03-31-2016, 12:00 AM
3/29-30/16 Seaside manor, lady gaga & house of the dead, completing the circle.
- I am standing on a dry and dusty road, the sun beats down on my head. I remove a battered old fedora, and wipe my sweating brow. I have a single old suitcase, that i hold in my right hand. I am wearing a dusty old suite and worn shoes, of cheap quality. the style is that of the 1930's. The sun is warm and lazy, in the sky. It is about 2pm. I walk to a fork in the road. the sign is in italian. Langusta, 6 km. I begin walking, despite the heat. I will arrive before dark. It is evening, and i arrive at my destination. It is a strip of land,. midway between the distant sea, and a range of interior mountains. It is a dusty, small, crossroads like town or village. I am a refugee. A refugee from distant america. I have come with a dream, a small amount of money, and a desire to build a home.
- Several men greet me in the transitional village square. There are two choices for me here. I can build in the cool, tree clad mountains. Or i can build in a strip near the beach. There are others, like me, who came here. To this remote corner of Sicily. The others that came with me, are gravitating to the mountains. I stand, my hat in hand, looking at the choices in my mind. I see the strip in the mountains, in all futures, never was completed. I tell them, but they continue on their way. One other, stops to listen. I tell him. "the sea, we build by the sea".
- The land we have is literally a strip, a lot. In which can be built, but outside of which, no changes were possible. We gather bricks. We buy bricks, to build the shells of the structures. We had pooled our resources, and the outer shell of a large four story building rose on the lot in front of mine. On my own lot, the outer walls were half built. But there was a problem. Our resources were not enough. Mine would be built higher, so the upper floors had an unrestricted view of the sea. I am able to see ahead, to this life's self. The wealth i think i have, in my mind, can be carried back, as it has form. I take and sell all i have, and convert it in 2016 dollars, another distant self. Then i receive it unadjusted, in 1930s lira. It purchases more than enough bricks. This is a complex transaction, that i do not fully understand. By doing this, i have anchored myself in time to this spot. I survey what has been built. I feel the edges of the space. I have an idea. I mix clay and dirt from a nearby riverbed. I affix this to the outer shell of the space...it is drawn inward, creates a mold. I then, without moving, seeing it from the outside, carve the windows, doors, into the structure. Finally, i use the beautiful brick as a facing for the structure, saving resources. I form the floors, halls, and other structural foundation in this way, by fractally dividing the interior space. IT is like folding invisible air, then giving it a clay mask and then adding space for pibes, bricks. this takes much energy, and when i am done, it is day again. And i am tired. I go inside, to rest, against a now firm wall. To dream my way forward. I but my little suitcase down, like a pillow, and lean. I pull the hat over my eyes, and sleep.
- The other building had an older man, who i had partnered with. As i non-dreamstime is moving like a time lapse forward. Things have not worked out. I thought, perhaps, this base of things would become a hotel. But as time moved forward, rather than endure, both buildings began to crumble. The world around them also crumbled. No town developed. The sea and the land was unchanged, and slowly, both building collapsed in on themselves. I needed to try again. I do another complex transaction, and i renew the owned land. It is the 1930's again. there are two strips of unused land, the center of a town that could be, off the road, by the sea. 10km from the village of langusta. This time, i do not start by building. I am trading, i am contacting. there are complex social deals being done without words. Its is noisy, in my mind, in...another layer beyond the sleepy place. It is so load. Time forward, a war passes. More time. In that other level, a pile of bricks crumbling into sand. Noise. Need to reclaim value. I Take the hat from my head, and cover my ears, alone. I am completely alone in a void. Noise, from my open mouth, all around. An explosion, the bricks, all of that level are turned to energy, everything is energy, electric, loud. Head is like it is crumbling. And then...silence. Utter silence, and the dark of the void.
- I wake, on a couch in the lobby. It is a hotel, built in an eclectic style that is vaguely art deco. Sandstone. Old brick, marble. Or something like marble, light green, like old copper. Jade. there is a woman looking at me. She is Kathy bates like. She nods to me when i wake. I look for my case, and hat, but those things are long gone. A few other people, in the lobby. It looks like it is the mid 1950's. The older man, i built with, in the other time/world. He is here. The place is strange. We walk the building, to explore. and talk about things from that void. and before. There is a walkway, that raps around the central atrium. the atrium goes all the way up to the ceiling, which is made of thick, semi translucent glass. On the second level, there are stone tables along the walls here. And benches. On the tables are objects, like on display. there is a railing of copper colored stone. The walls are made of a similar material, with artistic murals made of the jade. Again, all in art deco style. At the center of each wall, are two stone...ancient, crude stone columns. simple ones, of rough stone. That give the impression of having been salvaged from an ancient structure. On either side of each is a grouping of the tables. I approach one, with the man. On many of the tables are single, oversized bones. A partial skull, a huge femur. ancient bones. I touch one. when i do, a presence tells me of them. These bones are sleeping spirits, ghosts. Ones that have gone inward, become fossils. some ghosts walk, and some sleep. I remove my hand from the bone, deep in thought. My face is scowling, in thought. A noise gets my attention. There is a girl, in a pretty dress. She had on a hat, and her hair was done tight under it. the hat had a black lace bit, like a semi veil, with flowers sewn into it. she was standing on the other side of the railing. and falling to her death. Over and over, returning, standing, looking sad, then stepping off. to reform and do it again. This makes me incredibly sad for her, to be stuck in that moment. The sad beauty of her. When she reforms i go to her. I take hold of her arm, and wrap the other arm around her waist, and pull her back. By doing this i wake her. And she looks around, from her perspective, stopped at the moment before dying. It was here i realized,t hat i was dead. that we all were dead, just not all awake. To break her pattern, to make her awake, changed the dynamic in the place. A large ghost, the size of the large femor, what it went to, stood in the center of the atrium, on the bottom floor. Its face was level with me here. Smaller, man sized ones, many, also woke, and flowed through the building like fish through an aquarium. A school. I have a fight with the big ghost. I am not sure how i fought, it was not physical. I had little understanding, like it was a dream i could not recall, in the dream. But when i was done, the woman was awake. The giant and school were gone. And the hotel was now active, full of characters, people, alive as far as we could tell. But i knew, all were dead, and all were ghosts, like myself. A dream.
- And from the dream, i awake. I am in a guest room, a hotel room, in the same building, but changed. I think i have woken from my night's sleep, into reality. I gather myself, and get dressed. I look and dress like i do, in this time, today. 2016. I walk out of the hotel room into an empty hall. the hall takes me past an upper floor lounge. Sitting in a chair, silent, is Lady Gaga. I find this mildly interesting, but of no particular notice. My hand, my arm is outstretched, feeling the wall as i walk. At the end of the room, my hand touches something. Alive. A spider, a great spider the size of a toddler. It bites me, injects me with venom, and then scurries off, into the shadows of the empty corridor. My arm is in pain. I dont feel pain, but i know it there. Darkening, like it was bruised. It is my right hand, my writing hand. I move back, towards my room, not sure what i can do about this. Lady gaga sees this, and rises. She comes over, and takes my hand. She runs her hand on my arms skin. It opens, and the venom runs out. she takes a small bit or orange powder, and rubs it in the wound, and it clears, is clean. I thank her. I sit in an empty chair. I have my notepad and pen. I thank her for doing that, as i need to write. I tell her i was going to warn the ghosts that they were, infact, the dead. But i dont know if i have time. I just dreamed, i am going to take the notes. I explain a small bit of why and what i dreamed as i sit and start writing. She has been silent up to this point. I tell her of dreaming, in this way. She finally speaks. She is excited. She tells me, she, too, sitting in the chair, was dreaming. she seems to think it is connected to what i told her of mine. she wants to write it too, she had never thought of doing that here. I nod my head. And realize i cant write with what i conjured, i need my real pad and pen. I am also pleased, because, although underneath, she was a very ordinary person, in that ordinary person, was the spark of a dream. I also thought that somebody in Rf likes her, and would benefit, even if only for a time, by her presence. So i want to be sure to get it down correctly. I suggest she find a pen and paper. I will help her when she returns. I find a new place to sit, in the main lobby. And i wait. She never returns. this did not surprise me, not being able to stay here for long. It is not, i suppose, meant to be. It hardly ever actually works.
- Before i get done writing, the room is full of trendy people. It is noisy now. The feeling has changed, to that of a busy resort hotel, for young people. Budget holiday, but busy. A woman, at the front desk. Three girls talking to her. One is the woman's daughter. the woman at the counter says lady gaga was a bad guest, a bad spirit. she wants to kill her. She is angry that "he" let her speak. She will die. But do they not understand, that we are all, already dead? I move to speak, but cant quite do so. Instead, i continue to sit, and listen. The woman at the counter, was my wive's mother. My wife, apparently, was the woman who was falling over and over. Somehow, shifting realities, and changing one thing, changed many. In the earlier, empty place, the kathy bates like mother was friendly, and quiet. Here, she was my mother in law, and angry. At me. these were the social changes, characters brought in by freeing the woman, and the bones. It was hard to understand all the reverberations, but i did, in my way. The mother was angry, and i was not needed. The girl, i had married. Changed now, young again. Long dark hair. Dyed black. Feathered. Platinum lines, highlights off each feathered bunch. She told her mother, that she wanted me to be killed. The mother agrees.
- It is clear to me that i never was awake, and remember what my reality is. It is not here. I am still asleep. I am still dead. They are all dead, they are all in this dream. They just dont know it, and cant know it, it seems. I know what they want. Me dead. I know i dont want to be inert, sleeping in this place. I want to find the correct place. I want to try the OTHER hotel. To be there, when it resets. Not only me, we all need to be in the correct place to die. This is about more than the dream, it is life. It is more than the characters here, it is people in my real life as well. In time. It is important where i die, for the narrative reset. We all need to be in the right place to die. Knowing this, i leave the hotel, and move onto the street.
- The street is quiet. No one actually leaves one of these places, it is akin to stopping that woman from jumping over and over. It is like waking. The road between this hotel, and the other, seems much longer than i remember. Halfway between the two, i am stopped. There is a pack of dogs. Five dogs. But they look nothing like dogs. More like jackals, who have lost all their hair to the mange. With rabies. And snouts like a mole, or rat, elongated. But they are "dogs". the growl, and move, threaten. In the center of them, was a figure. My head only comes up to its waist. I can NOT lift my head above this point, i can not see its arms, or face. My body simply will not. It stands still, the center of the dogs. I stand before this. I reach into instinct. I detach. The first thing i know is its a test. a task. So i check my pockets. wallet is useless. I have a pack of cigarettes, a lighter, and the pen i use to write. First i take the cigarettes, and fling them at the dogs, fling the open pack so the individual cigarettes go flying out. three remain, i put it back in my pocket. the dogs notice, sniff briefly, but do not react. That did not work. All that is left is the lighter and the pen. Somehow i have drawn closer to the central figure, despite the dogs growling and lunging. this. This thing is the key. I think to punch it in the genitalia, something. But it, as far as i can see, has none. So i start looking on other levels. There is a fold, but not on the surface. Therefore, i conclude its female. Although i'm not certain. How to bother it. In the abstract, out of self, flat space. I see myself punching my fist, with the lighter, into the fold. then lighting the lighter. Keeping it like that till it dies or flees. the other hand, the pen. will jab the other way, past the tail, in the other opening. And keep going until it is lodged. I think these two things, should move it. I will loose my arms. and my hands, but i think, it is the only way. So i do it. I do it, however, on the level of 3d diagrams. So i dont have to see it, or feel it. when the lighter is dead in my hand, and the pen lost, i remove myself. I am back standing before it. The only change i notice, is head, coming from that area. And is standing straighter somehow. And then it stands aside, pleased. I had tried to attack, but i had solved something. I am...worried by this. But i do not care. I will take it.
- I am in the other hotel. The lobby. It is almost time. this place feels smaller, but more modern. I call. I call the leaping one who wanted my killed, because she is still the sad person. And her friends. And others. the old man. I summon them all to this new place. They all sit. Even the mother in law, kathy bates. They know something, the respond. I am relieved. this is the better place to die. this will work better. a great tidal wave, as i knew it would, higher than the mountains, is drawing close. One last look around the room, content, smiling. I am happy. I am happy, even as the building rumbles, the moment before it will hit. The great wave comes. I cry out in joy "the circle will close!"
- Wake and take careful notes. it is, once again, around 4am.
- I am standing on a dry and dusty road, the sun beats down on my head. I remove a battered old fedora, and wipe my sweating brow. I have a single old suitcase, that i hold in my right hand. I am wearing a dusty old suite and worn shoes, of cheap quality. the style is that of the 1930's. The sun is warm and lazy, in the sky. It is about 2pm. I walk to a fork in the road. the sign is in italian. Langusta, 6 km. I begin walking, despite the heat. I will arrive before dark. It is evening, and i arrive at my destination. It is a strip of land,. midway between the distant sea, and a range of interior mountains. It is a dusty, small, crossroads like town or village. I am a refugee. A refugee from distant america. I have come with a dream, a small amount of money, and a desire to build a home.
- Several men greet me in the transitional village square. There are two choices for me here. I can build in the cool, tree clad mountains. Or i can build in a strip near the beach. There are others, like me, who came here. To this remote corner of Sicily. The others that came with me, are gravitating to the mountains. I stand, my hat in hand, looking at the choices in my mind. I see the strip in the mountains, in all futures, never was completed. I tell them, but they continue on their way. One other, stops to listen. I tell him. "the sea, we build by the sea".
- The land we have is literally a strip, a lot. In which can be built, but outside of which, no changes were possible. We gather bricks. We buy bricks, to build the shells of the structures. We had pooled our resources, and the outer shell of a large four story building rose on the lot in front of mine. On my own lot, the outer walls were half built. But there was a problem. Our resources were not enough. Mine would be built higher, so the upper floors had an unrestricted view of the sea. I am able to see ahead, to this life's self. The wealth i think i have, in my mind, can be carried back, as it has form. I take and sell all i have, and convert it in 2016 dollars, another distant self. Then i receive it unadjusted, in 1930s lira. It purchases more than enough bricks. This is a complex transaction, that i do not fully understand. By doing this, i have anchored myself in time to this spot. I survey what has been built. I feel the edges of the space. I have an idea. I mix clay and dirt from a nearby riverbed. I affix this to the outer shell of the space...it is drawn inward, creates a mold. I then, without moving, seeing it from the outside, carve the windows, doors, into the structure. Finally, i use the beautiful brick as a facing for the structure, saving resources. I form the floors, halls, and other structural foundation in this way, by fractally dividing the interior space. IT is like folding invisible air, then giving it a clay mask and then adding space for pibes, bricks. this takes much energy, and when i am done, it is day again. And i am tired. I go inside, to rest, against a now firm wall. To dream my way forward. I but my little suitcase down, like a pillow, and lean. I pull the hat over my eyes, and sleep.
- The other building had an older man, who i had partnered with. As i non-dreamstime is moving like a time lapse forward. Things have not worked out. I thought, perhaps, this base of things would become a hotel. But as time moved forward, rather than endure, both buildings began to crumble. The world around them also crumbled. No town developed. The sea and the land was unchanged, and slowly, both building collapsed in on themselves. I needed to try again. I do another complex transaction, and i renew the owned land. It is the 1930's again. there are two strips of unused land, the center of a town that could be, off the road, by the sea. 10km from the village of langusta. This time, i do not start by building. I am trading, i am contacting. there are complex social deals being done without words. Its is noisy, in my mind, in...another layer beyond the sleepy place. It is so load. Time forward, a war passes. More time. In that other level, a pile of bricks crumbling into sand. Noise. Need to reclaim value. I Take the hat from my head, and cover my ears, alone. I am completely alone in a void. Noise, from my open mouth, all around. An explosion, the bricks, all of that level are turned to energy, everything is energy, electric, loud. Head is like it is crumbling. And then...silence. Utter silence, and the dark of the void.
- I wake, on a couch in the lobby. It is a hotel, built in an eclectic style that is vaguely art deco. Sandstone. Old brick, marble. Or something like marble, light green, like old copper. Jade. there is a woman looking at me. She is Kathy bates like. She nods to me when i wake. I look for my case, and hat, but those things are long gone. A few other people, in the lobby. It looks like it is the mid 1950's. The older man, i built with, in the other time/world. He is here. The place is strange. We walk the building, to explore. and talk about things from that void. and before. There is a walkway, that raps around the central atrium. the atrium goes all the way up to the ceiling, which is made of thick, semi translucent glass. On the second level, there are stone tables along the walls here. And benches. On the tables are objects, like on display. there is a railing of copper colored stone. The walls are made of a similar material, with artistic murals made of the jade. Again, all in art deco style. At the center of each wall, are two stone...ancient, crude stone columns. simple ones, of rough stone. That give the impression of having been salvaged from an ancient structure. On either side of each is a grouping of the tables. I approach one, with the man. On many of the tables are single, oversized bones. A partial skull, a huge femur. ancient bones. I touch one. when i do, a presence tells me of them. These bones are sleeping spirits, ghosts. Ones that have gone inward, become fossils. some ghosts walk, and some sleep. I remove my hand from the bone, deep in thought. My face is scowling, in thought. A noise gets my attention. There is a girl, in a pretty dress. She had on a hat, and her hair was done tight under it. the hat had a black lace bit, like a semi veil, with flowers sewn into it. she was standing on the other side of the railing. and falling to her death. Over and over, returning, standing, looking sad, then stepping off. to reform and do it again. This makes me incredibly sad for her, to be stuck in that moment. The sad beauty of her. When she reforms i go to her. I take hold of her arm, and wrap the other arm around her waist, and pull her back. By doing this i wake her. And she looks around, from her perspective, stopped at the moment before dying. It was here i realized,t hat i was dead. that we all were dead, just not all awake. To break her pattern, to make her awake, changed the dynamic in the place. A large ghost, the size of the large femor, what it went to, stood in the center of the atrium, on the bottom floor. Its face was level with me here. Smaller, man sized ones, many, also woke, and flowed through the building like fish through an aquarium. A school. I have a fight with the big ghost. I am not sure how i fought, it was not physical. I had little understanding, like it was a dream i could not recall, in the dream. But when i was done, the woman was awake. The giant and school were gone. And the hotel was now active, full of characters, people, alive as far as we could tell. But i knew, all were dead, and all were ghosts, like myself. A dream.
- And from the dream, i awake. I am in a guest room, a hotel room, in the same building, but changed. I think i have woken from my night's sleep, into reality. I gather myself, and get dressed. I look and dress like i do, in this time, today. 2016. I walk out of the hotel room into an empty hall. the hall takes me past an upper floor lounge. Sitting in a chair, silent, is Lady Gaga. I find this mildly interesting, but of no particular notice. My hand, my arm is outstretched, feeling the wall as i walk. At the end of the room, my hand touches something. Alive. A spider, a great spider the size of a toddler. It bites me, injects me with venom, and then scurries off, into the shadows of the empty corridor. My arm is in pain. I dont feel pain, but i know it there. Darkening, like it was bruised. It is my right hand, my writing hand. I move back, towards my room, not sure what i can do about this. Lady gaga sees this, and rises. She comes over, and takes my hand. She runs her hand on my arms skin. It opens, and the venom runs out. she takes a small bit or orange powder, and rubs it in the wound, and it clears, is clean. I thank her. I sit in an empty chair. I have my notepad and pen. I thank her for doing that, as i need to write. I tell her i was going to warn the ghosts that they were, infact, the dead. But i dont know if i have time. I just dreamed, i am going to take the notes. I explain a small bit of why and what i dreamed as i sit and start writing. She has been silent up to this point. I tell her of dreaming, in this way. She finally speaks. She is excited. She tells me, she, too, sitting in the chair, was dreaming. she seems to think it is connected to what i told her of mine. she wants to write it too, she had never thought of doing that here. I nod my head. And realize i cant write with what i conjured, i need my real pad and pen. I am also pleased, because, although underneath, she was a very ordinary person, in that ordinary person, was the spark of a dream. I also thought that somebody in Rf likes her, and would benefit, even if only for a time, by her presence. So i want to be sure to get it down correctly. I suggest she find a pen and paper. I will help her when she returns. I find a new place to sit, in the main lobby. And i wait. She never returns. this did not surprise me, not being able to stay here for long. It is not, i suppose, meant to be. It hardly ever actually works.
- Before i get done writing, the room is full of trendy people. It is noisy now. The feeling has changed, to that of a busy resort hotel, for young people. Budget holiday, but busy. A woman, at the front desk. Three girls talking to her. One is the woman's daughter. the woman at the counter says lady gaga was a bad guest, a bad spirit. she wants to kill her. She is angry that "he" let her speak. She will die. But do they not understand, that we are all, already dead? I move to speak, but cant quite do so. Instead, i continue to sit, and listen. The woman at the counter, was my wive's mother. My wife, apparently, was the woman who was falling over and over. Somehow, shifting realities, and changing one thing, changed many. In the earlier, empty place, the kathy bates like mother was friendly, and quiet. Here, she was my mother in law, and angry. At me. these were the social changes, characters brought in by freeing the woman, and the bones. It was hard to understand all the reverberations, but i did, in my way. The mother was angry, and i was not needed. The girl, i had married. Changed now, young again. Long dark hair. Dyed black. Feathered. Platinum lines, highlights off each feathered bunch. She told her mother, that she wanted me to be killed. The mother agrees.
- It is clear to me that i never was awake, and remember what my reality is. It is not here. I am still asleep. I am still dead. They are all dead, they are all in this dream. They just dont know it, and cant know it, it seems. I know what they want. Me dead. I know i dont want to be inert, sleeping in this place. I want to find the correct place. I want to try the OTHER hotel. To be there, when it resets. Not only me, we all need to be in the correct place to die. This is about more than the dream, it is life. It is more than the characters here, it is people in my real life as well. In time. It is important where i die, for the narrative reset. We all need to be in the right place to die. Knowing this, i leave the hotel, and move onto the street.
- The street is quiet. No one actually leaves one of these places, it is akin to stopping that woman from jumping over and over. It is like waking. The road between this hotel, and the other, seems much longer than i remember. Halfway between the two, i am stopped. There is a pack of dogs. Five dogs. But they look nothing like dogs. More like jackals, who have lost all their hair to the mange. With rabies. And snouts like a mole, or rat, elongated. But they are "dogs". the growl, and move, threaten. In the center of them, was a figure. My head only comes up to its waist. I can NOT lift my head above this point, i can not see its arms, or face. My body simply will not. It stands still, the center of the dogs. I stand before this. I reach into instinct. I detach. The first thing i know is its a test. a task. So i check my pockets. wallet is useless. I have a pack of cigarettes, a lighter, and the pen i use to write. First i take the cigarettes, and fling them at the dogs, fling the open pack so the individual cigarettes go flying out. three remain, i put it back in my pocket. the dogs notice, sniff briefly, but do not react. That did not work. All that is left is the lighter and the pen. Somehow i have drawn closer to the central figure, despite the dogs growling and lunging. this. This thing is the key. I think to punch it in the genitalia, something. But it, as far as i can see, has none. So i start looking on other levels. There is a fold, but not on the surface. Therefore, i conclude its female. Although i'm not certain. How to bother it. In the abstract, out of self, flat space. I see myself punching my fist, with the lighter, into the fold. then lighting the lighter. Keeping it like that till it dies or flees. the other hand, the pen. will jab the other way, past the tail, in the other opening. And keep going until it is lodged. I think these two things, should move it. I will loose my arms. and my hands, but i think, it is the only way. So i do it. I do it, however, on the level of 3d diagrams. So i dont have to see it, or feel it. when the lighter is dead in my hand, and the pen lost, i remove myself. I am back standing before it. The only change i notice, is head, coming from that area. And is standing straighter somehow. And then it stands aside, pleased. I had tried to attack, but i had solved something. I am...worried by this. But i do not care. I will take it.
- I am in the other hotel. The lobby. It is almost time. this place feels smaller, but more modern. I call. I call the leaping one who wanted my killed, because she is still the sad person. And her friends. And others. the old man. I summon them all to this new place. They all sit. Even the mother in law, kathy bates. They know something, the respond. I am relieved. this is the better place to die. this will work better. a great tidal wave, as i knew it would, higher than the mountains, is drawing close. One last look around the room, content, smiling. I am happy. I am happy, even as the building rumbles, the moment before it will hit. The great wave comes. I cry out in joy "the circle will close!"
- Wake and take careful notes. it is, once again, around 4am.