Category Archives: Dream

Roman roads and coaches

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.

My room

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

Patio cleaning

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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Squatters in April Street

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.

Bus 31

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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Time travelling

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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Bigger house, same austerity

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.

Cinderella, bullies and ISIS

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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Little house in the park

We had communally, purchased this building that was going to be our office space and meeting space too. It was some kind of living space as well. There was a kitchen, a living room, and an office inside. Various compartments in a house that, from the inside, it looked like it was made out of either wood or thin brick.

The building stood alone in the middle of what looked like a forest, but it must have been a park in the middle of the city, for we could all get there on our bikes after an easy ride.

So there we would meet to socialise, party some times, and various kinds of general mischief. We had to leave our bikes outside, though. So I would bring my bag inside and leave it, together with the keys for my bike locks, somewhere safe, inside. If it was warm, I would leave my outer layers next to my bags too.

It felt safe inside, even when riots erupted around the city. We first saw regular police run past the house. They never paid attention to it, or to us. We felt so safe in our little house we took refuge in it after going round being aware of the situation in the city.

Then came the riot cops. Again, we did not even care to close the front door. Some of them looked at us from the lines they had to follow, and then they continued to run to wherever the orders were sending them.

But suddenly and without warning, we were surrounded. This time, the cops had come specifically for this house. We decided to close the doors as the light beams pointed at the house at once. The riot cops we had seen running were at a prudent distance, surrounding the house, forming the first line. Then there was a line of more heavily armoured police than the normal riot police. And after them were either police on horses or cars and vans. Three police lines in total surrounding us.

In other buildings, it had always been possible to sneak out and hide between the streets. But here… well, first we would have to find our bikes. And there were no streets around us. Just the park/forest.

As we were deliberating what to do next, a bang … a deafening din against one of the walls. We looked out the window. Some one, or something, warned us that looking out the window was definitely not a good idea. But almost without looking we realised they were shooting at us. They were shooting heavy artillery against our tiny little house. The first shot had almost managed to make a hole in the wall. Then there were more. All of them damaged the walls, there was no real hole, just a bump. And the structure seemed to stay firm. We were surprised that the house was proving so strong.

We negotiated. We surrendered. It was important to get out of there alive, and with as few arrested as possible.

We had to let them in. They allowed some of us to gather our bags and get on our bikes. Some others managed to sneak out and run through the police lines – somehow.

I got to where my bike was, still within the circle of the triple police line, only to realise that I had left my keys inside. I went back inside. A police officer all in white clothes was now giving instructions to everyone, and showing especially vicious contempt to some of my friends who had stayed inside to deal with the police and whatever they wanted.

The keys we had for the building no longer worked as the authorities had taken possession of it and changed the locks. I was allowed inside. It was going to be difficult now to find my keys in the mess that the house was now in.

As I was looking for my keys I could hear the others talk and I tried to figure out what the situation was. It was not clear what they were looking for. It looked more like they had just wanted the existence of the house to finish, and with it, the community inside it too. The man in white clothes continuously gave orders to my friend who was dealing with the situation, telling him to close this door and the other.

I finally found my keys; it had not been such a long or hard task as I had thought. And none of my keys were missing, which I found remarkable too.

Then I was allowed out of the house, but with all the hustle and bustle, it felt like I was sneaking out too. They were not interested in me. Then I realised it had got cold. And I remembered that my outer, thicker layers of clothing, were still inside too. This time I did not ask for permission; I just sneaked back in.

Now the whole house was full of cops, and there was only one of my friends left. I did not see any one arrested, and they were clearly allowing us to get back for our things.

The house was still standing, even though it did have some serious bumps on the walls. But it was not clear what use the house would have from now on. Hopefully we would gather somewhere outside this park and find another house that would have the same functions as this lovely little house now lost.

I now had all my things and could get to my bike and ride, looking for the friends who had been with me in the house.


There was a party next door but I decided I was not well enough to go. Then a friend came; she wanted to go somewhere far with me, I said I was a bit ill but I really wanted to go with her so I sneaked out and went. We went to another friend’s house and had a fairly good time. Then this friend wanted us to go to a party the following day. I asked him where it was and he mentioned “Islington Street”. He took out an iPad with a map application. The idea was that I would learn where it was and then get directly there from home. But it was difficult, so my friend from home said, ‘maybe it is easier to meet here in this house, and then you find the place?’ I disagreed, I did not think it made sense to come on my bike all the way here and then back south; going directly to the place would save me about an hour biking, if I didn’t get lost.

The friend with the iPad found the street while I had been talking and without giving me time to look it up he said, ‘we’re getting on my van to find the place now’. We all got on the van. I didn’t know the streets but I tried to memorise the way .

At one point we went through a park. Then to our left there were some derelict workshops. On the wall of one of them there was a neat graffito that read something like “tito”. I wanted to read what it said. The friend sitting on the back seat said it said something like ‘I have moved workshops, to find me ask tito’.

We arrived to the place, saw it and where it was, and then I went back home.

Once at home, one of my jugs, which were in the communal cupboard so every one could use it, was broken. One of my housemates wanted to explain, he started but he could not continue. I assured him it was not a big deal if he didn’t want to explain now, he could do that whenever he wanted. I said: I will ask you next Friday, or Saturday (I thought, what day is it today?), I will ask you what is wrong with this jug. I looked at it and it did look like it was a lot older than the last time I had seen it, but I could not figure out exactly what was wrong with it.

The next day I headed to the party. On the way I saw a man advertising his business. He was offering anonymity in telephone contracts. He was explaining his business to some television channel team. In the party I saw my father, and he said he had seen the man on tv but he did not understand what the man did. I explained it to him. He thought it was something that was actually necessary, although we all feared that the man had put himself in the weakest link, because if some one wanted to know what phone-calls any one had made, all they had to do was grab the man’s files.

Stale food and cousins

I was visiting the cousins. They offered some food but I kind of preferred mine, and I cooked a bit and then put the remainings in a container so I could eat them later. We ate in the kitchen, which was massive, like a kitchen in a factory. Then I went to a bed that was arranged with other beds as if they had been on a road. The bed turned into a car, then back into a bed. My cousins were still around and when I woke up we went back to the house and we ate again. I ate from my containers. The food was a bit stale, but I could mix it with freshly made food and I could it all the food I had left.

The nicest piece of my food was wrapped up in what looked like bread at first sight. But then it was not bread, it was some kind of bacon. Then I looked closer and I saw that it was raw meat. I asked for permission to fry it, or cook it in some way that I could eat it. I was given permission and I looked for a frying pan.

Toxic substance, money and debt

There was a canal where we could swim but no one did. People used it as a means of transport some times. We could walk until there was an overture, then queue for the small boat that would take us to the other side.

People were agitated about the world state of affairs. I was not so, and was surprised that people were so upset. Then one day a few of us met by chance, we had not arranged to meet and we probably did not want to, either. I was depressed and did not know why, and I was expecting a visit from far away. I had been walking everywhere instead of biking, then to go with this visit I had to get back on the bike and I felt lazy, for I had not biked for a long time. Then I tried to remember when I had been energetic and happy for the last time and was surprised to find that I didn’t even remember. I put on my cycling clothes and still felt uneasy.

I was in some kind of communal room that people would use to pass through from one room to another. I was getting ready. Then suddenly I was well dressed and I was not in that room, but near the river. Some one passed very close to me and touched my neck, probably thinking I was some one else. I felt attacked but then, realising that the big guy who had touched me had not done it on purpose, I calmed down, and was very relaxed and cool about it. I just wanted to continue going to wherever I was going.

But he made a point of stopping to apologise. I saw that he had construction clothing, he was a working guy. He had touched my neck with his glove. He pointed out that the glove he had touched me with was impregnated with some substance that could be toxic and I needed to be looked at. I didn’t want to, I didn’t think it was important and wanted to get on with whatever I was up to, but he insisted. He took me to an observation room where I would be examined and have whatever substance he had touched me with removed.

There were other people in beds too, in the observation room. We started to talk and we had an interesting conversation about debt in that observation room. Some people owed me money… And they started to tell me how serious the situation was. We need a revolution, they said, it is coming. I didn’t think it was. They explained that money didn’t exist. That it was all electronic annotations in some one’s electronic systems. That, I already believed. They said a few people had massive negative annotations because they owed so much. They explained that living in debt was a way of life for many. That, apart from the hazard of having people constantly reminding them that they owed money, it was a nice lifestyle. I remembered that the people who owed me money did not seem to have any intention to give it back to me. Then they said some people owed millions and millions, and that they kept having people like me who worked to pay for their life style, continuously transferring the wealth that we had produced by working from our standards of living to their own lavish lifestyles. Our conditions deteriorated so much there were people doing drastic things like committing suicide. Pressure was mounting and there would be a serious and bloody revolt soon.

My visit came and I was very happy, again, surprised and worried that the last time I had been happy had been so long before. I then took my visit to places of interest. We met with the Oriental man who often came to our shop. He explained that he was going abroad for a long time, it had to do with the revolution. I realised more and more how serious the situation was. He told us about his plans with great detail. Then it came down to me: he kept saying “I” and not “we”. I wondered what would come of his numerous family, but I just asked suddenly, interrupting:

“Hang on a second. Are you saying you are going on your own and not with Laan?”

Suga and the man looked at me, upset because I had interrupted them with such a trivial question. He explained that Laan and he were in the process of separating. I was scandalised because they had been together for so, so long. More than fifteen years altogether, I remembered when Laan told me she was moving in with her boyfriend.

I asked further and he mentioned some things about her, bad things about living with her that apparently made her unbearable. He really had no choice but to break up with her and give up the flat. Then I assumed he would leave the flat for his son, who happened to be my visit, but who was turning into my friend of European origin.

He explained that the one mistake he had made, the one mistake this perfect couple had done, had been to move in together. He explained that he had this perfect relationship with his family and then with Laan’s arrival the house became completely dominated by the only woman in the group, and that had been completely awful for the household, and the relationship, to the point that they now had to break up. I asked my companion at the time, which I was not sure whether it was my visit or my friend from Europe, if they were now hiring the rooms and they explained that the house would be empty although yes it would be handy to stay in the house and continue to use all the things they had built a home with. I tried to convince my friends of the convenience of keeping the house and staying in it.

“Why don’t you move in here then, to make it easier to pay the whole rent”, I was told. It was a very cheap rent, it made sense to move from my communal house into this flat. It was very tempting but I planned to leave all my things in my current house, keeping it as a safe backup, then move in the flat only as a trial. Maybe it was here that the Oriental man warned me about the unsuitability of moving in with the person you love.

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The professor and the Zeppelin

Professor Z had to spend so much time in his laboratory he decided to move there. He was constructing a Zeppelin kind of balloon that would allow for human transportation by air.
This required all his attention, and in order to avoid unnecessary and/or undesirable visits, he didn’t tell anyone that he was moving. So he kept his usual dwellings with his wife and secretly moved to the laboratory. To keep himself even more unnoticed, he moved into the balloon, which stayed kind of suspended from the ceiling. He had a ladder to get into his new room and from there he could see the rest of the room that was his laboratory.

Other people had their plans too. The local youth was determined to try the balloon to see if it could actually fly. Then something happened in the village that made this flying not only a curiosity, but an actual necessity. And an urgent one.

They went to the professor’s house only to find his wife alone. She said she didn’t know where he was, but every one knew that if he was not at his house, he would be in his laboratory.

So off they went.

Either the door was open or they had a key for the place, because next thing, they were looking for the profession inside the lab. Or maybe they were not looking for it, just the flying machine. It took them a while to locate it, right under the ceiling, because the ceiling was very high and it was not an obvious thing. It was so high, the professor, who at that time was inside his balloon, did not even hear them enter. At some point he sensed some activity down there and looked through the aperture that allowed him to get in and out of the balloon. A few youths were in an attitude of searching for him. He was then very satisfied with himself and the work he had done preparing for occasions like this. He would remain hidden in the balloon and would happily ignore those rascals. The only inconvenience was that he could not hear what they were saying, but then, was he interested in the slightest.

The youths looked at the balloon and tried hard to figure out how it would work. They knew little about balloons, but they did know that the balloon would have to get hot air from something burning, and that a recipient big enough to hold a few people in it would need to hang from it. They found all those things and got everything outside. The balloon itself was the most difficult one, but they managed that too. The profession was inside, unbeknown to them, and their plans remained unknown to him too. He was so busy and abstracted in his work, he did not notice that the balloon he was in was moving.

By the time he realised what was happening, it was too late. He looked out the aperture in the balloon material again, only to see the boys manoeuvring the whole thing and putting it in the air. One he overcame the shock, he screamed.

“What are you doing!!!”

The boys were equally shocked that he had been there all the time. They tried to explain the situation, but even though the balloon and the basket where they were crammed were closer now than inside the laboratory, they were not close enough to have a comfortable conversation.

The professor was livid. He could not believe what was happening and he could not do anything against it. Now he had to sit there until those rascals would decide that the trip was over.

When he calmed down, he braced himself for a bit more work, now that he was stuck there. At least, while the air was not too hot, he could almost pretend he was still in the laboratory. He was inside his balloon anyway, his now habitual working space.

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