C & I are walking in a museum, absorbed in conversation, and don't notice when the museum gallery turns into a shopping mall. Children wielding ice-cream cones come up dangerously close. We decide to find the quickest way out. We are on the fourth and top floor and, as luck would have it, among three elevators at hand, one named "GENIUS" promises to take us directly to the exit. After a short descent, the ride continues The elevator is in fact a single-car train, now running parallel to another train that just emerged from a tunnel. C seems to recognize the name of the other engine: it was "Darmidge" or "Dermidge". It turns out to be part of a historical battle reconstruction: soldiers in Napoleon-era uniforms hang dramatically out the windows. As our "elevator" and the train come close, one of the soldiers, wearing heavy theatrical make up, winks at me reassuringly, as if to say "don't be alarmed, it's all just a game, " before his face twists in an exaggerated war cry. The "elevator" lets us out at a lookout point. Behind us the battle unfolds, and before us there's a modern apartment building, painted warm yellow. In an arched passageway there grows a beautiful exotic tree, with ripe amaranth-purple fruit the size of honeydew melons, and with a little crown on top, around the stem, like pomegranate, just larger. It starts to rain on the other side of the building: the raindrops reveal the fragility of the fruit which, at the slightest touch, bursts like overripe tomatoes to fall splashing to the ground. I then notice a woman, dressed as a war courier, lying on the ground. She seems to be really hurt. I don't remembering climbing down, I am next to her immediately. It's getting chilly and I'm looking for a coat to keep her warm. She regains consciousness, and asks: "Why is it so hot in here?" and collapses again, not even realizing that she's been hurt. Her legs are broken... but they're not real legs, only boot shaft shapers.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
dream
C & I are walking in a museum, absorbed in conversation, and don't notice when the museum gallery turns into a shopping mall. Children wielding ice-cream cones come up dangerously close. We decide to find the quickest way out. We are on the fourth and top floor and, as luck would have it, among three elevators at hand, one named "GENIUS" promises to take us directly to the exit. After a short descent, the ride continues The elevator is in fact a single-car train, now running parallel to another train that just emerged from a tunnel. C seems to recognize the name of the other engine: it was "Darmidge" or "Dermidge". It turns out to be part of a historical battle reconstruction: soldiers in Napoleon-era uniforms hang dramatically out the windows. As our "elevator" and the train come close, one of the soldiers, wearing heavy theatrical make up, winks at me reassuringly, as if to say "don't be alarmed, it's all just a game, " before his face twists in an exaggerated war cry. The "elevator" lets us out at a lookout point. Behind us the battle unfolds, and before us there's a modern apartment building, painted warm yellow. In an arched passageway there grows a beautiful exotic tree, with ripe amaranth-purple fruit the size of honeydew melons, and with a little crown on top, around the stem, like pomegranate, just larger. It starts to rain on the other side of the building: the raindrops reveal the fragility of the fruit which, at the slightest touch, bursts like overripe tomatoes to fall splashing to the ground. I then notice a woman, dressed as a war courier, lying on the ground. She seems to be really hurt. I don't remembering climbing down, I am next to her immediately. It's getting chilly and I'm looking for a coat to keep her warm. She regains consciousness, and asks: "Why is it so hot in here?" and collapses again, not even realizing that she's been hurt. Her legs are broken... but they're not real legs, only boot shaft shapers.
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Sunday, October 19, 2008
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