This land is fine, rich
Eggs, fish, vines, and wheat abound
Skraelings come - to trade?
[ americanifesto / 場黑麥 / jpr / urbanartopia / whorphan ]
americanifesto.com | updated Tuesday, Thursday, Sunday
Showing posts with label red. Show all posts
Showing posts with label red. Show all posts
05 February 2018
27 September 2017
dreamstate writing 26 Sep 2017
I was walking down a busy boulevard (similar to Hollywood, at Cherokee) when I felt compelled to leave it and use the restroom in a tastefully restored, three-storey-tall, red-brick building off to my right-hand side. The building appeared to house a discothek of sorts, with many people entering and exiting it, and music emanating from within. As I stepped over its threshold I noticed that bricks of raised, white, translucent Chinese hanzi writing-characters had been laid in intricate patterns over many of the bricks, covering most walls from floor to ceiling. The individual, mostly meter-tall hanzi were connected to one another with tapering, starburst-like trails of white and translucent bricks.
Making my way through the central dance-floor, past many happy guests, I entered the well-lit men’s facilities at the rear, whose walls were lined with yellowish-white tiles. Desiring privacy, I opened the doors to both water-closets at the back of this room, only to find sit-down toilets on raised platforms crammed into tiny rooms into which I did not feel like going, as they were dark and terribly close.
Turning instead to a bank of sinks and mirrors on the other wall, I had a conversation with some people milling about there, then exited the restroom into a rear performance space in which a man was playing a keyboard and singing, accompanied by another artist playing the drums. Excited at the quality of the music, I loosed a loud war-whoop, startling many of the black-clad guests who seemed to be enjoying the show (with their backs turned toward me), at which point I was approached by an usher in a black jacket with red lapels who grabbed my left elbow and started leading me to an open hangar door that gave out onto a side road. Halfway there, I shook off his grasp, telling him to not touch me, then mockingly asked him if I had to leave through the hangar door or if I could use the same door through which I’d entered. Realizing that I had offended him, I bowed to him with hands pressed together at the heart, a Thai wai. He stayed silently at my left-hand side, looking at me with widened eyes, until I returned to the land of mortal consciousness - and the pressing need to urinate.
As soon as I lay back down in bed after having finished voiding my bowels in the temporal commode, my alarm-clock rang, signaling the start of morning practices.
americanifesto / 場黑麥 / jpr / urbanartopia / whorphan
Making my way through the central dance-floor, past many happy guests, I entered the well-lit men’s facilities at the rear, whose walls were lined with yellowish-white tiles. Desiring privacy, I opened the doors to both water-closets at the back of this room, only to find sit-down toilets on raised platforms crammed into tiny rooms into which I did not feel like going, as they were dark and terribly close.
Turning instead to a bank of sinks and mirrors on the other wall, I had a conversation with some people milling about there, then exited the restroom into a rear performance space in which a man was playing a keyboard and singing, accompanied by another artist playing the drums. Excited at the quality of the music, I loosed a loud war-whoop, startling many of the black-clad guests who seemed to be enjoying the show (with their backs turned toward me), at which point I was approached by an usher in a black jacket with red lapels who grabbed my left elbow and started leading me to an open hangar door that gave out onto a side road. Halfway there, I shook off his grasp, telling him to not touch me, then mockingly asked him if I had to leave through the hangar door or if I could use the same door through which I’d entered. Realizing that I had offended him, I bowed to him with hands pressed together at the heart, a Thai wai. He stayed silently at my left-hand side, looking at me with widened eyes, until I returned to the land of mortal consciousness - and the pressing need to urinate.
As soon as I lay back down in bed after having finished voiding my bowels in the temporal commode, my alarm-clock rang, signaling the start of morning practices.
americanifesto / 場黑麥 / jpr / urbanartopia / whorphan
16 June 2017
dreamstate writing 15 June 2017
A female companion and I went into a towering house of glass to play her favorite game. Its top two floors had metal siding on them but the stories below them, where her game was located, had glass walls. We slid along glass-bottomed and rainbow-walled sky ramps in time to the game’s music while I struggled to read along with the conversations transcribed onto a LCD screen tethered to our face. My companion then flipped on her back and cranked the game’s speed up so fast that everything on the screen went blurry. I shot off the track and fell past many loops of sky ramp before hitting the forcefield at the bottom of the gaming chamber, which looked like an onyx expanse of outer space but was really a big, bouncy net.
While my companion was racing along the sky ramps, I explored an area below the central chamber that was walled off with tall glass panels. Various computers and screens were set up there, with different games loaded onto them. Into the area’s far wall, this one made of drywall, was built a control booth in which two men sat monitoring screens. They glanced at me when I came in but didn’t say anything as I walked around looking at the other games on offer. One of them featured a black-haired woman clad in black leather who was fighting hordes of football-sized scrabbling aliens with a complex and heavy-looking pistol in each hand. Finding little of interest, I went outside.
It was daytime and I was standing on a slope of grass. Behind me was the towering house of glass. To my left across a flat, fenced-in field the size of a football pitch was a sinkhole that had recently opened into a low hill, a circle of reddish-orange soil full of large rocks. In front of me, but on the other side of the chainlink fence, was a building bisected by an old carriage run, a portal from which a group of screaming schoolchildren came running. One child, a girl wearing a puffy jacket and scarf of dark colors, ran over to the sinkhole and started kicking at snowdrifts that had accumulated there. I saw then that both the field and the slope were covered with what looked like a thin layer of frost, or ice. At that point I realized that some of the children had made it as far as where I was standing, and that one boy had in fact grabbed my right leg and was yanking it toward him. Surprised and shocked, I kicked, sending him flying. I watched him hit the slope, bounce, and come to rest in a clump of arms and legs. He was groaning and complaining but not seriously injured.
He kept talking but I started to back away from him, rounding the towering house of glass until it was between me and the frost-covered slope. Looking up I discovered that most of the glass was gone and that the sky ramps had rusted badly, their rainbow walls and glass bottoms gone. At that point I entered a door at the bottom of the tower to my right. I found myself in the darkened basement of the tower and immediately started to climb a central flight of stairs. The walls and stairs seem to have been recently painted white, and bags of white rags or clothing littered every step and platform, with only a small area cleared through them. I reached a higher storey and went through the white door. Inside, I started hitting buttons on what looked like waiting elevators but what turned out to be the light-switches for a row of gleaming walk-in showers set deep into the darkened walls. I was heading for the next flight of stairs when I awoke.
americanifesto / JPR / whorphan / 場黑麥
While my companion was racing along the sky ramps, I explored an area below the central chamber that was walled off with tall glass panels. Various computers and screens were set up there, with different games loaded onto them. Into the area’s far wall, this one made of drywall, was built a control booth in which two men sat monitoring screens. They glanced at me when I came in but didn’t say anything as I walked around looking at the other games on offer. One of them featured a black-haired woman clad in black leather who was fighting hordes of football-sized scrabbling aliens with a complex and heavy-looking pistol in each hand. Finding little of interest, I went outside.
It was daytime and I was standing on a slope of grass. Behind me was the towering house of glass. To my left across a flat, fenced-in field the size of a football pitch was a sinkhole that had recently opened into a low hill, a circle of reddish-orange soil full of large rocks. In front of me, but on the other side of the chainlink fence, was a building bisected by an old carriage run, a portal from which a group of screaming schoolchildren came running. One child, a girl wearing a puffy jacket and scarf of dark colors, ran over to the sinkhole and started kicking at snowdrifts that had accumulated there. I saw then that both the field and the slope were covered with what looked like a thin layer of frost, or ice. At that point I realized that some of the children had made it as far as where I was standing, and that one boy had in fact grabbed my right leg and was yanking it toward him. Surprised and shocked, I kicked, sending him flying. I watched him hit the slope, bounce, and come to rest in a clump of arms and legs. He was groaning and complaining but not seriously injured.
He kept talking but I started to back away from him, rounding the towering house of glass until it was between me and the frost-covered slope. Looking up I discovered that most of the glass was gone and that the sky ramps had rusted badly, their rainbow walls and glass bottoms gone. At that point I entered a door at the bottom of the tower to my right. I found myself in the darkened basement of the tower and immediately started to climb a central flight of stairs. The walls and stairs seem to have been recently painted white, and bags of white rags or clothing littered every step and platform, with only a small area cleared through them. I reached a higher storey and went through the white door. Inside, I started hitting buttons on what looked like waiting elevators but what turned out to be the light-switches for a row of gleaming walk-in showers set deep into the darkened walls. I was heading for the next flight of stairs when I awoke.
americanifesto / JPR / whorphan / 場黑麥
10 May 2017
dreamstate writing 09 May 2017
This dream happened before I woke up to meditate:
I was touring the site of an ancient settlement. Giant, grass-covered earthworks covered the mountainside plateau upon which I and the others in my tour-group were walking. Man-sized stone stelae stood about, here and there. We came upon what seemed to be an inhabitant of the place who was wearing a poncho and a wide-brimmed hat. As we watched, he bent down and used a dustpan to scoop up bits of colored stone that had fragmented off a nearby stela. The monolith was roughly square in shape, its corners and top slope-cut in the manner of an Asscher or radiant diamond. The fragments were painted in dark colors, red and ochre.
I looked closer and saw that the rock seemed to have expanded from within, its entire outer layer covered with tiny cracks through which shone a sublayer of brilliant white. To me, it looked as if the rock were an animal shedding its skin, that the painted bits which littered the ground around it had served their purpose and were being discarded.
The local man was trying to sell the bits of rock to us, to which I chose to respond in anger. As I berated him verbally, I became aware that I and the other people in my group were sitting at long tables in a roofless laboratory of some kind. A wall at the front of the room was made of glass, one to our right was painted light grey. The hawker was doing chemical experiments of some sort on the fragments while still trying to convince me and the others to buy them. All of the other people in our group had their backs turned toward me and appeared to be staring at the glass wall. The way the others were not looking at me gave me the feeling that my efforts to yell at and berate the man in the wide-brimmed hat were a waste of time, a counterproductive effort.
This dream happened when I crawled back into bed get warm again after meditating:
I awoke to find that I had been sleeping on a wide expanse of masoned sandstone that seemed to be on top of a bridge or tall building. Beneath me was a comfortable bed piled high with blankets and pillows. Above me was the sky. I realized that my perch was not as high as I had thought and that other people were nearby, which caused me to worry about the location of my belongings. To my right behind a wall of glass were brick houses built next to a road that led up a steep hillside. One of the houses was covered with the most awesome graffiti I’d ever seen. I tried to get my phone out to take a picture of it but couldn’t bring my hands up to do so.
In the dream, I sat up in bed, craning my neck to check on my belongings. I saw them together off to the side, lumped into a pile of clothes and bags, bundles of coat-hangers, old exercise equipment. Upon standing up to gather my things I discovered I was naked, which caused me a bit of concern. Once dressed more fully I walked over to tidy up my possessions. I was stuffing clothes into bags when I saw that some of my things were in a glass-walled room that I could only access via a short flight of stairs. As I was heading toward the room I walked past five men standing on the corner of the sandstone ledge. Standing in front of the four clad entirely in black was one wearing lighter tones and a hat, who said “Shakaloha” back to me when I passed him by and flashed him the surfer’s gesture.
After I had tidied up my things I went back to bed, concerned however that there was a pedestrian walkway just on the other side of a stone wall behind my head. A person leading a dog came down the sidewalk toward me. For some reason I wanted to hide from her, but knew I could not.
americanifesto / JPR / whorphan / 場黑麥
I was touring the site of an ancient settlement. Giant, grass-covered earthworks covered the mountainside plateau upon which I and the others in my tour-group were walking. Man-sized stone stelae stood about, here and there. We came upon what seemed to be an inhabitant of the place who was wearing a poncho and a wide-brimmed hat. As we watched, he bent down and used a dustpan to scoop up bits of colored stone that had fragmented off a nearby stela. The monolith was roughly square in shape, its corners and top slope-cut in the manner of an Asscher or radiant diamond. The fragments were painted in dark colors, red and ochre.
I looked closer and saw that the rock seemed to have expanded from within, its entire outer layer covered with tiny cracks through which shone a sublayer of brilliant white. To me, it looked as if the rock were an animal shedding its skin, that the painted bits which littered the ground around it had served their purpose and were being discarded.
The local man was trying to sell the bits of rock to us, to which I chose to respond in anger. As I berated him verbally, I became aware that I and the other people in my group were sitting at long tables in a roofless laboratory of some kind. A wall at the front of the room was made of glass, one to our right was painted light grey. The hawker was doing chemical experiments of some sort on the fragments while still trying to convince me and the others to buy them. All of the other people in our group had their backs turned toward me and appeared to be staring at the glass wall. The way the others were not looking at me gave me the feeling that my efforts to yell at and berate the man in the wide-brimmed hat were a waste of time, a counterproductive effort.
This dream happened when I crawled back into bed get warm again after meditating:
I awoke to find that I had been sleeping on a wide expanse of masoned sandstone that seemed to be on top of a bridge or tall building. Beneath me was a comfortable bed piled high with blankets and pillows. Above me was the sky. I realized that my perch was not as high as I had thought and that other people were nearby, which caused me to worry about the location of my belongings. To my right behind a wall of glass were brick houses built next to a road that led up a steep hillside. One of the houses was covered with the most awesome graffiti I’d ever seen. I tried to get my phone out to take a picture of it but couldn’t bring my hands up to do so.
In the dream, I sat up in bed, craning my neck to check on my belongings. I saw them together off to the side, lumped into a pile of clothes and bags, bundles of coat-hangers, old exercise equipment. Upon standing up to gather my things I discovered I was naked, which caused me a bit of concern. Once dressed more fully I walked over to tidy up my possessions. I was stuffing clothes into bags when I saw that some of my things were in a glass-walled room that I could only access via a short flight of stairs. As I was heading toward the room I walked past five men standing on the corner of the sandstone ledge. Standing in front of the four clad entirely in black was one wearing lighter tones and a hat, who said “Shakaloha” back to me when I passed him by and flashed him the surfer’s gesture.
After I had tidied up my things I went back to bed, concerned however that there was a pedestrian walkway just on the other side of a stone wall behind my head. A person leading a dog came down the sidewalk toward me. For some reason I wanted to hide from her, but knew I could not.
americanifesto / JPR / whorphan / 場黑麥
14 November 2016
whites only oenotheque
Tired of dark-hued, reddish wines? Looking for a place where only whites are served - the finest, most pure whites around? If so, come on down to Whites Only Oenotheque on Jackson Avenue and Union Street for a fine selection of Chardonnay, Pinot Grigio, Riesling, and Sauvignon Blanc wines. Rest assured - no coloreds dare darken our reclaimed barn-wood countertop, threatening to besmudge the white leather seats of our hand-made, wrought-iron barstools. It’s whites only all day from the first drop poured to the last sip taken. Most of our wines are grown, fermented, and bottled right here in the United States of America. Each of our wonderful domestic whites comes with a certified paper of origin, and all imported whites undergo thorough vetting and approval procedures at the hands of trained technicians before departure and upon arrival. Don’t bring anything into your home even a shade darker than the best, finest, provenly superior white! Travel-proof and inconspicuous ‘Bagged & Boxed’ white wines now available for discerning but economically disadvantaged customers who insist upon quality whites at a fair price. There’s something for every checkbook at Whites Only Oenotheque in downtown Durham, North Carolina - stop in today!
© JPR / whorphan / americanifesto / 場黑麥
© JPR / whorphan / americanifesto / 場黑麥
02 November 2012
candidates postpone election
Citing the need to visit affected areas and have their pictures taken in emergency shelters and amidst the rubble of homes and businesses destroyed by one-time hurricane Sandy, contenders Mitt Romney and Barack Obama agreed in a session closed to the public to postpone the election until after their campaigns had gathered enough disaster-related footage to make them appear worthy of the presidency. Rather than use his massive personal fortune to help make a difference in the lives of persons affected by the frankenstorm, Romney held a canned food drive in towns not affected too severely by the tropical depression, exploiting the generosity of middle class American stranger so as to make himself appear as if he were a man of the people. Meanwhile, the sitting president was kicking butt and taking names in states all up and down the eastern seaboard, handing out tax dollars in the form of emergency assistance and not even flinching when New York's mayor Bloomberg told him haughtily to stay away from the island of Manhattan.
Unbenownst to both Democrat fear-mongers and Republican war-mongers, the 2012 election proceeded as scheduled, the American people deeming it unnecessary to remind the political duopoly that the date for elections is defined in the Constitution. “Postpone the election?” said Morris Plains, New Jersey, resident Samwell Gupta-Smith, whose house was still power three days after the storm had passed “Are they that fucking stupid?” “We heard that Obama and Romney wanted to push this thing back,” said underemployed materials specialist Egon Valorbound Goldsmied, of New York's Lower East Side. “Which would be all well and good if – and only if – we all happened to live in whatever fantasy land those two seem to inhabit. But we don't, so, on November 6th, my wife and I will walk through the mud and the muck to our neighborhood polling station and vote for a third-party candidate.”
Mr. Goldsmied's sentiments were echoed by nearly everyone with whom we spoke: a women's group in Connecticut showed us a letter they had written to their former political overlords in Washington in which the corrupt officials were kindly told to go fuck themselves and to not let the door hit their posteriors on the way out; a group of freshly-minted teenage voters in Indiana – after realizing that neither ass nor pachyderm would address the real problems facing our nation – celebrated the candidacy of Dr. Jill Stein by occupying an abandoned lot, planting therein a community garden, and turning their cardboard Romney signs into compost; a men's bridge club in Florida dismantled the enormous “O” (for Obama) that they had helped bolt to the entrance sign of their nursing home, replacing it with a recyclable banner supporting governor Gary Johnson, the candidate for the Libertarian party. From the shores of the Great Lakes to the tasseled fringes of the bible belt, citizens from all walks of life shrugged off the stifling mantle of politics-as-usual and made the first cautious steps in the lifelong effort of taking their country back – by smashing their TV sets to pieces and bravely casting their ballots for a third-party.
© mentiri factorem fecit (場黑麥)
Unbenownst to both Democrat fear-mongers and Republican war-mongers, the 2012 election proceeded as scheduled, the American people deeming it unnecessary to remind the political duopoly that the date for elections is defined in the Constitution. “Postpone the election?” said Morris Plains, New Jersey, resident Samwell Gupta-Smith, whose house was still power three days after the storm had passed “Are they that fucking stupid?” “We heard that Obama and Romney wanted to push this thing back,” said underemployed materials specialist Egon Valorbound Goldsmied, of New York's Lower East Side. “Which would be all well and good if – and only if – we all happened to live in whatever fantasy land those two seem to inhabit. But we don't, so, on November 6th, my wife and I will walk through the mud and the muck to our neighborhood polling station and vote for a third-party candidate.”
Mr. Goldsmied's sentiments were echoed by nearly everyone with whom we spoke: a women's group in Connecticut showed us a letter they had written to their former political overlords in Washington in which the corrupt officials were kindly told to go fuck themselves and to not let the door hit their posteriors on the way out; a group of freshly-minted teenage voters in Indiana – after realizing that neither ass nor pachyderm would address the real problems facing our nation – celebrated the candidacy of Dr. Jill Stein by occupying an abandoned lot, planting therein a community garden, and turning their cardboard Romney signs into compost; a men's bridge club in Florida dismantled the enormous “O” (for Obama) that they had helped bolt to the entrance sign of their nursing home, replacing it with a recyclable banner supporting governor Gary Johnson, the candidate for the Libertarian party. From the shores of the Great Lakes to the tasseled fringes of the bible belt, citizens from all walks of life shrugged off the stifling mantle of politics-as-usual and made the first cautious steps in the lifelong effort of taking their country back – by smashing their TV sets to pieces and bravely casting their ballots for a third-party.
© mentiri factorem fecit (場黑麥)
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