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2007/03/hindsight.html' title='hindsight'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-6766469913787674416</id><published>2007-03-02T14:56:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2007-03-02T15:03:53.038-06:00</updated><title type='text'>jarvis theater company</title><summary type='text'>In a large building with Dave. We walked through many rooms of people working. We were looking for Bailey. We expected to see her as we walked across a large white platform that several young women were painting with black lines, but she wasn't there. Dave had helped to found a theater company that Bailey and I now worked for. Somehow I wandered into the men's bathroom, lost.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/6766469913787674416'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/6766469913787674416'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2007/03/jarvis-theater-company.html' title='jarvis theater company'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-2849448476473641877</id><published>2007-03-02T14:56:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2007-03-02T14:56:51.001-06:00</updated><title type='text'>towers and phones</title><summary type='text'>sitting at a table in some strange dark black-and-orange world that was all creepy sunsets and tall black towers. sitting with Marcus, Lisa, and Thomas, and perhaps someone else. We kept trying to call my brother on the phone.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/2849448476473641877'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/2849448476473641877'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2007/03/towers-and-phones.html' title='towers and phones'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-4445562013358879916</id><published>2007-03-02T14:54:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-03-02T14:55:57.341-06:00</updated><title type='text'>dream fever</title><summary type='text'>part dream, part fever, what comes of sleeping too late:I dreamt you were Abraxas. I dreamt you all blood and feathers. I dreamt you knelt at my altar, I dreamt you were my altered. I dreamt we tried to teach, I dreamt we sailed great rivers.I dreamt that every night you were not there did not exist.I dreamt of an albatross, vast, its wings like clouded continents and eyes like deep dark stones. </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/4445562013358879916'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/4445562013358879916'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2007/03/dream-fever.html' title='dream fever'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-7087718952326717416</id><published>2007-02-01T01:03:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-02-01T01:04:35.867-06:00</updated><title type='text'>une fée</title><summary type='text'>blazing blue eyes with a foreign accent. classroom seduction. a kiss where the shoulder just begins teasing the neck with contact. sunlight on white walls.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/7087718952326717416'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/7087718952326717416'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2007/02/une-fe.html' title='une fée'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-1633670705128122250</id><published>2007-01-20T19:47:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-01-20T19:49:01.000-06:00</updated><title type='text'>yellow, white.</title><summary type='text'>dreamt: cocaine on a schoolbus. internet apologies. planned trips to the caribbean.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/1633670705128122250'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/1633670705128122250'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2007/01/yellow-white.html' title='yellow, white.'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-3549476288509460486</id><published>2007-01-18T00:10:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-01-18T00:12:26.143-06:00</updated><title type='text'>the cellophane sea</title><summary type='text'>In a cellophane sea where Thomas and I played, the waves paused just at their peak, and then crashed just as we dove beneath them. And I battled a giant squid for him, perhaps simply because it was giant. I defeated it by shrinking it so small that victory no longer mattered.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/3549476288509460486'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/3549476288509460486'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2007/01/cellophane-sea.html' title='the cellophane sea'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-1219769809584351663</id><published>2007-01-07T11:02:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-01-07T11:10:12.630-06:00</updated><title type='text'>red hills</title><summary type='text'>the night before last:I needed rubber cement, so I went into a building  that was vaguely like my middle school. It was late at night, but there were lots of people there. I passed a few secretaries and hall monitors, and found myself in a church. Sarah S was the only person I recognized in the church, and she showed me, smiling, a door to the outside. But instead of being cold and dark and </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/1219769809584351663'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/1219769809584351663'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2007/01/red-hills.html' title='red hills'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-4699277851751056645</id><published>2006-12-30T17:18:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-12-30T17:34:38.460-06:00</updated><title type='text'>indiana motel dreams</title><summary type='text'>Griffin, Emily and I in the driveway of my parents' house. I was overwhelmed by some sort of intense physical sensation, and they decide not to bring me inside, and they carry me, out into the street. Angie is there, excited about cooking something and getting tattoos. She has decided to cure me of my fear of spiders, and to do so, she keeps placing a large spider on my back and on my face. I </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/4699277851751056645'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/4699277851751056645'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2006/12/indiana-motel-dreams.html' title='indiana motel dreams'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-3570827131923223620</id><published>2006-12-26T21:43:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-12-26T21:49:44.629-06:00</updated><title type='text'>old circles</title><summary type='text'>dinner and champagne at Patty's, although I don't think I was in Chicago. Walking outside, and talking to a young woman who was very lost and confused?Talking to Ally online, while watching a claymation film I had created, all strange flowers and disturbing body parts.In a circle of people outside, all people from my home town, Ally among them. I was enthusiastically explaining something to her, </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/3570827131923223620'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/3570827131923223620'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2006/12/old-circles.html' title='old circles'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-116623278461248317</id><published>2006-12-15T19:32:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-12-15T19:33:04.623-06:00</updated><title type='text'>trip</title><summary type='text'>I dreamt I was tripping on mushrooms, and everything was disintegrating.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/116623278461248317'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/116623278461248317'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2006/12/trip.html' title='trip'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-116612279573938611</id><published>2006-12-14T12:42:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-12-15T16:55:12.306-06:00</updated><title type='text'>kidnapped</title><summary type='text'>we'd all been kidnapped, though we didn't know it yet. walking into a gigantic house, a room that had something to do with chess. several rooms later, a room full of brightly colored bottles of soda in all flavors. one of our hosts was there, and was getting malicious. he was young, with long-ish dark hair and a surly demeanor. He threw a bottle of Sprite-- well, he called it Sprite, but the </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/116612279573938611'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/116612279573938611'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2006/12/kidnapped.html' title='kidnapped'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-116543362904152811</id><published>2006-12-06T13:29:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-12-06T13:34:33.463-06:00</updated><title type='text'>softball snails</title><summary type='text'>Three of us were studying at an indoor library table, outside. Thom was rushing around trying to do too many things at once, and then he ran off, realizing he was supposed to meet someone for coffee. The third person (I can't remember who) made some snide yet sympathetic comment.I was in a small room with a projector that was also an aquarium, and a window. The window looked out on a sunny </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/116543362904152811'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/116543362904152811'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2006/12/softball-snails.html' title='softball snails'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-116529252619172968</id><published>2006-12-04T22:17:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-12-04T22:22:06.203-06:00</updated><title type='text'>stair waiting</title><summary type='text'>In someone's kitchen, looking for something. Unsuccessfully, I think-- I was somehow interrupted.In the same house, standing on the bottom step of the stairs. There were a bunch of people nearby, but I felt separate. Meg, Griffin, and Thom were upstairs, making some important decision without me. I could not go up, I simply had to await their verdict. Thom came downstairs and announced that the </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/116529252619172968'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/116529252619172968'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2006/12/stair-waiting.html' title='stair waiting'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-116517651412739086</id><published>2006-12-03T14:03:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-12-03T14:08:34.136-06:00</updated><title type='text'>stone lion</title><summary type='text'>A party in a big house. Thom and Evelyn had decided to kill me, and I was terrified and running. Thom and I made a big scene and I tried to choke him in self defense, then ran off. All night I kept looking for James, it was very important that I find him, but I couldn't.With Julie and Tynan, walking excitedly down a street at night, going off to some party. But I realized I'd forgotten my camera.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/116517651412739086'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/116517651412739086'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2006/12/stone-lion.html' title='stone lion'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-116396279405983790</id><published>2006-11-19T12:50:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-11-19T12:59:54.073-06:00</updated><title type='text'>hold</title><summary type='text'>dreaming about holding someone, and waking up confused to find her in my arms.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/116396279405983790'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/116396279405983790'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2006/11/hold.html' title='hold'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-116380209022607866</id><published>2006-11-17T16:14:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-11-17T16:21:30.240-06:00</updated><title type='text'>cemetery party</title><summary type='text'>from a few nights ago:taking photographs of Julie in a cemetery in the sunshine. then moving along the edge of a forest, to an adjacent park. Joy is somewhere nearby, and Griffin is walking with us. We approach a swingset where Ally and Gavin are perched opposite each other on some sort of swing-bench, holding each other and kissing. Griffin makes some comment about love being disgusting, </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/116380209022607866'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/116380209022607866'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2006/11/cemetery-party.html' title='cemetery party'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-116345593649498249</id><published>2006-11-13T16:08:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-11-13T16:12:16.510-06:00</updated><title type='text'>brother, brothers, dinosaurs.</title><summary type='text'>explaining the rules of German pronunciation to my brother Collin, specifically regarding the words "Bruder" (brother) and "Brüder" (brothers). this takes place in my parents' house.a strange combination of someone else's real-life sleep-talking and my dreaming. I'm not sure what actually was said. Something about giant dinosaurs, the unspoken, and conception (both sexual and ideological).</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/116345593649498249'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/116345593649498249'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2006/11/brother-brothers-dinosaurs.html' title='brother, brothers, dinosaurs.'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-116303321788157166</id><published>2006-11-08T18:46:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-11-08T18:46:57.913-06:00</updated><title type='text'>something vague</title><summary type='text'>Something about a mechanical bull.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/116303321788157166'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/116303321788157166'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2006/11/something-vague.html' title='something vague'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-116292117824450403</id><published>2006-11-07T11:35:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-11-07T11:39:38.256-06:00</updated><title type='text'>i'm an obnoxious indie kid, apparently.</title><summary type='text'>Going to a Dresden Dolls show. I'm there very early, but for some reason they were playing already. Everything was strangely brightly lit. I went into the other rooms (which got progressively smaller) to see what was happening. In the second one, Bailey was singing in a twee-rockish band, an angry sort of cute. In the third was a band that was somehow a combination of Built to Spill and They </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/116292117824450403'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/116292117824450403'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2006/11/im-obnoxious-indie-kid-apparently.html' title='i&apos;m an obnoxious indie kid, apparently.'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-116285351426923555</id><published>2006-11-06T16:47:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-11-06T16:51:54.280-06:00</updated><title type='text'>on a dark stage</title><summary type='text'>Thom and I were on stage in a dark (but fairly large, I think) room, in some sort of improvisational clowning piece. But we were simply sitting on the edge of the stage, talking, to the audience mostly. I was quiet nearly all the time; I simply couldn't think of a funny thing to say so I played up my silence. I think he feigned frustration, but all the while understood. The crowd was strangely </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/116285351426923555'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/116285351426923555'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2006/11/on-dark-stage.html' title='on a dark stage'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-116257260974471663</id><published>2006-11-03T10:41:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-11-03T10:50:09.746-06:00</updated><title type='text'>time travel, trees, circus</title><summary type='text'>Discussing time travel with Lauren Sloane, walking north alongside a big road. She asks me if something can exist in the present if someone travelled to the past and changed things. I told her yes, that I'd done it. I had a book in my hands, and though I couldn't find the title on the cover, it was called "Dead, Alive." There was possibly also something about compass here. Then I realized a young</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/116257260974471663'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/116257260974471663'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2006/11/time-travel-trees-circus.html' title='time travel, trees, circus'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-116208055972919861</id><published>2006-10-28T18:49:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-10-28T19:09:19.740-05:00</updated><title type='text'>directing baradla</title><summary type='text'>I was directing a play. I think the original plan was for me to be an actor, but some twist of fate had left the project in my hands and I could not play both roles.The set was some sort of strange rock formation, almost cave-like, coming up behind the actors in forbidding shapes. It had a labyrinthine quality; I had no idea where the audience was supposed to go. Thinking about it now reminds me </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/116208055972919861'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/116208055972919861'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2006/10/directing-baradla.html' title='directing baradla'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-116179563009787841</id><published>2006-10-25T11:56:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-10-25T12:00:30.110-05:00</updated><title type='text'>violins, librarians</title><summary type='text'>In a room in a suite/apartment set up similarly to the one I live in now, but by no means the same one. In the other room, Lauren Glover is playing the violin, and talking about how when she (Lauren) was a small child, her mother suffered from insomnia, and would play the violin in the middle of the night.Alexei is in a rock band, singing, playing a show inside a gigantic library. He keeps </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/116179563009787841'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/116179563009787841'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2006/10/violins-librarians.html' title='violins, librarians'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-115203425923619663</id><published>2006-07-04T12:27:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-07-04T12:30:59.246-05:00</updated><title type='text'>barfights &amp; blows</title><summary type='text'>something about sleeping with the band The Blow, and then being upset to realize that (at least in this dream) they've slept around a lot. something about drawing caricatures.getting into a barfight with my mother, with Currence standing in the background. Suddenly somehow driving past woods and streams in daylight, yelling and apologizing.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/115203425923619663'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/115203425923619663'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2006/07/barfights-blows.html' title='barfights &amp; blows'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-114755417913248769</id><published>2006-05-13T16:00:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-05-13T16:02:59.143-05:00</updated><title type='text'>servitude.</title><summary type='text'>Someone had enslaved Ally and I. It wasn't such a terrible life on paper; we just did various things around the house, took care of the pool, the trailer, the boat, cooked, cleaned. But it was the principle. There was no freedom of thought, there was constant degradation. Only the family's smallest child treated us as though we were human. We needed to kill the adults. We needed to steal the boat</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/114755417913248769'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/114755417913248769'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2006/05/servitude.html' title='servitude.'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-114598059162304983</id><published>2006-04-25T10:54:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-04-25T10:56:31.633-05:00</updated><title type='text'>fragments:</title><summary type='text'>wandering the streets of some city with Griffin on mushrooms at night. many, many flashing lights.my mother and my grandmother, many years into the future, trying to reconstruct in conversation dinner parties from decades prior. It was someone's birthday; there was a cake, with candles. As they debated details, a huge map that had a compass drawn on it in light appeared on the wall. One of them </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/114598059162304983'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/114598059162304983'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2006/04/fragments.html' title='fragments:'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-114412803258914667</id><published>2006-04-04T00:17:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-04-04T00:20:32.600-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Sting, being sci-fi and bad-ass, again.</title><summary type='text'>In the future, on another planet, Sting has demanded I do something diabolical. I'm fairly sure this means assassinating someone (fairly) innocent. I have refused, and he wants to kill me for such impudence. In a large room with white walls and tables, shots are being fired. I'm ducking low to the ground, struggling to escape. Jim, and a few other people from my real-life dorm are there as well, </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/114412803258914667'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/114412803258914667'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2006/04/sting-being-sci-fi-and-bad-ass-again.html' title='Sting, being sci-fi and bad-ass, again.'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-114353015256829684</id><published>2006-03-28T01:03:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-03-28T01:15:52.576-06:00</updated><title type='text'>the New Great War</title><summary type='text'>Pirates, Union soldiers from the Civil War (with possibly a few scraggly Confederates around), and 70s disco dancers. All fighting in a giant war, roaming the streets, during some sort of parade. It was a haphazard kind of war, battles breaking out when enough people happened to be in the same place at the same time.A fight breaks out in front of the movie theater. There is an older woman-- a </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/114353015256829684'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/114353015256829684'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2006/03/new-great-war.html' title='the New Great War'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-114237751939577772</id><published>2006-03-14T17:00:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-03-14T17:05:19.406-06:00</updated><title type='text'>a letter.</title><summary type='text'>Alexei wrote me a long, intensely emotional letter, and I found myself depressed this morning because it wasn't true.also, later, I was sitting in a room printing something while Matt fidgets waiting for me so we can go somewhere. what I was printing had something to do with food, possibly the safety or healthfulness of certain animal products.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/114237751939577772'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/114237751939577772'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2006/03/letter.html' title='a letter.'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-114219445467084777</id><published>2006-03-12T14:08:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-03-12T14:14:40.506-06:00</updated><title type='text'>chocolate chips, flying houses</title><summary type='text'>Robbing, or more just generally trashing a store, and taking a shiny red cowboy hat. Something about Meg being innocent because she was asleep the whole time.I was watching David argue with some angry, gaunt woman who was convinced she was his step-mother (and I suppose, in the dream, she was). I went to get a chocolate chip cookie from a table to my right, and she said something like, "the first</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/114219445467084777'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/114219445467084777'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2006/03/chocolate-chips-flying-houses.html' title='chocolate chips, flying houses'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-114179316163445775</id><published>2006-03-07T22:36:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-03-07T22:46:01.646-06:00</updated><title type='text'>life in a library</title><summary type='text'>Meg and I are living in a new apartment which is, apparently, part of a small section of a public library. I find her on a computer (you know, the kind that replaced card catalogs) looking for books on Magritte.Ian apparently lives down the hall (the hall is dark and very wood panel-y and pretty), and as we're walking past someone walks into his room. Meg peeks in and listens to the conversation </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/114179316163445775'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/114179316163445775'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2006/03/life-in-library.html' title='life in a library'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-111474523026638150</id><published>2005-04-28T22:24:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-03-07T22:46:39.706-06:00</updated><title type='text'>new website: semblables.com</title><summary type='text'>semblables.com / dreamsthere may or may not be something here some time.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/111474523026638150'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/111474523026638150'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2005/04/new-website-semblablescom.html' title='new website: semblables.com'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-110970565675780257</id><published>2005-03-01T13:26:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2005-03-01T13:34:16.756-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Gwar is pretty cool.</title><summary type='text'>Amanda D is in my living room, I'm looking over the counter at her from the kitchen, putting on a Blur cd. Not an existing one, to my knowledge. The light is on in the kitchen, not in the living room, but enough of it shines in for her to see. She points to a stack of cds almost hidden underneath one of the couches- "Gwa!" she says in a silly voice. It's a Gwar cd. "Do you want to listen to Gwar?</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/110970565675780257'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/110970565675780257'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2005/03/gwar-is-pretty-cool.html' title='Gwar is pretty cool.'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-110944132472348306</id><published>2005-02-26T12:02:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2005-02-26T12:08:44.726-06:00</updated><title type='text'>giant albino anaconda.</title><summary type='text'>giant albino anaconda. trying to eat us. us being several people in my parent's house. I initially noticed the tip of its tail in my mom's room, and then found the head end in the living room. somehow walls were of no consequence for the anaconda. Going into my room, I looked out the window to see it stretching across the first level of the roof (Cape Cod stizz house).  Its head started poking </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/110944132472348306'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/110944132472348306'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2005/02/giant-albino-anaconda.html' title='giant albino anaconda.'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-110849889635447621</id><published>2005-02-15T14:20:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2005-02-15T14:21:36.356-06:00</updated><title type='text'>subliminal christians</title><summary type='text'>I had a dream that it was the future, and a few years before, fundamentalist christians had put subliminal messages into all the erotica on the internet. somehow the woman explaining it to me was the only one who had noticed. we apparently had to go through and edit every website individually to save the minds of perverts everywhere.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/110849889635447621'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/110849889635447621'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2005/02/subliminal-christians.html' title='subliminal christians'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-110791704264980859</id><published>2005-02-08T20:40:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2005-02-08T20:44:02.650-06:00</updated><title type='text'>7 feb 05 faux-fairy tale</title><summary type='text'>I was a porn star, I didn't look like myself. we were filming, one of those weird faux-fairy tale porns. I was wearing a slutty snow white dress, and the guy had crazy green makeup and horns to make him look like a demon (but he wasn't really). It was pseudo-rape porn, but it wasn't real, we were actors, so i wasn't scared. My head pushed down, I woke up choking on green-painted flesh.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/110791704264980859'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/110791704264980859'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2005/02/7-feb-05-faux-fairy-tale.html' title='7 feb 05 faux-fairy tale'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-110774560879110546</id><published>2005-02-06T20:59:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2005-02-06T21:06:48.790-06:00</updated><title type='text'>5/6 Feb 05</title><summary type='text'>typing to Daniel. His screen name is different, full of w's and o's and x's, but it's him all the same.Being called downstairs to find Chris asleep on the couch, as if he's been waiting there for hours. Naked on another couch. then it seems my mother is going to drive Chris somewhere. About to follow them out the door, I run upstairs saying I need shoes and my phone. But I'm already wearing my </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/110774560879110546'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/110774560879110546'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2005/02/56-feb-05.html' title='5/6 Feb 05'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-110608296868719740</id><published>2005-01-18T15:07:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2005-01-18T15:31:18.930-06:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>large room or outdoor pavilion. long cafeteria-style tables, blue/grey. lots of people- young adults, and a few professionally-dressed adults holding court. Ross, I think, is sitting to my left. Libby down a little ways to the right.discussing an essay we had all written, about the most ridiculous thing we had ever been told. Me to Ross- "I don't remember what I wrote."there's more but I have </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/110608296868719740'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/110608296868719740'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2005/01/large-room-or-outdoor-pavilion.html' title=''/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-110359936660798866</id><published>2004-12-20T21:21:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2004-12-20T21:22:46.606-06:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>reading an old book, I could smell its pages on my hands. then, an enemy.I repeated this phrase like a prayer- "to draw a line across a man's soul," used my eyes like lasers, until I defeated my enemy and drifted to a ceiling. the pounding of drums, the beating of my heart, a tribal cathedral, yellow and orange.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/110359936660798866'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/110359936660798866'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2004/12/reading-old-book-i-could-smell-its.html' title=''/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-110287226279928577</id><published>2004-12-12T12:22:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2004-12-12T11:24:22.800-06:00</updated><title type='text'>going home.</title><summary type='text'>I was walking along 25a but it was elevated like a boardwalk.I was leaving to go home to my home planet, this whole time had just been a visit. I was leaving with someone else who i didn't know/can't remember. but there were various things i had to do along the way, stuff i had to do before i left earth. one of which was to have sex with a certain person in a dip in the road, which i did, and </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/110287226279928577'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/110287226279928577'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2004/12/going-home.html' title='going home.'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-110074806011938167</id><published>2004-11-17T21:20:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2004-11-17T21:21:00.120-06:00</updated><title type='text'>old dream/ rasputin/ 20April03</title><summary type='text'>We were putting on a Shakespearean style play about the early years of the reign of Czar Nicholas II of Russia. It was at the high school, but some of this year's seniors had come back to do this play, like Yuri and Noonan. For reason Emma and a few other girls from the lacrosse team (they had their sticks and uniforms) were backstage, doing an experiment to see how much of each monologue they </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/110074806011938167'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/110074806011938167'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2004/11/old-dream-rasputin-20april03.html' title='old dream/ rasputin/ 20April03'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-110074756286261047</id><published>2004-11-17T21:09:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2004-11-17T21:12:42.863-06:00</updated><title type='text'>old dream / sonic youth ice cream</title><summary type='text'>going through the archives of an old blog, coming across a few dreams, sorry if I do some repostingat a beach with a group of kids from my college. we're walking along the water, trying to avoid the strange and frightening fish. they belong in the deep sea, but something has brought them to the shallow surface. A dolphin tries to bite my ankle while I dance around an evil-looking pike. We </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/110074756286261047'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/110074756286261047'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2004/11/old-dream-sonic-youth-ice-cream.html' title='old dream / sonic youth ice cream'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-110074678624761554</id><published>2004-11-17T20:45:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2004-11-17T20:59:46.246-06:00</updated><title type='text'>17Nov04 - nap dream</title><summary type='text'>being filmed, doing a scene. My role involved lightly tossing dried rose petals across a table with plates but no real food, towards someone. Initially they were just passed from somewhere to another, I had improvised the change which looked better, but it was irritating, picking them up before every take.now in the crowd of young people in this same big room, watching the next filming. Becky </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/110074678624761554'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/110074678624761554'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2004/11/17nov04-nap-dream.html' title='17Nov04 - nap dream'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-109743710024739010</id><published>2004-10-10T14:31:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-10-10T14:38:20.246-05:00</updated><title type='text'>library city</title><summary type='text'>(as IMed to tenny, so it's a little fractured)there was this library that had basically been abandoned, fallen in to disrepair and nobody really went there anymore. but during the decline the owner had started to go insane and build all these additions and annexes and such, so that the library had become like the size of a small neighborhood, with streets and a bus system. and so after it went </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/109743710024739010'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/109743710024739010'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2004/10/library-city.html' title='library city'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-109709233565148341</id><published>2004-10-06T14:50:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-10-06T14:52:15.650-05:00</updated><title type='text'>in a circle</title><summary type='text'>in a circle of dark-skinned women, they remind me to mention I'm "a quarter black" and laugh, hearty and deep and hold my hands.weaving basket sheets out of bamboo strips, possibly building a raft.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/109709233565148341'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/109709233565148341'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2004/10/in-circle.html' title='in a circle'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-109678768871331327</id><published>2004-10-03T02:10:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-10-03T02:14:48.713-05:00</updated><title type='text'>doll, nyc, sneetches</title><summary type='text'>a doll with burning eyes I must pluck out of her headthey roll down the isles of a boutique, entering into things and making them destructive. finally, some possession somewhere ends it, with a sense of panic in the air.walking down the street in some place like manhattan. stopping at what's like a phonebooth, but has a laptop instead of a phone. absent-mindedly looking for my mother. going </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/109678768871331327'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/109678768871331327'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2004/10/doll-nyc-sneetches.html' title='doll, nyc, sneetches'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-109573641819014335</id><published>2004-09-20T21:30:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-11-09T23:41:21.916-06:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>in a crowded garage, stopping at someone's house to do something before going on some sort of trip with a group of friends. they're waiting in the car. Diane's mom is trying to explain to me where the thing I'm looking for is, but I'm not finding it. at some point it occurs to her that it's going to rain, and insists I look for a plastic poncho somewhere in the messy garage. I look in vain. I'm </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/109573641819014335'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/109573641819014335'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2004/09/in-crowded-garage-stopping-at-someones.html' title=''/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-109562684290103192</id><published>2004-09-19T15:33:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-09-19T15:47:22.903-05:00</updated><title type='text'>a few nights ago, Charlotta</title><summary type='text'>in parlor, some sort of large gathering of relatives. dimly lit, the kind of furniture you can't really sit on. my dad is there, pointing out people and explaning who they are and if I'm related to them. there's an old woman in a red dress named Charlotta. At first I think he's talking about the character in Chekov's the Cherry Orchard, but then he seems to be talking about Carlotta from Anne </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/109562684290103192'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/109562684290103192'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2004/09/few-nights-ago-charlotta.html' title='a few nights ago, Charlotta'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-109528528490724303</id><published>2004-09-15T16:37:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-09-19T15:32:56.106-05:00</updated><title type='text'>snake man</title><summary type='text'>in a house that reminds me of the one I live in now, but I don't think it's the same one.downstairs, doing something on a computer. it looks like some kind of game, all red and black and quick-moving images with text streaming across.upstairs, in a bedroom painted white, somehow reminding me of my mother's old hippy friends, the idea in general, not anyone specific. Christie is in the room as</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/109528528490724303'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/109528528490724303'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2004/09/snake-man.html' title='snake man'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-109502105904163921</id><published>2004-09-12T15:30:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-09-12T15:30:59.043-05:00</updated><title type='text'>bzzzt</title><summary type='text'>waking up to alarm clock sounds againmakes it difficult to think, difficult to breathethese dreams are no longer so easy to rememberbut I'll try</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/109502105904163921'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/109502105904163921'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2004/09/bzzzt.html' title='bzzzt'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-109302528913184738</id><published>2004-08-20T13:04:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-08-20T13:08:09.133-05:00</updated><title type='text'>panic</title><summary type='text'>trying to find my locker in a high school. everyone else is really short, and I keep forgetting my combination. finding an art gallery store in the school, full of snotty goth chicks who hated me, so I led them into a vampire's nest.and then, frightening sex with a giant totem pole buddha cigar store indian type statue while a demon sat on the floor, glaring.being hired to professionally </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/109302528913184738'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/109302528913184738'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2004/08/panic.html' title='panic'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-109279969277529329</id><published>2004-08-17T22:27:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-08-17T22:28:12.776-05:00</updated><title type='text'>fragment</title><summary type='text'>talking to jenny online at school, then running into her later, making plans to go to a strip club as a joke.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/109279969277529329'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/109279969277529329'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2004/08/fragment.html' title='fragment'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-10925123797880995</id><published>2004-08-14T14:36:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-08-14T14:39:39.786-05:00</updated><title type='text'>drugs, sex, school</title><summary type='text'>several nights in a row, dreaming about school.fragment: an adulterous couple, in a hotel or a cruise ship full of people. they get away by implying he is gay, standing shivering in her nightgown while they conservatively snicker. only I think he really was, so I'm not sure how that works.fragment: eating some narcotic green powder with Kati and Jay otmop, clumsily falling trashed up my </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/10925123797880995'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/10925123797880995'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2004/08/drugs-sex-school.html' title='drugs, sex, school'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-109246840142933390</id><published>2004-08-14T02:24:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-08-20T19:45:24.323-05:00</updated><title type='text'>giving the book</title><summary type='text'>noah in a limousine, flipping me off jokingly.my cousin ali, both of us crying (not sure if this was actual sadness, or just emotional overload kind of crying) while she gives me something. a magazine, but on all the pages she had pasted things, poetry and such, some she had written, some by others.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/109246840142933390'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/109246840142933390'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2004/08/giving-book.html' title='giving the book'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-109207628421238332</id><published>2004-08-09T13:19:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-08-09T13:31:24.213-05:00</updated><title type='text'>angel of death</title><summary type='text'>outside, in a field near woods at night. sean, will, adam, unseen others. allison calls me on my cell phone while I'm staring up at the dark sky. It looks like there's a lunar ecclipse going on, but the shadowy ring of the moon is gigantic and close. From the upper left part of the sky I see a feathery white shape, with the starlight glinting on sharp points. as it approaches, I say "that looks </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/109207628421238332'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/109207628421238332'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2004/08/angel-of-death.html' title='angel of death'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-110074788660490720</id><published>2004-08-07T21:17:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-11-17T21:24:28.270-06:00</updated><title type='text'>7august04 / CBGBS and a goat</title><summary type='text'>a dream about going to CBGB's in new york city with my parents. possibly to see On the Might. It had recently been redecorated in a shade of blue that can be found on the blogger editing page I'm using. I sat there with my family, holding a cell phone with Ally on the line in one hand, a bottle of mandarin vodka in the other. I was walking around, trying to find where I could hear the phone over </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/110074788660490720'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/110074788660490720'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2004/08/7august04-cbgbs-and-goat.html' title='7august04 / CBGBS and a goat'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-109157473109857676</id><published>2004-08-03T18:03:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-08-03T18:16:49.946-05:00</updated><title type='text'>lyric blessing</title><summary type='text'>my family (parents and bro) living in a new house. it's beautiful, at the top of a high hill. strong winds constantly blow against it, rattling windowpanes and screen doors.much, much later. I am one of two children living in this house, but it's no longer my brother or myself. We were left under the care of an old woman here, when the extended family left on some sort of emergency trip. it </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/109157473109857676'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/109157473109857676'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2004/08/lyric-blessing.html' title='lyric blessing'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-109156491682004228</id><published>2004-08-03T15:23:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-08-03T18:03:13.750-05:00</updated><title type='text'>who the hell is kevin?</title><summary type='text'>  2/3 august 2004:"I heard what Kevin said you wrote about me. I love your words. and I'm really happy with what I’ve given to you."  &lt;!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--&gt;talking to Noah and someone else on a college campus, possibly in Amherst, but maybe just talking about Amherst, it seems too warm for Massachusetts.&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/109156491682004228'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/109156491682004228'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2004/08/who-hell-is-kevin.html' title='who the hell is kevin?'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-109147721122567035</id><published>2004-08-02T14:47:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-08-02T15:06:51.226-05:00</updated><title type='text'>damn</title><summary type='text'>I had it this morning. or, this early afternoon. I stayed in bed thinking about it, too tired to actually write it down, but trying to lock it into my memory. but i'm pretty sure this morning's dream is now irretrievable. unretreiveable? whatever.a few nights ago-sitting on a couch with pete, and sketchy Cody sits on the couch on the other side (left) of him. i'm pretty disturbed by his </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/109147721122567035'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/109147721122567035'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2004/08/damn.html' title='damn'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-109143623891040881</id><published>2004-08-02T03:40:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-08-02T03:43:58.910-05:00</updated><title type='text'>table trade</title><summary type='text'>dream from about a week agotalking to a woman who looked like a combination of Mistress Matisse &amp; the character Cherish from Cecil B. Demented. we both had some sort of massage table, but hers was much nicer, and instead of being all black like mine, it had pink accents. she wanted to exchange, which I didn't understand because hers seemed obviously better, but she insisted and we did.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/109143623891040881'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/109143623891040881'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2004/08/table-trade.html' title='table trade'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-109143592538873304</id><published>2004-08-02T03:37:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-08-02T03:38:45.386-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>several dreams over the past week or two taking place in the high school. part of me is anticipating the upcoming year, almost wishing it would start.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/109143592538873304'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/109143592538873304'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2004/08/several-dreams-over-past-week-or-two.html' title=''/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3948036.post-109103416603732237</id><published>2004-07-28T12:00:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-07-28T15:47:15.373-05:00</updated><title type='text'>primus grocery</title><summary type='text'>dreamt about seeing a Primus concert in a grocery store. allison and purcaro were there, ally making some announcement about the winners of a doodle contest but being cut off. Primus covered a Jessica Simpson song, which they introduced as the single off their new album. Ms Simpson was in the audience, and acting like a haughty bitch, as we all laughed at how much better their version was.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/109103416603732237'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3948036/posts/default/109103416603732237'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vagabondage.blogspot.com/2004/07/primus-grocery.html' title='primus grocery'/><author><name>sid branca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05695525943952894792</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://photos-b.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-sf2p/v47/105/114/2906749/n2906749_30578285_6087.jpg'/></author></entry></feed>
