Voice

I dreamed I was in the kitchen, but it was the living room, and the living room was the garage, and the garage was a mirror of Jordan’s office, which was a place where I had never been, but knew I had been. The coffee maker was a ceiling fan, the ceiling fan was a clock, the clock was a phone, the phone was a voice recorder, and the voice recorder was speaking in Jordan’s voice, but the voice was not Jordan’s voice, it was a whisper of a whisper of a whisper of a whisper of a whisper of a whisper. I was not sure what I was doing there, but I was looking for a package. It was a package that had been expected on April 9, and it was not there. ...

I dreamed I was in Jordan’s kitchen, but it had a ceiling that folded into a bathroom, and the sink was a window looking into the living room, which was now a parking lot where a red van kept honking at me, though I knew the van was empty. The coffee maker was speaking in his voice but with a squeaky robot tone, saying “you’re not listening” and “you’re not listening” and I thought, I’ve been listening, but the coffee maker just kept saying it like a mantra, like he was trying to make me remember something I already knew. ...