Radiohead comes to Argentina. John A. recently, has persuaded me more than anything, by reading dedicated conducted its excellent blog - to write my dreams. As a child, or better, entering pre-adolescence, I used to write my dreams in a cheap notebook purchased on either side and then read it recurrences: could quote whole passages of dreams in this entry, but perhaps soon to make target to explode from the inside out and give this experience the only way remaining for old things: the naked exposure.
I just got up from a nap of 75 exact minutes. I'll write what I dreamed.
I am in my usual work (the other work, as they say some on their daytime activities) in a theater school, managing the accounts of people who pay more or less regular dues. At one point, enter the door two old friends and acquaintances from my previous job in the advertising department of the unspeakable monster called Coto supermarkets, are GD, former editor and creative, and SRR, also an editor, assistant at the time of first. Both currently work on their own, and in my dream this condition is maintained: he had the feeling that not seen for some time, and just across the door, pretending interest in a course, but with a look of bewilderment as if they think "look where she works this guy now "- I'm happy and I intend to serve them graciously, showing that recognize: their beards are grown irregularly, dress clothes and GD always takes some flyers on the table with the face of disbelief. They sit down and start talking about some things: The first thing I say is "look what I have now," referring to my contemporary use of a cell (always refused, until this year I have one). The problem is that cell volume is not mine SRR but, I said that is his: it is very similar to my home phone, except that it has silver lines instead of white. take another phone: GD is that it is also very similar to mine but has purple lines. I take a third cell is mine, I tell the story (SRR, look no face GD) how I bought it, how my sister had gotten for it from a friend but not wanting to change me number sell the same "friend price". At that moment the doorbell rings: C., my partner in my current job, as always enters my place in the afternoon.
is worth noting that the place-an old house, one of those "of Palermo", only in Belgrano, converted into a school, usually a bright orange paint on the inside, begins to become opaque as the dream goes. For when I introduce my friends my current partner, the doorbell rings, then I realize that there were two gentlemen in the whole time I was with these guys ex-Cotero with the intention of asking for a course (wearing blue jean jackets worn, one has hair long, curly, and a black peaked cap upside down, the T-shirts worn inside the jacket are fluorescent and change color on the sleeves, which I do not see but I know). The threshold of the door changes shape and size, now is immense, and he hides a shadow, something like a fluorescent yellow shirt man has a stick in one hand and waiting to open. My companion, after taking care of strangers (my friends remain there during all this time, sitting at my sides), aims to open the door, and I feel that something will happen. When these men take leave to join the yellow jersey in the doorway are known-and to try to close the door, C. gets the surprise of the constant and annoying resistance taking these men to receive a door slammed in your face, definitely want to come, he intends to rob the place. C. Losing my friends and I we went ahead to fight these people, which hardly pushed out. Rapidly climbed the wooden stairs of the place-reflexes, outside, move so bestial, hitting, trying to get in any way, and once up, I meet with people known they were watching all the action: the first floor of the school is not always the first floor is a kind of rectangular corridor where you can look down through a sort of "lung block" that reveals the plant low. At the edge, Sandra Ballesteros, dressed in white shirt and skirt, acting as a sort of partner of mine, asked me a very cold but loving how I am, if I was okay. I say yes, my friends go to a nearby room where acquaintances are watching TV. Sandra caresses my face, looks at me sadly. I go to the bathroom.
Henri Bergson
Henri Bergson in ruins in the bathroom, broken, tiles full of dirt, a dark green color around the whole scene, are my cousin J. and Aunt J. -Are not mother and daughter looking down the toilet, I, joined in this observation and see that the toilet is leaking, it is almost dry and passes a very tiny flow of water at the bottom that acts like a small stream where I time passes. "Time passes and is unattainable," says my aunt, "I can not partake of time," and I know that either, but do not say anything because noise sound again. The men managed to cross below the portal. I
down and try to contain them, but they are too violent, I have not all details, or defeat or beat me, "Sandra back up and look at me in pain, but also with a certain passivity. I said that hurt him, and that Radiohead is a very good band, "Did not you hear?" he says. At that point the dream turns his attention and I'm in the rehearsal room of Radiohead, Thom Yorke behind, who is running a strange version of "Idiotique", longest, and is running only one organ with little effect. From where I am, I can see Johnny Greenwood, but no one else. The version is long, slow, all in the dream love Radiohead. I turn my head and I'm on the threshold of work, but now looks within the front wall of my house. Through the shutters and the curtains I see my friends talking in the doorway, they now are the ones outside, but may talk quietly with a drink. Another friend adds Coto, J. -Is the address that appears in this vision. I'm back to change and back up, Sandra tells me that one of my friends was raped, I'll watch the room where TV and Sandra, after telling me that was so and so I face the guilty friend, I say I will kill you. I am very angry. C., a friend from the neighborhood, has a bare chest and holds quasi-Vikings muscles, take a scissors and begins to insult this supposed friend I do not know, but has blond curls and a face very similar the villain of Top secret. C. takes it hard in the arm and leads him to where he is Sandra, but nothing creates a fourth-place between the TV and the rectangular corridor. With scissors, and respecting the passivity of my "friend" of blond curls, very yellow, a yellow false starts cutting the one to leave this young man stripped in my presence. His head has many black spots, which makes me suspect the naturalness of the color in his face. It still sounds during the whole scene, the strange version of "Idiotique" I had heard. We present a noise at the door, my sister wakes me up to go home.
down and try to contain them, but they are too violent, I have not all details, or defeat or beat me, "Sandra back up and look at me in pain, but also with a certain passivity. I said that hurt him, and that Radiohead is a very good band, "Did not you hear?" he says. At that point the dream turns his attention and I'm in the rehearsal room of Radiohead, Thom Yorke behind, who is running a strange version of "Idiotique", longest, and is running only one organ with little effect. From where I am, I can see Johnny Greenwood, but no one else. The version is long, slow, all in the dream love Radiohead. I turn my head and I'm on the threshold of work, but now looks within the front wall of my house. Through the shutters and the curtains I see my friends talking in the doorway, they now are the ones outside, but may talk quietly with a drink. Another friend adds Coto, J. -Is the address that appears in this vision. I'm back to change and back up, Sandra tells me that one of my friends was raped, I'll watch the room where TV and Sandra, after telling me that was so and so I face the guilty friend, I say I will kill you. I am very angry. C., a friend from the neighborhood, has a bare chest and holds quasi-Vikings muscles, take a scissors and begins to insult this supposed friend I do not know, but has blond curls and a face very similar the villain of Top secret. C. takes it hard in the arm and leads him to where he is Sandra, but nothing creates a fourth-place between the TV and the rectangular corridor. With scissors, and respecting the passivity of my "friend" of blond curls, very yellow, a yellow false starts cutting the one to leave this young man stripped in my presence. His head has many black spots, which makes me suspect the naturalness of the color in his face. It still sounds during the whole scene, the strange version of "Idiotique" I had heard. We present a noise at the door, my sister wakes me up to go home.
I touch my head hurts, it hurts much. I remember very strongly the scene of the toilet, my relationship with my current obsession with Henri Bergson, to my surprise with the arrival of Radiohead to the country. I tell my sister, the first thing I tell my sister sleep after the first estupiudez doze state that I can think to say is that her friend V. had not come home. Never babble that comment, a question of replacement parts of Argentina and Scotland. My sister says, "What party?".
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