d r e a m #2 3 3 7


Waking up in my bedroom, at the silence of dawn. Shy lights on windows of the buildings. The city's lights enters by the window and the room let itself be lighted by it and by the computer screen's gentle glow. Still affected by nocturne impressions, a foot in dreams, a foot in the world. I don't know if I live, don't know if I dream. Both are the same; the dreams echoes, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖𝚜 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚎𝚗𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚌𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚜 𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚒𝚖𝚞𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚛𝚊 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚢. Something stood behind in the dream, something 𝖎𝖓𝖊𝖋𝖋𝖆𝖇𝖑𝖊, a thing that I swear I had found in childhood days. The vanishing existence that doesn't support the world's weight anymore finds some relief. "There, oh there, there is the land; All the musics shall combine". Beauty will save the world? Beauty is dreamed and dreams will save the soul of the world.


how many years have passed? years flattening months, that flattens days, that flattens hours, minutes and seconds
a flatline of invisible, dead intensities, floating in an infinite zero
is a body without organs still a body?
I abandoned the living flesh years ago
my body is a strange
this way zombies were born, just as the pages of gothic bestiaries
beings inhabited by death, travelers of the flatline, dead becomings
instead of death to the world as in asceticism, death to the world by depersonalization, by uprooting, and by the visceral strangeness of a reality that does not offer shelter
at the gates of the Gray World, where other expropriated bodies, autonomous - future robots -, walk and run through concrete fields under a cloud sky
concrete is also an invasion of dead flesh, an expropriation, an approach to the Gray World
"Ninsei wore him down until the street itself came to seem the externalization of some death wish, some secret poison he hadn’t known he carried"-Neuromancer
Where did the ethereal days of childhood went? Where did the dreams went? Like a house and a bucolic landscape, the children running and the bonfires at a cold dusk.
Do you remember the days when you were little and used to dream of the world?
Do you remember how the gods spoke through children, adults, animals and things visible and invisible?
Do the dreams that die go to Heaven too?
Yes, and they sleep. And the dreams themselves dream; we are also dreamed by wombs beyond the stars.
There is a voice that whispers very rarely, she says that this place exists, and I believe that. I saw it a few times. Something tells me that the stars live there too.
And its gates sometimes open on Earth, and the childhood dreams smile there. But something was left behind. Something lost, unspeakable; a scar of loss, a black sun, and only on the darkness of pain can these gates be installed.
Only dreams can redeem your life.
I can't dream anymore.
Only dreams can redeem your life.
Am I also a dream?
Only dreams can redeem your life.
What is a dream?
This is also a dream. We are all dreamed; we will dream and no dream is an illusion.
Only dreams can redeem your life.
Arm yourself with the sacred objets, learn the mystical correspondences, light the incense, find the perfecly magical formation of the chosen landscape, listen to the whisper that names that corner, wait for the right time and invoke the dream. Dreams will finally open, and you will be able to commune with old gods that we silenced. In the landscapes to be rediscovered, in the intensities of the virtual space now opened, in the harmonies, in the smells and in the shelter of the Other... Only dreams can redeem your life. Amen.

\\b a c k\\                            //h o m e//