maybe i make a pie and you make a stew

tiny little kittens are jumping on my hands and biting them.
there is a parachute or air balloon flapping in the wind.
matt and maria are asking if i think there is lice in the outhouse. the outhouse is the upstairs bathroom but it is an outhouse, goes all the way down. they say they are itchy, they have lice. i say, you mean fleas. & they say no, lice. i say you brought me into a house full of lice?
Peacock walks by outside the studio and i think my body language makes it hard for him to come talk. he comes over and says he has some appointment tomorrow and can't meet at 2. He doesn't know when he can meet, but he wants to. he seems inspired, like he needs to paint, he says he's got to focus which is why i know he needs to paint. he paints on sundays.
maria writes a poem about Peacock, how he says "I'd rather be a poet than a photographer". I try to say something but don't, I hear the poem like a strange music.

* when i can't sleep i imagine apocalyptic scenes and what kind of art would be the least destroyed. I think it is music, because the last instrument to remain is the voice and the most common knowledge in art is the melody and words to songs.