Dream: 01-25-2002

I was living in a large building with several flats. Monad, Paradyme, and Tomo, or Jar, were also living there but in different rooms or flats. At some point I was leading the group in zazen or yoga, or perhaps just fucking around. I went to strike my metal bowl-shaped bell but instead of ringing there was but a muffled “thump”. A second try, to no avail. On closer inspection there was a wooden block next to the bell and an appropriately shaped rectangular imprint in the bell’s side. It was as if my initial strike had caused this defect… though I did ponder the possibility of the damage having been done prior to my action.

In attempts to bend the bell back into shape, the all too pliable metal seemed only to expand, unfold, or otherwise flatten until it resembled an oriental rug. In attempts to remedy this situation, Paradyme got out some rubber carpet pads and a measuring tape and quickly went to work.

Clearly this would not do anything to get my bell back and I began to suspect that Paradyme had brought my bell to the laundry instead of cleaning my bell! At any rate, the others were loosing interest in the whole affair and decided to retire to their rooms.

In a last ditched effort to revive my bell, Paradyme and I began to fold the corners of our new rug, which was changing from Persian to a plush sleeping bag-like material, towards the center a la origami. This seamed as though it may just work. An “as seen on tv” enthusiast and a small audience—who had to this point been so well behaved that their existence in the corner of my flat had been completely unknown to us—agreed. The enthusiast, or spokes lady (I was not too sure), took control of our efforts and like a practiced professional, began to fold and roll around in our plush wonder; showing off its versatility in its many transformations.

I wondered if perhaps this might have been the bag for the bell, but you can not be to sure which is real when immersed in a horde of screaming, enthusiastic members of a studio audience.

At any rate, I returned without my bell—but with some amazingly versatile sleeping bag as its stead—to round up my hommies from their comfort of slumber. We all convened, as we had before, in order to practice yoga or screen a recently created piece of programming or video art. It was 4 in the morning, vision was blurry, and most agreed that this* would be something better accomplished at a more reasonable hour.

Alas.

* Note: I’m not sure if I meant zazen or folding up my bell.