Waking Finnegan

“We are such stuff as dreams are made of, and our whole life is rounded with a sleep” ~ Shakespeare

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Location: zurich, Switzerland

Sunday, January 16, 2005

January 16, 2005


I'm delivering letters as a bicycle courier. My letter bag strap breaks and drops and I look back--it's lying on the road but I can't stop because it's like a one way freeway suspended up high--no shoulder--everything running too fast. The road is a deep velvety black and rubbery ike a synthetic athletic track. No off ramp and so I have to keep going forward. Another cyclist pulls up and points behind us about my bag and I nod. He points ahead to the left and I see an offramp but it's hard getting across--but he's managing easily and barely pedalling. I miss the offramp and he's gone and now I need to get over to the other side but everything going to fast.

At an old green chalkboard writing down some mathematical formulae I haven't got a clue--the chalk keeps breaking and is drying my hands--can't grip the chalk and it keeps slipping. I say 'fucki it' and everyone in the class laughs and they're amused by my actions. I grab a magic marker and begin writing on the chalkboard and everyone hee haws and I begin drawing an abstract sort of image and ask another volunteer to come up and assist me.

At Rincon Beach. There's a cave. I see some people huddled inside and so approach. There's crying from a baby but it's deep inside the cave. The twilight is orange and lighting parts of faces. I'm thinking 'Oh my God are they a lost tribe?' and what are they doing here at Rincon? Chumash Indians? But I'm afraid to come closer because I can't see clearly. Somehow I know they are actually tsunami survivors.

1 Comments:

Blogger Scrawler said...

Thanks for the advice you left on Scrawlings(one of my blogs) but all 3 of my blogs are BlogExplosion, BlogClicker and now Mad-Den! :)

4:32 PM  

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