I was in an unknown room. It was dimly lit, with some natural light coming through the windows, and maybe one artificial light source somewhere, but I could not identify from where. There was a projection of a three-dimensional bird, like a cartoon bird, a rendering of a bird, flying around. It had a light source that provided its movement. It was just a rendering. It swooped and curled in the air, like a bird in a Disney cartoon. It seemed very happy. Then I was trying to explain to my mother how it worked. I was sitting with her in the dark room, explaining how light worked. I was using a large print of an abstract painting as an example. I think it was by Kandinsky, and had enormous colorful circles drawn around and into each other. I told her that in order for us to see the print, light had to land on it, and either the pigment on the print would reflect the light or absorb the light. The pigment that reflected parts of the light spectrum would be seen, for instance, as red or blue or yellow, and other parts of the light spectrum would not be seen, because they would be absorbed. She didn’t really understand. She didn’t understand that if there was no light, there would be no color on the print to be seen. And that if it was a black print, it would be absorbing all of the light spectrum. Black absorbs everything. Anyway, I was telling her this because apparently they figured out how to project the light of the bird, and somehow the light stopped mid-air, without being reflected or absorbed by a physical object. It just stayed in the air, and I didn’t understand how that happened.

A dream

(This is a dream)

I have been travelling on a highway far above a countryside lit by a beautiful day. My car is not really visible; it’s being used but one cannot see it. It’s really just me, travelling. I get to one portion of the highway, and it’s just a very large black cable, like part of a suspension bridge. I see all the cars slowly getting off the highway and carefully going down this enormous cable, which can accomodate only one car at a time, single file. I don’t think I can do it. Too high—miles above the ground—and too dangerous. I am on a wooden platform, hanging onto the railing, or the floor, scared and trying to figure out what to do. It’s foggy now, or cloudy. The wind is heavy and loud. I can see mountains in the distance, their surfaces thick with deciduous trees, and small lakes far below. A car pulls up behind me. There is a woman inside, and she watches my dilemma. She thinks I can do it. The wind picks up. I climb around some metal cables, inches in diameter, connecting the bridge and its components together. Sometimes I have to throw my body from cable to cable, using my weight against the wind, which blows so strong. It’s hard to imagine how the cars are driving down this much larger black cable, but they do, and continue driving away, down the cable and into the clouds. They drive very slowly. The woman says it’s a terrible part of the highway. We have to shout into the wind.

Then I am swinging on a soft, thick blue wire, connected to the bridge. I swing in large arcs, under and over the bridge, soaring way up further into the sky and then coming back down, then going up again. I hold on tight, because if I don’t, I will fall.


[This is a dream.]

11 May 2012

Over the past few days I had been going back and forth between somewhere and a greenhouse. I had claimed an unused section of soil and began planting plants there. I found some plants outside and some were left over from greenhouse orders, just left sitting in their plastic containers. I had a few wispy, leafy ones, and a few with thick, dark green leaves—possibly kale. Some were planted in rows, and others were set alone.

One day I was in a field spending time near a large construction vehicle with a female friend of mine. It was a bright sunny day, with diffused atmosphere. All the textures were smoothed out by the immensely bright noontime sunlight. The field was cut in large portions: some tall grass remained, but most was quite short. It was all very dry. In the distance by the greenhouse, the large oak trees looked healthy. I think I found some moss in a small plastic container. I felt the need to put that moss over with my other claimed plants. I went there, wondering on the way if anyone had noticed or cared that I’d been planting and taking up space.

I dug a small hole in the moist soil for the plant. It seemed too deep, but I put it in anyway. I put it next to and kind of under the leafy plants, so it would get some shade. I then noticed there was a long hole in the dirt where the row of plants used to be.

I went back the next day and found all my plants removed; all that remained were scrappy holes in the dirt. Perhaps some people were going to cook with the kale, but they didn’t know that I was making a small garden for those plants.