"Cigarettes Will Kill You" Ben Lee

My dream from just a few hours ago:

I.
I was on an overground train in New York. I'm sitting next to Natalie Portman. I want to talk to her, but I don't because I don't want her to think I'm a stalker. She smiles at me and begins to get up. I shift my knees to let her pass. I notice strange wide shoulders underneath that white sweater. She bows her head as she walks through the car, searching for a bathroom. While she's taking a piss, I write a poem.

All I can remember is that the first line includes the word "louse."

II.
I am suddenly underneath a television in the middle of this train, watching a Natalie Portman music video. But it is my poem she is singing and she's added a horrible line to the end . Did Natalie Portman just steal my poem? Why would she do this? She seemed perfectly capable of writing her own music when she appeared on Bravo's Inside the Actor's Studio. I wait for the video to end where it shows writing and producing credits. I run back to my seat. She's there with her svengali manager, who is dressed in a tight faded t-shirt.

"Why didn't you attribute this poem to me? I wrote that."

She just turns and smiles at me.

Cunt.

I begin to invade her physial space. I use my forearm to block her attempts to escape. I believe I also choked her.

III.
I am no longer angry with Natalie Portman, in fact we are walking the streets of New York City and are passing through a park. Snow has recently fallen and my Salomon shoes are not the right shoes. I wonder to myself if I brought boots. The snow gets through the shoe an melts in my socks. I say, "Hey, what's that? It's so beautiful." There is a black pinecone on one of the trees, but it is abuzz with small specks of golden light. She agrees that it's beautiful. There are golden specks of light everywhere.

"I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For" Damien Rice

The last time I felt and looked like this--gaunt, emptied, beaten--I was a feverish boy staggering in the hallway, noticing anew the space and dimensions of doorknobs, runners and light fixtures. And the revitalizing coldness of bathroom tiles on my bare feet. I'm so tired. I do not recognize myself like this.

This morning, I ask for patience.