For my birthday watched the 1975 Revenge of the Pink Panther, wise move. What was Steve Martin thinking forty years later entitling himself to try walking in Peter Seller’s shoes? Madonna too. What nerve casting herself as Mariangela Melato in Wetrmüller’s genius Swept Away. Also fixed my Macbook Pro that day, hinges broke on the monitor weeks earlier. The guy at the Mac store said it would cost at least a thousand dollars but dude at the smaller repair store said he might find an older machine for parts. Later he solved everything for $80. Like the small white haired body shop guy with an Irish accent years ago who said repairing the rusted side door to the van was at least two thousand. Then I met the guys from Ecuador who did it for four hundred, “my mama said, you gotta shop around”. Odd dream last night. Two guys were creatures from the sea, webbed feet like an old hollywood horror movie. When they emerged from the ocean into a ritzy party space I happened to be in, I beckoned them to come forward and directed them towards the party while keeping my distance. Sure I could help direct them towards killing everyone else as long as I was ok. As it turned out, soon they were performing avant garde music with other classical players accompanying them including Mendelson Joe. In the dream I didn’t realize had died last winter. I was seeing him again and it was extra fun watching him lose his mind with glee over the quality of musicianship from the dangerous sea creatures. They played piano and added a small marimba to the lower piano keys. One played the attachment with mallets at super velocity like an amazing drummer, his hands in a blur. My cousin Morley was there too and like Mendelson Joe, not a fan ordinarily of this music but now reveling in it. At one point, I told Joe that that was my cousin Morley from the song I wrote which begins “my cousin Morley”. In another part of the dream I had a recording studio and was realizing for what seemed the first time, I could collapse some of the old gear and with new space could crash friends in the future when they visit Toronto. Where does the improvisation ever end, life or dreams? How is it we can talk about the mind as if there ever was a space where we were separate from any of it. When we talk about mind we already are mind. How is it possible that the thing creating us also creates an idea for us to consider, that it is not us?