Gates Of Ivory

We found out that we could travel almost all over Spain on mesta and Roman roads. By then we already knew that the Roman roads were not roads covered with stone slabs, but we wanted to know how we were going to find them.

They showed us a very cute path, with trees and bushes on each side, forming an arch over it with flowers hanging from it. The path itself, like any rural road frequented vehicles by tractors: earth compacted by wheels, in the middle a thread of grass. It convinced us and we decided to use this kind of path. Then we were warned that they were not well marked, and that a good tracking dog would be a great help. We thought ours would do.

The paths went as far as they could, and then I had to take a bus. I remember falling asleep and then waking up and it looking like a movie, because the bus I was on was slipping and getting into the other lane, but no. By the time I woke up, it was already slipping and had caused the car coming from the other lane to crash. We had no choice but to run away from the bus.

I go to my room and it is a room I’ve seen in other dreams. I don’t see her but I know that the room is occupied by the blonde chick although now there’s a guy who sleeps on a mattress on the floor. From his room to mine there is no hallway, just the door. Continue reading →

There is a long table near a wall, perhaps there are windows on the wall, and there is a bench against it. Some are sitting against the wall.

We are guided round the facilities; I thought we’d manage with one or two rooms and I find having to learn the floors and stairs and halls uphill. So much effort to learn it when we will only be here for a few weeks, maybe four?
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It was a big house, an urban palace. I do not know if I found by chance or if we all knew it was inhabited by two squatters that everyone feared. Some thought they were bad, but I said come on, they just found the best house in the world, and free. For months the house had looked very sloppy. I looked who the owner was and it was not the squatters, it was a guy who did not appear in any registry, like in Mr. Robot. I do not know whether it was the month of April or April Street in any case the called it 20th of April.

I was back in school, taking notes and realising there was an exam coming up and I had not studied because I had not known about it. After class I went to the bus station as usual.
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My travel was scheduled for a certain country, but it got cut short. I found a logical alternative to go to another place.

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I had to go to Balib and this time I decided to stay in a hostel instead of in the familiar flat.
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I went to a foreign country and a couple with children lent me their house, or the room where they had first stayed, for me to stay. In one sole room there were the double bed and two single beds, and a wardrobe. You could smell the austerity in which they had lived, and one could also imagine the couple with the small children, living there, as they had been. I also realised it was such a big luck that they could allow me to stay in this room.

A few years later, I was still in that foreign country and had moved houses various times, to more independent places. I was still friends with this couple and I kept visiting them. They had also moved on in those years and now they no longer lived in one room but in a whole house, with a garden. They were leaving this bigger house now too, and I wanted to take it on. When I entered, I saw that, although they had moved on from living a small house to a bigger one, they were still living in just one room. The furniture looked different, but it could very well be the same. Maybe it was. The single beds were bigger, because their children had grown up. And they were still in the same room as the double bed, although the room was bigger. But that was it. They had moved to a bigger house but the austerity was the same. And it seemed strange to me that they were still living in the same room as their children. I made some comment and she confirmed or explained how each thing had ended up there, in this room, alongside their history.

I was in school deciding what path to choose, but before making the step I was told I had to wrote an essay on the tale of Cinderella. Some how I managed to get away with not doing it.
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It was a group of us preparing something, maybe an illegal action, but we were caught before anything could happen and we were all arrested.
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