Written on 11 April 2020, Saturday:
In one of those tiny cars with my dad driving. He goes into parking garage and makes a quick left turn and descends to the lower levels of the garage, which wasn’t his intention, I didn’t think. Suddenly, I’m in another car and I radio my dad, or I call him on a cell-phone, give him instructions on how to get out of the garage.
Then I’m in a house visiting a young woman. I get the impression I’m there, calling on her. She has long, light-brown wavy hair, wearing pajama bottoms and a green sweater. I’ve never met her before. We’re talking about something I don’t remember what. Her dad is there and then she walks with me out of the house. She walks me to my home, I guess. We walk by a big building. The streets remind me of those in Heidelberg, but this big building is modern, bauhaus, tall with a large mural on the side. It’s a movie theatre. Day turns to night, and we sit on a bench and watch the mural. It’s actually an ad for that movie, Earthquake Bird. I think we were looking at the picture of the leading actor on the foreground, but what struck me, or us, was the black background and its glowing light. . . It wasn’t electric lights turned on; it was the paint in the mural that just glows, pulsates, as day turns to night. We gaze at the mural and admire its beauty. We talk about how I left her house, I guess how her dad kicked me out. I respond that everyone’s acting crazy with this coronavirus pandemic. My flatmate, for example, sings karaoke in his room nowadays, I tell her. But at least we can see each other. She’s sits in front of me between my legs, her back leaning on my chest. I caress her shoulders.
dream chronicles 