dreams of sex and death

Two nights ago, while lying on a bed in a motel room in Death Valley, I dreamt of fucking my girlfriend from a couple of years ago. I was entering her from behind, a position she didn't seem to really care for, if memory serves. But she was enjoying it in this dream, and we were both into it and talking dirty to each other. When our rhythm got really in a groove, my cock slipped out. We lost momentum, but I re-entered her and we tried to get back to where we were.

After the interruption, however, it was not as great. It is never is.

I also dreamt of a blonde I know, and with whom I had a brief, torrid affair.

Then I dreamt of a Chinese-Argentinian gal with whom I envisioned spending time in a hotel bed in Furnace Creek. That may even come to fruition.

Last night, while driving back from Death Valley to Los Angeles, I heard on the radio that Hunter S. Thompson shot himself.

I got home at 1 in the morning, after not blinking for four hours and missing a turn in Ridgecrest, which made the drive a half hour longer.

Upon sleeping in my bed, I dreamt of my friend Ikky having committing suicide and i was dispatched to claim the body. (Ikyy died in real life a couple of years ago.) The body was not in the house, but buried under a mound of dirt outside somewhere. Ikky's old girlfriend told me she recognized his body from his toes, which were sticking out from the mound of dirt.