The
previous night’s dream was another dramatic departure for unprecedented
psychological territory. The atmosphere could best be described in terms of the
architecture.I found myself in a thoroughly metropolitan area most reminiscent
of Downtown San Diego. The city was somewhere that I had never been to before
or otherwise not in a long time. It hadthe impersonal,
leviathan austerity of adult responsibility, most akin to the city that
Faramir took Frodo , Sam, and Smeagol to, wherein Frodo confronts the Witch-King,
ex cept that its impersonal
quality felt more accidental than intentional.
There were three peculiar situations I had to confront:
Each seemed to involve some Other telling me
something disparaging about me.
I can remember at least two of these
confrontations vividly. The first
was between only me and Kresten. He was accusing me of being a
homosexual. The second confrontation was between me and either Dylan White or
Joon Park, if not both incarnate in one person: The Berkeley Asian Graduate with glasses, in
which instance Mochi would have likely
been the third constituent, as though he were Andrew and Dylan
and Joon were I and Kresten, respectively.
We met I whilst I
was part of a group of old acquaintances on the spectrum of
friends at a tiny cafe. The interior
was in shape most apparently the taco restaurant that Kresten and I had gone to
the preceding evening in Actuality. It felt by design as though it were
the concession stand wherein Grimes dances while the clerk behind the counter
swats a rat (therat being implied, off-camera) in adjacence to the light
from the Pepsi machine that partly illumines and glows behind Grimes. It
felt Accidentally as though it were the
ice-cream parlour thar I visited with
my family in Downtown when I was bvery young,wherein I looked with envy
upon a twenty- some thing Korean couple. Its personal environment
reminded me of the french
bakery that Charlie Brown exited, the butts of the baguette crunching
off as they hit the sides of the door
way. It was also reminiscent of the café in the film version of ‘Harry Potter
and the Deathly Hallows wherein Harry,Hermione and Ron are ambushed by Death
Eaters.
Dylan enteredtheshopthrough the transparent front door as I
was all ready a part of a group of acquaintencesonthe spectrum of friends
seated about a table.
The cash register was tomy right,nearby,and
several olf acquaintances from high school, close merely by virtue of
incident and the fact that we had been classmates, ratherthan by some profound moraleffort or
shared emotional experience, occupied the seat to my left and the seat across
from that one. I was facing the open doorway when Dylan entered. He promptly
occupied the chair across from me.
The weather
outside must have been rambunctious. The time of day looks, at one moment in my
memory, as though it were towards the end of mid-day. There
was a cutting brightness of hue that mirrored Dylan’s derision.Yetother
attempts to recall it evoke an evening with the same restless foreboding.
The light overhead
had a vivid and condescending glow: ironically
gentle white in the midst of a blue ceiling that, in memory, oscillates between
the dark indigo of night and an austere
cerulean blue, with the tenacity of an
Authority.
Dylan*reprimanded me for what I hjad posted to facebook. He
was in the guise of Joon now, and it is possible that he had actually been Joon
consistently.With a look of total pity but an unforgiving
incrimination anda total absence of understanding, he told me
that ‘everyone’ had seen what I wrote about Dana and that they
were in unanimous in regarding this with deepest Shame and
even apprehension.My peers at
the table seem to have corroboratedthis. I proceeded to follow
the group about a college campus.
We were in a thoroughly civilized, affluent and unapologetically imperfect Area. It was
towards the end of the afternoon. The Sun was setting into a deep blue evening
the likes of which Ihad only seen whilst visiting Dylan
in Actual Berkeley.
dm.A.A.
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