6/1
An assassin dream. Through airports unseen, a chase. I am
running away from a country. Someone tells me he/she knows a secret
passageway for us to flee. it is behind a stairwell, I run and and run
and run. at the end of the staircase, a betrayal. the explanation
flashes through my eyes. it hurts in a way I can't understand.
An
old bus rattling through humid, rainy landscapes. It is going to my old
estate, but steers and passes into an area grey with mildew and damp
fields. Somewhere, there is a stable. A dirty animal farm with owls
peaking out of barn windows, and huge ugly boars with strange markings.
An animal farm like a deep sore; an infection on the hillside...
Steffie, an old old friend. She shows me the deep, long scars on her legs. We talk of things I can't remember.
Under
a stand near one of these fields, I can smell the rain. The air is cool
on my skin. Everything is real real real. There is a dog beside me. A
seeing eye dog. I think I am supposed to be blind, but I can see.
A
chase, again. This time I can feel the presence of my pursuers, but
I do not remember their faces. I run through moist grass laden with the
occasional huge, encompassing tree. They circle around me, and I decide
to let my dog go. I fly up the trees. Somehow, the knowledge of flying
is something innate. It seems natural, like swimming. You push the air
up around you and fly. It's so simple.
Another pursuit. This
time I can see them, and the tables have turned- I will trap them
myself. 3 cops/criminals. Men. I lure them by their greed with promises
to an old house filled with many, many rooms. It smells of old wood and
tea bags. One of the rooms is just filled with shelves and shelves of
rotting books. I push the books down, and ask them to do so, too. "You
try. On the other side is Grandmother's house," I tell them. Everything
smells of must and mildew. The comforting sting of old, moist walls...
A room with a slopping roof full of beams the colour of deep wood. I cup the face of one, smiling a cat's grin...
