(09/23/01)["Dream group with no dreams."] I am in a living room. Two couches, one on each opposite wall. At the long end of the room, a set of bleacher seating. The dream group is meeting. Each person takes a turn and speaks or sings. As they do that, I am seated on one of the couches and am distracted by my organizational project of my dreams. I see two metal objects that are thin and long like a saw only the teeth are few and large like a large metal comb. These are dream cassettes. I am glad to see only two are left to put into the computer. I've gotten a lot of work done. Then I see writing and graphics on one of them. This is my father's work, his organizational projects, his fossil work and so on. I admire the cartoon animation frames he drew along the top of the thing. Then I become aware that lots is going on in the dream group. More people than usual. Maybe 20 or so, some I haven't seen for years. Lots of talking stories and singing. I am surprised no one is doing dreams. But it feels right that they need to tell these stories right now. Then one man in the right side of the front row of the bleachers is doing the NPR credits. "This is National Public Radio. Etc." I am surprised. Now I see what might be Darryl lying on the ground. I lie down with him and we roll around together. It is friendly. Some other man is watching and is jealous.