Tag: quiet

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Dream Journal

Mayan Revival Mall in Berlin

In a six-story mall in Berlin. Exotic, asymmetrical, grand Mayan revival architecture, with tall vertical metal pylons repeated in a semicircle over an open courtyard. Comfortable walking spaces outside stores with benches and landscape detailing — almost a zen garden feel. The bottom-most floor has a moat-like pool environment with fantastical fossils embedded in the wall, giving an impression of the underworld. A restaurant with glass windows sits at that level, affording views both above and below water. Watching a promotional 3D documentary that zooms through the space excitingly as if from the perspective of a quadcopter, lurching so dramatically it’s regarded as an accomplishment to finish watching. It would’ve been so much simpler to see a human dive instead.

I’m wandering by myself on the ground floor of the atrium courtyard, trying to navigate by learning about the place in the past. I’m able to spot escalators that are closed, blocked off and partially demolished, with a meager sign at the top. I travel some distance riding a smooth-bottomed sledge across an almost too quiet expanse of open mall, at one point skidding noisily over the grating around a single tree planter. The Germans around me politely pretend not to notice.

Just up a single fight of stairs, I come across an isolated second floor balcony where I can appreciate the gauzy indoor sunlight illuminating the large space. Available there is a specialty video service which I peruse, almost all documentaries. I scroll through the acting credits, looking to confirm someone’s claim from an earlier conversation — that even in an ego-centric milieu like Hollywood there’s always going to be one ego that sticks out for every project. On this list I find an elaborate headshot of William Shatner posed with his dogs, which seems to prove the adage.

There’s also an organized section with global syndicated newspapers, even one from Sacramento in fact. I open up the interface and the very first story is about North San Juan (a small town I visited in June to look at a house). The District Attorney’s office is being refurbished in anticipation of a new DA, and someone is writing to complain. Apparently, although the office is the size of a shack, it has a large flat yard where someone has been scraping out valuable ashes for agriculture. Tragedy of the commons type thing, but with the twist that the DA that would prosecute isn’t there yet. It kind of blows my mind that I immediately find such a local story in such a faraway place.

Categories
Dream Journal

Massive Handmade Map in Quiet-time Classroom

It’s third grade, and I’m starting a painting assignment in the last period of class — a massive mural-sized map. At first I paint on large paper at my desk, then moving to the walls of the classroom. Making the land using smooth strokes of light red against red. Switching to a dark purplish blue for the seas, and aged vintage yellow for other empires of the world beyond my knowledge. The border of the colors is arbitrary, artistic. I experiment, blending darker parts into the sea to make it look deeper. The recommendation was to use blots of red, but it blends terribly.

The teacher leaves through a side door to grab something. Since the door is in my row I have to move aside. As she comes back, I hand her a pair of sunglasses I found lying on the ground there, telling her she dropped them. She claims not to recognize them.

During quiet time at the end I survey my finished work, with the goal of convincing her to let me seal it. I only need to ask her the finish: matte, satin, or glossy. Her car is parked inside the classroom, and I circle around it, noting its make as a Capri, a “Capri Sun.” I look up the car on a website; it’s related to a ’94 Tirder, which is Scandinavian-style word for fending off collisions. She won’t let me ask about either, as it’s still quiet time.

A girl complains in the front row — which now appears opposite of where it was — and tries to impart how worldly she is; needing to tan, that she’s only slept with 10 people. Teacher proclaims “if you’re 9 and have already slept with 10 people, how do you feel about a visit to the school psychiatrist?” This elicits a sigh and shuts down the complaining. The girl acts as if she was talking about her dog sleeping with 10 other dogs.

I’m floating/wandering through a simulation of my neighborhood. It’s 4th of July, nighttime, and I have a special appreciation for its uniqueness — the colors of lights flashing everywhere as I pass through corridors, watching them reflect off windows of closed-up music shops and grocery stores. There’s one large simulated power station which draws energy from the physics engine (in the same way a real-world power generator would). I recognize it as a facility I’ve made a delivery to before. I witness as one of the explosions spawns inside the locked-up doors and begins an explosive chain reaction. I’m the only one right there, and I happen to know how to get inside, and mount rescue efforts even though it means I might be destroyed in the simulation.