Illustrations : Stella Matutina
Dreams II: 2001-2002
Vasha Monday, November 05, 2001 7:39 PM
So I crash through the day's dyed shutters, unsubstantial eddy of the night. Where do you think I came out? Came out without single scratch. At the border of bombed, smashed Warsaw. From there I start my walk, my stumbling through the ruins of once glorious city of Gambling and Gamblers. No people, until I reach the point, from which I see two criss-crossing rail roads. Nettles, thistles, weeds all around. Primitive cross, urban swastika seen from dreambird's fly. The view is wide. Two long silver trains appear from their unknown departure points. My musings are cut short by the noises of accident - breaking of metal, screams of people. Those two alloyed snakes tried to go straight through each over, and now they copulate. Vulgar writhing of burning metal, melting glass and flesh. Archetypal gay act. Wet fancies of some old and pill-pumped corporation heads. When my curiosity is satisfied I start drifting further. Gamblers city has dissolved into primary elements. Black spot. Then the bunch of young and dirty solders, their clothes hang in tatters. They are deconstructing strange half-bridge half-raft structure in the middle of small lake. Stumps of scorched forest. I begin thinking about going back home, they insist that I would go back. They say, they would even give my ID. I look at myself as if in mirror. Brown T-shirt, red oiled trousers, their ends turned up almost to the knees, no shoes, feet clogged with mud. But I have no gun. Not the lamest pistol to shoot the dream border controller in his fat, clean shaved face.
In Bucharest. Grey, post Soviet, four floors house-boxes. I'm in some nameless suburb quarter. Silence everywhere and in everything. Dirty-faced children play their incomprehensible games in the sandboxes. I pass a few yards. I'm going straight through the yards, through the tunnels connecting dormitories. Greyishly yellow sand. Broken, rusty swings. Tramped down grass. When I begin to examine those house-boxes closer, I notice that their roof -lines are like some low frequency curves. Or curves of encephalograph connected to heart of slowly dying man. Those boxes slowly sink. Probably, water has washed out some plaster under them. Then I'm in some strange shop. Everyone has to leave all of their money in specially designed automates, that stand nearby door, before entering shop.( The new economic policy?) I want some fruits and soda, but I'm circling endlessly among the stalls. There are red and green paprika, cabbages, apples, and cucumbers. Buzzing flies. The floor is thick with some gluey substance. Not much light inside. Small windows. Wide faced men and women start gathering around me, offering their services. Their faces have quaint, full moon like quality. Women's lips are brightly red. Some cheap lipsticks have been used. They talk in tongue unfamiliar to me. I suppose, they all are gypsies. I got entangled in absurd conversation with them. They speak their native language, I - mine and strangely enough we understand each other perfectly well. They want to help me to choose my fruits. Big coins made of light-weighted white metal (aluminium?) fall on the floor. I see the numbers - 9,1,3. Then it comes to me that I want to buy a ticket to the theatre. Fade out.
Vasha Sunday, May 05, 2002 6:15 PM
HAd very strange dream last night- i was going in complete darkness in no place. Was neither walking nor flying nor moving by any other means that are known in our wake world and entering into some nightmare places where I was submitted to some very torturing experiences. Again, they weren't anything that we know in our wake reality, but it was tearing me apart. I had to pass through some cycle. After a while i knew that there will be the last one that i have to pass. so, i entered what now I call the utter nothingness and came from it alive. I came out into some forest- there where mostly pine trees, the sun was shining and gentle wind was caressing my naked body.
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