dreamstate writing 9 June 2017

It was a bright day and I was bicycling along a footpath on top of a concrete dam. Next to it was a park or greenswarth that was partly submerged in water. Ancient and rusting iron railings ran along the top of the dam, to keep people from falling into the park. Far above the tops of some tall trees to my left stood a cluster of improbably towering walkways, huge and sweeping glass-bottomed ramps that twisted and looped through the sky. I recognized the structure from a previous dream and was briefly saddened, for I knew there was no graffiti there for me to photograph.

Up ahead, the crest of the dam curved sharply to the left and merged with an earthen abutment. At the merge was a swinging gate, which stood open to allow pedestrians and cyclists through. It was equipped with reflective panels so that, when shut, it would be visible to motorists at night. To the right of the gate was a single-storey, dilapidated brick structure with a tile roof. Having seen a lot of stickers plastered to the gate and railing at the point of the merge, I doubled back to photograph them, the bicycle beneath me responding nimbly.

As I was photographing stickers out by the gate, a man walked past me, whom I for the most part ignored. I had the feeling that I was being watched from the park’s thick foliage, which was now to my right (since I had turned around), which compelled me to bicycle into the brick structure. Its windows were missing, allowing isolated shafts of bright sunlight to stream into a dark, cool interior with a churned-up dirt floor. A pair of wooden pillars supported the roof overhead. The wall to my left featured one standard-sized door and three windows. At the far end of the structure was stood another set of open double doors. Near the double doors through which I’d entered were a number of interesting bits of street art, which I photographed. Feeling emboldened by being inside (and away, I figured, from prying eyes), I removed a sticker from my wallet and cast about for a good spot to stick it.

As I was searching for the best possible place for my sticker to live, I glanced down at it where it was poised in my right hand. As is customary, part of it had been torn off upon completion, the other part showing an intricate, black and white drawing of a mask that resembled that of a Mexican lucha libre wrestler.

americanifesto / JPR / whorphan / 場黑麥