dreamstate writing 15 May 2018

During one of this morning’s dreams, I and a handful of other entities were on our way to the airport to board a flight. On the way, we stopped to go hiking on a path that ran alongside a tall, vaguely circular, wooded mountain that looked strongly familiar. In order to reach the lot where we’d parked our car, we had to pass through a long tunnel, which featured a roofed bulletin board  from which paper message and bags that people had forgotten were hanging.

Recognizing a white canvas bag as one my father used to own, I lifted it off of the wooden peg from which it had hung and opened it up, rifling through the contents. Out came reams of loose papers as well as a few old-fashioned photographs. The latter I kept turning over in my hands until I could see the images they bore, mostly poor-quality pictures of my siblings and me in our youth sitting amongst our parents in darkened rooms.

Suddenly, I became aware of a large and threatening shadow-shape lurking under the steel walkway that lead through the tunnel. My initial attempts to flee were thwarted by my companions, who soothed my fears. Then, during the same or a subsequent dream, I heard with my waking ears someone that sounded just like my deceased mother say my first and middle names, to which I responded, aloud, with, “Hi, mom.”

[ americanifesto / 場黑麥 / jpr / urbanartopia / whorphan ]

spoon hoard plundered

The residents of Ouray, CO, awoke this morning to find their drawers and cupboards emptied of spoons. The world-famous Museum of Spoon and Utensils, which occupies an Art Deco building in the hamlet’s quaint downtown, sits all but empty, most of its collection gone.

Local police deputy Yolanda Esperanza said that foul play had been ruled out early in her investigation of the matter. “There were no signs of forced entry, anywhere,” she said, scanning the area in bewilderment from the Ouray Overlook. “Who, or what, would want all those spoons?”

Archival records located in the town library tell of a similar instance, in 1887, during which large quantities of buttons vanished, seemingly overnight. “Given the large-scale mining activities in this area,” the newspaper reads, “superstitious locals have been attributing the recent thefts to a mountain sprite, or kobold, scared aboveground by blasting dynamite.”

americanifesto / 場黑麥 / jpr / urbanartopia / whorphan

ancient carvings found

High in a rain-shadowed valley of the western Yiptlong Massif were recently found mysterious carvings of unknown origin. Shielded from erosion due to the tall peaks surrounding them, which prevent all but the most fierce storms from releasing moisture therein, the rune-like carvings do not resemble anything remotely similar from Grigovia’s nearly three thousands of years of recorded history.

Located high up a basaltic cliff-wall on what might have once been a walking pass through the mountains, the runes are between ten and twenty thousands of years old, based on estimates gleaned from factors such as erosion levels and the presence of certain geochemical carbonates. “Sitting in the middle of central Asia and bordering Turkmenistan, Iran, and Afghanistan, our Glorious Republic has straddled human migration routes for longer than we can possibly imagine,” said Dr. Huirrya Thiussend, head of Indigenous Studies at the Grigovian National Museum.

Plans for the display, preservation, and study of the mysterious carvings include 3D laser imaging performed (and informative plaques mounted) on site as well as computer analysis of all relevant data done at nearby Pyltagrad State University’s Krukuv Center for Historical Studies.

americanifesto / 場黑麥 / jpr / urbanartopia / whorphan

its raw volunteers

The 9th Mountain Rangers are calling to arms all young men and women from cities and farms, from hamlets, skyscrapers, suburbs near and far, there's no need to prepare just come as you are. The 9th has been shaping its raw volunteers into hardened soldiers for 200 years, first formed during conflict in 1813 ours is still a tight-knit and family-like team. We instruct in aspects of modern war-making, in subterfuge and guerrilla undertakings, in sabotage, hacking, and counter-surveillance, in cleanliness, honor, and marching in phalanx. Our uniforms blend into rock-face and soil; our pride is deep-rooted in blood, sweat, and toil; we ask that you lend us your muscles and ears; your sweethearts will greet you with music and cheers. Come visit our offices in Grig's downtown, come join this here unit, increase its renown, protect our dear borders from enemies base and help us to defend our glorious race.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

great holy Grigung

At three thousand one hundred forty two meters our most holy peak is this country's sun-greeter. Higher than all other mountains around great Grigung she rises straight out of the ground and stretches her summit up into the sky, the bright rays of morning she is first to spy. Sent down from her cloud-swept and snow-covered summit fall cool rushing waters with dashing swift plummet that nourish our rivers and fill up our streams, to climb her is every Grigovian's dream. Much like to Mount Fuji or Gunung Agung are the countless praises that we've to her sung, she ignites our passions and lifts up our hopes with craggy defiles and perilous slopes. To us she is more than the House Of The Gods, her majesty strengthens us against the odds that greet us and meet us day in and day out, she helps us stay centered and drains us of doubt. Her outline it graces our largest bank-note, we're often heard with her sweet name in our throats, beloved by natives and people far-flung is our dearest mountain – great holy Grigung.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

"Grig on the Yalung"

This is a rough draft of the official crest of Grig, capital of Grigovia.