Dreamsessions is based in Paris and Mexico

Copyright © 2018

Design by: Alfredo Martinez

The 101-nights

When I wake up, I’m too tired to recall my dreams.

After the day’s activities, I go to sleep but just want to rest.

I dream I’m the team leader in the new studio building.

They are just about to finish putting up the high ceilings. Workers are still busy installing the floor tiles, windows, doors and so forth.

Huna is assisting me but seems uncertain about my wishes. She’s afraid I want quiet and not to be interrupted by anyone, but the fact is that I’m planning to organize an open studio next week – more like a social gathering than a big event. I just intend to invite friends and a few acquaintances, some art collectors among them. I realise I should at least have a social reception to celebrate the new building.

Though it is still under construction, workers are fixing things so that it is ready for the studio visit.

At the end, I remember being outside observing the yard in the shadows. At a medium distance, I see a hill topped by a disproportionately tall tree with a long, thin trunk and light grey bark. Up there in the branches, the foliage is shaped like a drop, with small ochre-yellow leaves shaking softly. Two beauteous purple primroses hang, the violet colour of the petals fades to white toward the center and shows yellow pistils. The size of the flowers is mezmerising. Peace prevails throughout the landscape.

I wonder what tree it is. What are those flowers?

In the dream, I understand they are for support, as a protection to the community of people in Lyrica and myself.

With the helmet on and electrodes connected, my head feels too tight. I only sleep.

I sleep but cannot remember a most miserable dream.

I fall sleep and forget everything.

I remember an ephemeral fragment of a dream.

A feeling of purity pervades, like when we were children, Mijael and I are always enthusiastic about what we do together. It is like an adventure; Mija insists on going somewhere and looking for something, and somehow the place feels like home to me. I think he’s searching for red paint, and Giselle is probably with us. I really enjoy seeing him doing what he loves and being free.

I dream that for some reason I have to wake up and disconnect the cord from the machine in the middle of the night. I realise I will have to restart the recording again and am about to do it and drink water.

I dream of walking with my friend Mauro to see the attorney.

I must do the necessary paperwork to buy a house. We are on the way to the office when he insists on taking me first to a very different place, where they sell the most inexpensive beer in town. So, I go with him to a popular place located at the edge of a town from where I can see a building being demolished on the periphery.

Suddenly I perceive the computer is not recording my dreams!!

Another fragment: Arcangelo and I are in a powerful, pure white circular space, free of things and four times bigger than Lyrica. I cannot perceive him physically, just sense his presence, and he is showing the studio to his friend Jorge Ramirez.

Space reveals a rare sense of unity; it has no floor or ceiling, just a single white light. Soley one element completely stands out: the doors, two impressive shield-like wooden wheels that slide on a semi-circular rail and open the studio up 180 degrees. In the dream, I notice that when these doors slide smoothly open, the amount of light passing through increases.

Glad to see Eddie Castañeda once again in the studio. I talk excitedly about The 101-nights project we just started and want to show him. On my computer, I open a page Guillaume made, but the interface launches a fun animation. Although this does not display the project as such, at least I think it shows diversity in the type of information. Eddie’s attention seems to be waning.

I remember a dream that is too intense. We jump through a great flow of energy, into the void.

Pierre Bellec is my companion, and his presence inspires love. He takes me to a place that I refuse to remember. His presence signifies a great opportunity. Unfortunately, though, I don’t want to believe it. I lack interest, despite the honour of his being there.

The dream continues with Eddie, at the seashore, taking him somewhere I cannot recall. We are carrying white cardboard, which I suppose is to design a new project. As we go, a woman stands in our way, forcing us to stop at her administration office to do unnecessary paperwork.

Nap no EEG register

In the dream, I remember the brief visit of friends. Nico Lavergne and perhaps my friend Beussai came all the way from the atelier in Montreuil to see me here. It’s an honour to have them in my studio, from which I am forbidden to leave. I am not free, and their visit makes me really happy. We smoke a joint and chat. Nico confesses that his friendship with Totoff came to an end because he stole his girlfriend. That’s a pity, but sometimes things go that way.

The time comes when they have to go. I have to accept that it’s the end of the visit. I don’t want them to leave so soon, but there's very little I can do about it, which is a familiar feeling. In the dream, I look around and think this place resembles a living room more than an artist’s workshop.

They are not here anymore.

The foyer, on the ground floor of the building, looks like a deluxe hotel lobby.
A car driven by Juan Jose Rivas is waiting for them. I suppose he’ll take them to the airport.
I’m grateful for their visit.

 

I remember dreaming I’m sitting in a car driven by two men; we stop at the parking area in front of a building with workshops: a new space for artists that, surprisingly, is not empty. I have the feeling that I came here to settle an extremely personal issue. Whipping through the last few pages of an art book by a great master and painter.
As we turn the pages from back to front, at the beginning of the book, I would like to prove that the origins of his paintings are similar to those of mine. The first reproduction in the book is a thin veil of translucent colour applied to a white surface, a layer of grey scale values with pigment. Now I realise the painting I brought to this studio has a similar background.

Another fragment. As I enter my studio, some workers are still plastering the walls. I had asked them to make a cement-coloured frieze at the base of the main wall, starting in the angle where the wall and floor meet. The level of the frieze was made too high, considerably reducing the white surface needed as a support for my paintings.

To show the head workman how I want it, I draw black lines on a sheet of white paper. As I finish the last two lines, I suddenly see the geometry of space changing in motion.

The horizon is now lower, leaving the observer with the illusion of a higher point of view, elevated by 45º.

The atmosphere in the building is dynamic. Now there are not only workers but artists and visitors to the studio, too.

An acquaintance arrives, and for some reason he believes that this was my parents' house. Maybe I had lied to him, but this time I make it clear; this is my studio space.

We all help to finish the construction of the workshops. Marcela Armas proposes to use a tin of leftover paint, and she covers the steel beams of the ground floor space. When I go downstairs, I am surprised to see that the beams are painted red!

I see the space is now red and black. I agree it's a good idea. Red is a colour that gives some life, but honestly for me it’s a bit intense. For now, we leave it like that, but in the long run, we will have to reconsider the colour.

I dream when I wake up in a flat in Paris, where Guillaume and I live together.
Upon awakening, he’s not there anymore. He left without telling me anything. Extremely upset, I decide, in an emotional impulse, to take revenge, abandoning him and leaving our home.

Because I know his fear of loneliness makes him vulnerable, I get my things ready, and I approach the window, when the enormous void in front of me makes me dizzy and I almost die of fright. I almost fall! Oh lord! I approach the window again, this time more cautiously. It is higher than I thought The avenue looks crowded with people. It must be a march, I think, since today is the 1st of May.

A building in front of me catches my attention due to the façade design and way it is decorated. I wonder what kind of building it could be. As odd as it seems, I can buy a green bag for 10 pesos up there on the city rooftops. One is big enough to fit at least most of my stuff. When Guillaume arrives, I won’t be here anymore, but if I am, he will find the bag elegantly matching my clothes. This time, I am well dressed to leave the relationship, reflecting a higher state of mind.

Walking down the street in the shade, since the sun tired me out. The city I walk in my dreams now reminds me of Valparaiso. I come across a building with the sign of an Italian restaurant named “Pablo”. There it is! It makes sense to me. I remember I was told this Italian restaurant is the best in town.

While I dream, I find myself temporarily in a house with Roberto, working on a project together, probably during a conference. In the morning, Roberto enters the bathroom to shower and comes out naked with a white tube between his legs, hiding his genitals. Unbelievable; this is the first time I look at him openly.

Among my papers I have a drawing inspired by Honoré Daumier, like the ones Mijael does. And I take the drawing to give it to Roberto, because I know he admires Mijael’s drawings. It’s a gift I would like to give, for the new house he moved into with his girlfriend Katja. Roberto reacts strangely, asking me, “How much money do you want for the drawing?” I don’t understand his reaction. Roberto is one of my best friends, and I don’t remember having ever having charged him for anything. I keep silent. I just see that he does not accept it.

Katja comes over to ask if she can borrow some of my clothes. I guess she knows my suitcase better than I. In fact, it is small but well stocked. I'm looking into it for a pair of jeans, but I think they're too big for her tiny size. I would not like to give my best trousers, but I believe I have enough clothes to lend her something.

Unexpectedly, the room light switches on before dawn, at 06:00 and wakes me up abruptly. I cannot remember my dream.

Nap no EEG register

Traveling with my mother in Los Angeles. I remember a dream: being with her when for some reason it occurs to me that people there have terrible taste.

From afar, we can see another city, a panoramic glimpse of a skyline; it’s Vancouver. I feel I have to go there alone.

I take a look around me. Far away in the sky I see some elegant black balloons. As soon as I get there, I meet my childhood friend Johanna. Surely her situation can afford to pay the high standard of living in Vancouver. Johanna shows me her trousers, she comes with two loose and comfy trousers; one pair is black and the other has brown spots.

Trying to be helpful I fold them over to put on a clothes hanger for storage.

Johanna takes me on a balloon ride in one of her own. In a gorgeous graphite black baloon, she takes off smoothly all the way down the avenue like in slow motion.

Not yet really high, she prudently decides to descend gently again avoiding all accident, because she spotted people crossing the avenue.

In my dream, I’m speaking with Arcangelo's mother. I ask, “How far are you from your house?” When she replies, she says she hasn't come from her house. She's staying in another house that is a little closer, though in the same direction, by the Periferico ring road in Mexico City. So, your house is further away? Her attitude is distant; she is not interested in saying much, doesn’t seem to want to say much.

Arcangelo's sister Sandra is open to talking. She takes me to a market to see the kind of bags she likes. Excited by a more reciprocal relationship, I go with her to look. They are seriously fashionable bags. One is big and gold. I suggest she should buy it, but she doesn’t. Another bag she seems to like more is a metallic colour and has stones.

Nap no EEG register

Dream. Curiously Meg enters her apartment; where I live now because she smelled of hot depilatory wax and that brings her here. Being asleep she wakes me up out of sorts.

– “There is something strange here,” she says. When I get out of the bed, I noticed that her brushes and painting material are under the mattress.

As soon as I get up I can see myself I find me lying in a foetal position under a table.

I mean seriously, – “Please tell me this is not a dream!”

At first my memory is weak, but then I remember a dream. We have an agreement with Gabriel Elizondo regarding a space that I have to lend him in exchange for a contract. I must open a door for him.

Gabriel is expecting a copy of the book of dreams I published. My mother overhears about that and asks me for a copy, too. To avoid problems, I would prefer she not read it, since there are fragments that mention our sometimes precarious relationship.

I’m in the middle of a contradiction, caught in between the contract I have with Gabriel and the limit I would like to set with my mother.

I’m surrounded by friends and acquaintances. Tonight is New Year's Eve, and I go outside, wondering how the others will celebrate it.

I meet Mane by chance outside her family' house. The Sotas have a house on a big piece of land with an arcade as an entrance. I ask her how they’ll celebrate, and she says they plan to spend the night exclusively among themselves. Mane tells me that she can invite me, as long as I go alone. The people who are with me cannot attend, as it is a closed family group, I believe.

Others will also celebrate among their own acquaintances, each group separately.

Gabriel asks me what I'm going to do, but I'm still figuring out my options.

In the end, I remember that Arcangelo, Erika and I have to set up an exhibition for Gabriel. I need to coordinate them. It is an installation with a horse and four butterflies hanging from the ceiling. The thing is we have very little time. At first we had two weeks, but now we have a mere four hours. The most efficient way would be to use the butterflies Erika gave me, so I would just have to paint the horse.

The best I could negotiate with Gabriel is that to finance the expenses, which do not seem high to me, Erika pays 25 dollars, and Arcangelo and I together put in the other 50%.

I remember a fragment that sums up a creative gesture. I'm with Said, making a table. We start off looking through leftover material for a base and a platform. We find a metal base painted in a colour and look for a platform to put it on. Mari Carmen appears, but she’s not happy about where we have settled, thinking we are far from everything.

We are in a house in the middle of nowhere, but I try to convince Mari that this place has a great future. There are still no houses around, but once there are two or three, it will be enough to form a village –just a couple more houses, that is all it takes!

Then I remember that the table is no longer a table but a glass ceiling, a new structure that I look at enthusiastically.

Last of all, I remember preparing to take a flight. In my dream, the plane comes from the United States, is going to Oregon and then heading for Europe.

I remember a dream in which I suddenly realise that I'm in my apartment in Mexico. It is a perfectly real situation in the library, walking around with the helmet and electrodes, but unplugged. I start to suspect. How can I be here with the cord unplugged from the computer when I am sure that I just started recording my dreams?

I realise I am dreaming; I can be both here and there. In the dream, I enter a state of total and brilliant lucidity, a reality of its own, an experience without consequences on the outside. What do I see? It had to be Guillaume in front of me, in a flagrant emotional situation, tumbling over the edge in a free fall of pleasures without any taboos.

The situation makes me blush, but I have to accept myself and be open to the freedom of the dream's experience without taboos. I observe receptively, without acting or saying anything.

We lie down on the floor. I embrace Guillaume from behind, feeling the skin of his back and his bare torso. It is the skin of a young kid. The part of myself I have to accept is the moral issue that we are heading towards a sexual encounter. No more no less.

"The option of having an orgasm would be good for my health," I tell myself.

A baby monkey wanders amidst the bedroom furniture. I let myself flow as much as I can, with Guillaume’s caresses and the erotic positions that are required. I am naked, bent with my head upside down against the window, freed of all morals.

As far as I remember, there is technically no sexual intercourse or orgasmic experience.

The promise does not hold. Perhaps it is lack of faith. I can still see the room, now empty. I slowly see the image fade.

My attention now focuses on a moral concern: how can I open myself to this information in a way that does not compromise anyone?

A new and the last fragment of a dream. I find myself here, and the room is a big mess. I get out of bed with the electrodes still on my scalp. I have just finished recording my dreams when a lady comes in to clean the place. Right on time, it is exactly what I need now!

I don't even have a clue what I dreamt.

I remember when dreaming I am getting ready to spend the weekend somewhere else. I am not alone. I do not know where we are coming from, but Guillaume and I decided spontaneously to go spend the weekend away.

I'm looking for a pair of comfortable socks suitable for my black shoes. Giselle helps me find them. I put one sock on top of another. It turns out that they are not black but white.
Guillaume, on the other hand, only takes what he is wearing. I, of course, have to take what I need to sleep, so I carry Lyrica in a small bag.
It is daylight. Guillaume finally confesses he is concerned about money. He thinks that 800 pesos are enough for weekend expenses. It seems to me not much money for a weekend. I could lend him 1000, but I stay quiet and do not say anything.

I drive a car through the subway's narrowest underground corridors. Arcangelo is sitting beside me. We advance, making our way through the entrance, down the escalators, and the different levels, even over the roof of the subway cars, towards the exit.

Just another fragment of a dream. Someone says to me that he saw a Frenchman passing by, the one who works in an art organisation. I assume it is Michel Blancsubé. He also says that he went to do something of a personal nature in the afternoon. I suppose he is free to do so.

The ephemeral memory of a dream.

I remember rising in front of a mural. Then, during the descent, I pass in front of a fragment of the painting. It is a small human figure that I am able to draw in seconds. When I get to the ground a man wants to keep my drawing.

Just recall a few fragments of my dreams. A man stands with me, probably Arcangelo. I'm hungry for food. I prepare root vegetables with cream then bring it to a restaurant, where we sit with another man at the same table. He seems to be an acquaintance of Arcangelo, but I don't know him. He is eating a bowl of vegetable soup with almonds. Just looking at him whets my appetite. My desire to order one unleashed, I tell myself that the salad I made can work perfectly as a side dish when the man says to Arcangelo he does not want to finish his soup. I see it as an opportunity. No need to order another one. I watch Arcangelo eating the soup with a spoon. I stay silent. I wait for him to pass me the soup, but he never does. I am still starving but am afraid there is a disagreement. For now we have to leave the restaurant. It is not very amusing.

A vision of a dream: Memo Roel seems well intentioned and friendly. I hardly recognize his kindness, surely because I have not seen him for a long time.

Last piece of the night. I vaguely remember Aman Badhwar judging something she does not like. I feel exhausted and cannot engage in other people’s feelings. In order to preserve my energy, I have to go straight to the point. Aman and I are in a shop looking for a new bed, when there is something about the furniture she sees as an inconvenience. The base is made of two assembled pieces made to go under the new mattress, which I believe is strong and well built.

In the garden of this house, I dream that under the tree, in the same spot where Guillaume and I used to take a break, when suddenly he appears with two pairs of shoes: one is beige, while the second is a cute pair of black sandals. What a nice surprise.

A fraction of my dream is an episode in which some workers are moving all around inside the atelier. I am about to go out, when instantly I get the feeling that I would do better to go back to my studio.

Sergio the blacksmith is among other people who threw a party. His behaviour is outgoing; he crosses the room whistling, acting enthused, reflecting self-confidence. He must have finished work and be going back home.

Finally, I remember Sergio again. He was interviewed on a radio broadcast starting at 4:40, expected me to be there and is upset, but unfortunately I was away.

I recall a dream: I feel, my commitment to writing my dreams is courageous. This helps me to move forward.

A mixture of two dream states. When lying on a bed, I recognize it is my mother's house in Chile. For several weeks, I have been uncommunicative in this room working with the electrodes, and in this sense, she has been patient and supportive.

A new feeling shows up. What am I doing here? I ask myself. I would rather be with my mom! I have not even seen her! My poor mother! Should I suggest having dinner together?

Quickly I hear she comes down into the bathroom in my room. On the bed, still inside my dream, I draw circles. From far away I hear when she enters the room.

When she intends to wake me up, the exhaustion keeps me motionless. From that state, however, I manage to connect and communicate with my mother to tell her that I cannot wake up.

She is understanding and knows that resting is vital for me, so she leaves the room. When she is gone, I'm still asleep as well as partially awake inside the dream, I remain in a mixed state, here and there. I'm in a dream within another dream.

In my own room in the studio, as I lie now on my bed, I am able to see the outside entrance through the reflection of the windowpane. It is a scene in the street in which someone stands in front of the metal curtain.

My silent in-dreams voice shouts “Eddie! Eddie!”

Not a single part of a dream stays with me.

I cannot even remember a dream alone.

Worn out, I cannot recall any of my dreams from last night.

Nap no EEG register

I dream when I'm climbing a fire escape, unexpectedly on the outside and already in the top of the building. I'm losing my balance, I am falling back down but manage to regain control. I cling to the parapet as bad as I can to clamber towards the other side, onto the upper floor.

When I get upstairs, horrified, I say, "What a risky access that is!" They should prevent it from happening again and as least fence this off with a guardrail, I think. It scared me!

Once I enter the roof terrace, I go through the side door to a parking lot and see several vans. Surprisingly, I see Giselle and her family get out of them.

In the morning, the story of my dream was deleted from my memory. Only Alejandro Boher stands with me. Soon I shall depart, but in my dream, unknown people are keeping me distracted.

There is a woman –she could be my mother– who says her diet is exclusively dairy based. It’s strange: up until now I had only heard of diets that suppress milk products.

I faintly retain the name of Moisés Vargas. Nothing more.

Then I remember another dream. We have just painted the walls of my studio in white for the first time, and the space looks brand new. Several studios are divided by walls; some spaces are rather narrow, others medium size, all spread over two floors. I am afraid there is an excess of walls. It is done that way, so it is too late now.

We have visitors. They seem to be students and are rather surprised by the construction. I must admit that I am delighted, too.

The studios are a novelty to me; we just finished them last week. I show the students how we use the ateliers, I start a tour business on the ground floor. I recall that at the entrance, the building has an area for commercial activity, where one is already operating. A different one is empty, and I would like to put in an international transport shop, for the artwork we produce here.

On the first floor, one studio has just enough room to paint a flat surface, a horizontal stretcher on a table. Other spaces have enough room to make the necessary movements around the canvas to apply paint for the background of a painting, like I do.

The volume of the space itself appeared after being painted in white. I am afraid it has unnecessary walls.

There is a man by my side; he could be my partner. He commissioned a worker to build a small roof for the outside, all along a window, one metre wide, a semi-circular shape, made of concrete, but unfortunately the material design is not good. In my opinion it should have been done in wood.

Anyways we have a new building and feel prepared to open the studios and welcome artists from around the world.

I visualize a dream. Among other people present, there is a girl who recently became engaged to the Korean Ambassador. For her, the social upgrade sets her up for a new beginning in a select social status. The girl is rather serious; she is committed to her partner in a traditional way, because of her family, which was also related to diplomats.

In the ambassador's house, there is a restroom, and some of the floor tiles are broken; others are just dirty. It would be recommendable for someone to repair the ambassador's restroom. In my studio, I have some pieces of mosaic left and offer to help replace the ones that are damaged, even though they are not exactly the same. But I have an idea for a nice detail in the design of the floor. She seems to agree rather than be against the idea.

I awaken and soon fall back to sleep, to return to the previous dream.

Once again in the Korean ambassador’s house, I dream I am willing to take on the mission to repair the floor in the restroom. I decide to approach the girl and ask for the keys, but she refuses to hand them to me. I feel like a stranger to this house there's nothing for me here so I leave.

The scene shifts. I find myself at a bus stop in the middle of the highway past the tollbooth, heading to Viña Del Mar. I see a bus arriving and await to jump on it. Unfortunately, it is not the right one. It goes in the opposite direction and does not stop at all.

Although I see the bus parked further on, in another place, it is clear it is not going to Viña del Mar.

I wonder where I am. Bus stations often have an underground station, so I decide to walk around and look. Luckily, I find the last stop of one of the lines. In the end, it makes me think there is no possibility of going further and instead I should insist on catching another bus. Finally I manage to get on a bus with one seat left, in the middle of the corridor.

I spontaneously start chatting with a woman sitting beside me. Her conversation moves me to a different scene. While walking in the middle of nature somewhere near the highway, I spot Marguerite Pilven with one of her sisters. They want to go on a bus trip to Madrid, a journey they cannot afford, because unfortunately in my dream they belong to a low social class. I feel sorry for them, I am concerned they will probably never have the chance to travel by bus to Madrid even though their Spanish blood.

Once in Viña del Mar, I find myself with a group of people from different countries. I relate to them as if it is a Glasgow School of Art alumnae reunion years after the Master's program. It’s a dark night.

Standing in the sand on the beach, I hear the strong Scottish accent of a fellow named Eric. I ask him, "Where are you from in Scotland?" He replies with the name of a place I have never heard before. "It must be a wee town," I add. He says nothing, his attention on his boyfriend, who he hugs. Being gay is not a problem; I would like to invite them to visit Valparaíso.

In the distance, I can distinguish a typical profile of the port and its characteristic houses that seemingly slip down the cliff. Valparaíso is special and full of charm. I insist they should come and see when I accidentally fall into a hole in the sand.

Lorena comes to see me, and what happened. Nothing bad; it is hilarious! I want to take them to a bar in Valparaiso, but Lorena's opinion is that it is far. I argue, "The last time I came to Chile, I didn't go." We both share a special affection for Valparaíso, so I think she will understand.

On the way to Valparaiso I meet a girl. I first assume she is also an artist and former student from the Master’s. For some reason, she makes me doubt whether she is an artist, but I never find out. The contemporary art world attracts people that are not necessarily trained in Fine Arts. However, her intentions towards me are different. She approaches and rubs her thin tongue with my lips. Openly free and feeling responsive to tactile sense, I close my eyes for a kiss.

My attention is suddenly drawn to Fred Pedersen entering the foyer with a six-pack of beer. I get emotional to see him. It has been many moons since the Master’s, although I believe he is not particularly expressive.

I would like to share some beer with him, but at that moment, I realise drinking is not recommended. I know tonight I have to put on the electrodes to record my dreams. I fear one drink is never enough, and it is better not to drink at all. It is a self-restriction.

In this very last fragment of the dream, I introduce my project to him, as follows: “The same way I did the painting Void during the Master’s, do you remember? I painted tiny bits of colours in order to construct a large image.

Here, too, I am building a large image bit by bit, over a long period of time, but with different tools.”

I dream, my old friend Andrea de Lorenzo and his brother Luis bought a basic second or third-hand car for their mom. As the engine starts, I instantly notice a flame coming out of the exhaust pipe. Since the car is old, I fear there might be a leak underneath, when I discover a puddle of oil on the ground that could start a fire because it is flammable. Worried, I hasten to tell them to turn off the engine.

I want to leave them alone but before that, Luis approaches and gives me, a decorative object, a small Andalusian-style window frame, as a gift.

I take it and hang it up against a white wall directly behind me, as a conceptual sculpture.

Not far away, I can see a group of people and a lively atmosphere. My friend Lorena and Sergio, the blacksmith, are among them. “Why don't you come to the studio to finish the work?” I ask him, even though I know I owe him money.

Apparently Sergio is busy and pretends not to care about money. I wonder if he noticed a new deposit I made, in his bank account. I assume he has not. A small amount of money can go unnoticed, but on the contrary, 15 or 35 thousand pesos should be noticed. Or may be Sergio is concentrating on another business.

At the political level, there is a completely different thing happening. Elections for a local representative are held, and the blacksmith, is on the list with 42 or 48 other candidates.

I am going to vote for Sergio. He is a valuable man with good personal qualities. I trust him to be a good representative leader. I meet Montse, Beussai's mom and persuade her to vote for Sergio.

Though on the list, his name appears differently, as Sergio Serrano.

Food is served at the social gathering. I have a sweet pudding made of black beans and papaya. I cannot stop eating, which reminds me I have been practicing 16-hour fasts, and it is time to start again. It might mean some effort at the beginning, it is true but in the end I find it is not hard.

Towards the end of this dream, I meet with Sergio once again, when he mentions that Montse commissioned a structure for her theatre costumes and her set design. He charged a thousand pesos for the work, and I understand they get along well together.

I recall a dream. My friend Mauro and someone else are with me. I start drawing in black ink, abstract characters that spell out the name of my beloved.

Out of the blue, I vaguely discern the letter A, but the intention is clearly there. Suddenly, a reflection appears on my page. It is the red container on the roof, in Lyrica workshops. The image reveals the studio space. This is where he lives.

Together Mauro, the other fellow, it might be Chelo or Hernán, and I move to another and an unexpected place, but before that, I want to show them the new artwork I have finished: my drawings of the last few days. In fact I did two artist books. I accomplished a lot of work and feel proud of my achievement.

We enter a gym where an artistic gymnastics championship is taking place. I clearly see myself reflected in that. It is the beginning, the final practise session just before performing for the judges. Mauro, the other guy and I, are sitting in the audience when one of the gymnasts starts on the parallel bars. The apparatus is defective; she can't really do her routine because one of the bars is way too thick, about 18 centimetres in diameter.

In the other direction I discover another odd apparatus. It is something I haven't seen before, a square platform, the same height as the beam and made of loose planks of wood. It must be hard to keep balance, I think, as none of them are fixed. I ask one of the gymnasts how long this apparatus has been part of the discipline? “A long time,” she replies, “since my parents’ time.” She is not the youngest. I guess she is in a senior category, and the same is true for many others in this championship. This bizarre apparatus has existed for a long time, and I wasn't aware of it!

The scene shifts to a very different one: we leave the gym, it is nighttime. A soldier approaches in his Jeep. Too soon and with ease, we jump into his car. It is a strange feeling of vulnerability.

Close to the side of a road, he drives over the parapet that divides the pavement from the land and then goes down the slope. He manoeuvres his jeep skilfully and makes the drive down extremely smoothly.

Then he stops in front of the door of a single small, and austere room. It is his house. Although he's a friendly guy, I find myself alone with him. Prudently standing outside and looking in, I feel shy.

I remember in the beginning, being in bed enjoying a nice and calm night. I hear my mom entering the house when in my dream, I go to the kitchen of a well furnished home. I did not expect her nor did I think of having dinner, but when she offers me a glass of red wine, I certainly accept. I approach the fridge when she asks me if I would like a king crab leg.

Such a delicacy is a temptation. Who could turn it down?

Yet in the middle of the night, my childhood friend Alejandra comes from down the hill and shows up in the kitchen, which makes me glad. Then I offer her a glass of wine. Soon after, Alejandra’s mom and her aunt arrive. My mother and they used to be close friends, so I don't understand why they do not talk to each other anymore. I think it is just sad. Soon I leave, because after all her aunt looks equally strange to me, maybe because I haven't seen her for years.

The next scene is sad. Further down the hill I enter another house in which a few artists are working in different spaces. I see Arcangelo in a large hall. He is coming back from a long trip, and I am excited to see my partner again after all this time apart. He looks different, similar to old pictures, much younger, long 80s-style hair. I go towards him, enthused to give him a hug. Arcangelo is acting indifferently, though. He pays little attention to me, and I start to feel a tiny bit anxious. I start talking and tell him how I got here, the whole journey starting from the moment I was relaxing in bed, then when I met my old friend Ale, to the point of here and now. He seems totally disinterested in my emotions. I feel him drawn to banal social life.

I remark another lady is waiting to see him. Despite her childish, millennium, pop-girl kind of fashion, she seems nice. I presume this because she's Arcangelo’s friend and I should share him. I refuse and start to attract his attention at any cost. I decide to hide my feelings and behave seductively. I start to act as desirable as possible, to the extreme of playing the role of an Oriental femme fatale.

I see myself walking in a red silk robe, naked underneath, with a degree of class and low pride. Abruptly, the house is literally set on fire. The flames spread everywhere; the complete house is burning down. Arcangelo instantly disappears. I find myself wandering around the house and desperately shouting his name.

Oddly, the situation turns extremely serious. Inside, the fire has destroyed a lot, leaving a sole option, to save my life. I run down a corridor along a wall made of stones behind the house. I have to pass in front of a studio, where I find artists and designers still in the mood of work, on a less sensitive or emotional project and unconcerned by the incident.

I abandon the burning house and manage to get safely into the street, but my dream-diaries have all gone up in flames.

Nine years in manuscripts inside my box "Bedtime-Stories", gone. The artist books with dreams and collages: it is devastating. I experience a profound loss. I feel sorry, and the only consolation is that I still have 20 more years, enough time of life to start again and build another diary. Time alone, is left for me.

The roof disappeared, but the house is not completely destroyed. Luckily, it can be rebuilt. I meet Arcangelo outside and try to get relief when I tell him I lost my dream-work in the fire. All I expect is a hug or some kind of comfort. Instead his narcissistic attitude stays distant and indifferent. He is disengaged from any sign of empathy. It makes me clear that I have no hope in this relationship. Deep down I see I have to find a new life and leave on my own. I awaken with something wrong in my chest.


In the next dream, in order to change my ideas, I decide I will spend a weekend with Anshul after all this time. We go to San José and stay in a hotel.

We are not totally alone; a boy about 12 years old is with us. Entering the underground parking garage, I see from afar a gang of teenagers in an informal martial arts meeting, like young street fighters.

At that distance, I can only see black shapes, and still their movements display outstanding talent for metamorphosis with the insect world.

My back feels stiff as a stone. I am still contracted from a recent tension. I think I need a massage and I should be able to find someone here in this town. I ask the young guy if he knows a so called "señora de pueblo", a woman who gives massages but I get no answer at all.

At a closer distance, a couple of other fighters are on the opposite side of the parking lot, in an amazing fight. Adopting an insect shape, they bend their bodies back, hands and legs together and move like a spider walking. I am surprised how talented they are at taking on an insect appearance. All trace of human form vanishes when they fight.

Horrified, I see the picture of Anshul with one of Guillaume's circuits in his hand, the one he made for the 101-nights project. The event triggers a totally different process, and it happens in the dream. I start to question how can I be here? Why did I leave my work? I cannot believe I quit the room with the electrodes to come here! I must be mad; I should never have done that. I grab the circuit, the cord of cables and the plug, hoping to find them still connected. I feel guilty, and I am scared, Hurry up! I have to get back; I should never have left.

I go back to a boundless landscape. I see Guillaume busy on a project and notice he, as well as I, has been recording his dreams with EEG channels. He is proudly showing a novelty, a high-level rendering of his last register. He managed to make a visualization from his EEG-Digital Data and reloads it, featuring an original dream as an immersive virtual landscape that anyone can witness and that I am now able to see, with very few others.

Impressed by such clear resolution. Guillaume Dumas’ dream door within my dream. Around me, the first frame is waiting. He warns us he is going to play a dream we are only allowed to watch, like a film.

–"Now look," he says proudly of his achievement. The action takes place in a remote area, where the land and sea join in a mysterious mythological middle age atmosphere. An enormous snake grows bigger and bigger, tracing the coastline of the landscape creeping towards us. It plunges into the sea. Guillaume then shows an old marine creature, a far from common big whale with a deformed head and a nasty smile. It reveals big teeth. The fish is harmless and approaches us. I have my own code to interpret his dream and share it with him. –"Big fish mean prosperity,” I tell him, “even more so if they show their teeth."

Most of all what is remarkable is the high quality definition of the image; the air appears as in real life. I would like to see the dream I just had with Anshul as clear as this. I think, it is definitely a powerful tool in the interest of psychologists.

Yet in the ground, Guillaume’s dream, a synthetic computer animation scene, an inorganic resolution representing a virtual world of a biological brain. The motion shows, in industrial colours, two hemispheres being assembled and interacting with a body lying on a table, enabling an interface that builds a new network. It is shaped like a sort of circulatory system and seems to create an Android. All really amazing

Within the landscape, one can see both bays simultaneously: on the left the sea is flat, on the other side the water is vibrating. I watch carefully, trying to comprehend what is in it. Appearing in his perfection, Christ emerges lightly from the water, surrounded by light, in body and soul.

I suddenly realise I have a body and I am late. From Guillaume’s dream I have a long way to get back, for my body is lying down with the electrodes, too long now. It’s time to go.

In the following dream, my vantage point is high above the ground. I see the horizon line of a landscape surrounded by forest, similar to Friendly Neighbourhood, where I live in Eugene.

About 45º above the ground, I see a car driving around a circular path, on a pine tree-covered hill, with a set of flags attached to it and blowing. Six flags are attached all together, three stitched above the other three.

"I like flags," I read while thinking of the Nepalese prayer flags: square and white, printed with red symbols and wishes of happiness.

The car goes on and on, then passes again, and the flags take flight. But this time one flag is missing, maybe because I have to mend it, I think.

I live nearby in a small apartment. In the dream, I persuade my neighbours to believe I belong to the communist party. I am inside my place when a young girl comes to knock on my door. I see she is young and pretty, dressed in leggings. I feel terribly attracted and get close enough to touch her sex with my hand. Soon she leaves. I don't know what to think. "I wasn't perverted like that before," I say to myself.

In another dream, I'm in my room in an old building as a beginning student. Tonight, a big University party is going to take place in the building. I do not plan to attend, because I don't think I know anyone. In my room, I have only a desk and a door that I cannot close properly, because the key is not working. Although there are no windows, I feel in peace there. In front of my desk I have carefully hung a set of feathers on the wall a collection of my trophies. A beautiful range of feathers, in light violet colours though one of them is metallic blue and black.

The student crowd starts to arrive at the party. I’m concerned I should not leave the room alone, since the lock on my door is failing. Everywhere in the building, the corridors are filled with people. Among them a school friend, Francisca Hevia, 35 years since the last time I saw her. She's interested in getting a degree, like everyone else. She comes from a humble family, and for her it is a priority. I heard the Student Association, upstairs, is giving out law degrees for free. It is an irony, but I still pass the information on to her.

The party is growing big; the full building is overtaken. Luckily, my friend Mijael comes to see me. Quick, I let Mija inside my room, pleased and proud to show him my collection of feathers. One has fallen behind the desk onto the floor; I hasten to pick it up, because they are special to me. The building is located in a safe area of Paris, –an old University building, as similar to old-line traditional as one can have in the 16th quarter. Mijael says, "At least here the CRS, the French riot-control force, is not behind the ATM machine in the banks."

At the commencement, I was not going to the party, thinking I wouldn't know anyone, but Mijael convinces me to go. Before that, we have to solve the problem of my door. Kindly, Mijael searches and finds two massive doors. He leans them against the wall to close the entrance to my room, and then we go through the packed corridors.

Ultimately I remember to walk past, now my room is occupied by the School of Architects and they transformed the space the entrance is now wide open. On the bottom they opened a huge window, and the ceiling is truly high. The room is a museum-project-room with tables and towers of books piled up. Absolutely all I wish is that they leave their books in my room when they go.

I dream, then remember a park, where I'm setting up an installation in an art show.

I'm not sure if the piece is mine, but my mission is to make it work. I have at my disposal a group of black wood planks designed in laser-cut depicting the shape of a skull. I then decide to arrange them as a gate of sorts, a passage where visitors can enter and walk through a set of four or five doors, each one a metre from the preceding one.

I have to make a few modifications. The easiest way to start to organise something is to make it move. In order to do so, I have to cut some of the panels in two. I adapt them so that they can slide left and right, like closet doors, allowing visitors to interact with them and walk through, even on a path that zigzags.

I have a studio beside the park, a workplace in a colonial type house where several other artists have their own, each one in a big room. The house is big enough for all of us; in fact I hardly see them.

A rich collector comes into the park to see the exhibition and is interested in buying several works. I show him what is left, and it is not very much. He shows interest in the big black gate made of skulls. In the show, I have another work, which is a video installation of Andy Warhol’s recordings. I hardly remember how I set it up, because in the dream, I feel strongly disconnected from the artwork itself. He asks me the price, which is a difficult question to answer. We go to see my paintings, but in my studio. There are only a few of them, and since I’ve been working outside, I notice that my studio leaks.

In the meanwhile, as we move on, so does the negotiation. The collector's wife wants to visit the shop located in the studio complex. Her interest revolves around spending a lot of money in a large amount of time. She purchases all kind of things, accumulating t-shirts and handbags, among others. I remember a light blue bag she likes and a Donald Duck t-shirt that I encourage her to buy because it looks like one of mine, but honestly, it bores me and I’m not concerned about the rest. I am quite sure she’s never going to wear them.

The time comes when they have to leave. It is getting late, and I haven’t decided yet on the price of the installation, the gate made from the black doors. The gentleman has decided to acquire the work and put it in his house. It is getting awkward, yet I still don't have a clue as to how much I should charge. He is interested in two or three other works and some paintings by my neighbour Maria Jose Romero, whose studio is next to mine.

When they finally leave, I recall going back to my studio to see what happened with my paintings. "I should have shown him the Double Vide painting series." It’s a shame I didn’t, but it’s too late.

Eventually I remember moving. It is lunchtime. Maria Jose drives me and finds a place with two restaurants next to each other. We choose the one I like; the menu is served, ready to sit and eat, nothing fancy.

The second dream is a trip through Chihuahua, where nature finds balance. A landscape displays a huge variety of wonderful cacti over a vast hilly extension. I remember a major feeling of pleasure and comfort. My mother is with me.

My attention is alerted by a contrasting image, an impressive eagle with a brown rabbit in its claws. To the question whether the eagle will eat the rabbit or not, I hear it answering yes, arguing that it is in its "nature". In this extensive landscape, I excitedly see a pool made of concrete, though empty of water.

Further down the road, once again the eagle, this time not with a rabbit in its claws but the head of a new born human, the body of the baby being buried in the ground up to the neck, leaving the head exposed, and the bird trying to rip it off. I fear what's going to happen next, given its dark scary nature. I turn away and let it be.

Not far away, I see what first seemed to be another pool, when suddenly the landscape shifts us away to the open sea. What beauty lies before my eyes? All at once the sky opens to a clear light green sea, the calmest water I have ever seen. An empty sea filled with air! Such a marvellous thing! Soon my mother and I jump into a tiny boat. Floating in this water, we take off, feeling truly good.

The third and last one. I remember going up in a lift. When we get off, we are in a gorgeous garden.

A group of people around me seem to be from some sort of religious boarding school. Everyone follows the directions of the superiors. They brought us all here, to the top of a hill covered in wild grass and magnificent flowers. The view encompasses a wide landscape in the hills.

We were divided into separate groups of girls and boys. Some boys took the initiative of cutting the grass with a lawn mower, and the hill is being rapidly turned into an amazing garden.

The height of several shrubs, I find some kind of poppy flowers interesting to pick and make a bouquet. At this moment existence is a great feeling, and the world is a peaceful natural scene, although from time to time it can feel like a prison. I am having an experience of connection with this wonderful landscape.

After all the boys have just cut the lawn, they open a space for us, when the superior comes to get us to go back inside. It's a shame.

–“Why now?” I ask her, “when we were starting to enjoy our freedom. I was about to draw the flowers I have gathered, in my notebook.” – "What you should draw,” she replies, “is the pistil of a flower.” –“Why is she telling me what I should draw?” I question.

Always the same old problem.

Why a pistil, a yellowish-whitish penis-like geometrical shape made of little modules stuck together in an organic form? I, on the contrary, would like to draw a flower, yet it is not what I should do.

It’s a pity; we all have to leave the garden behind.

At the beginning of this dream, I am part of a work team. There may be six or eight of us in a collective project, and my friend Eddie is there. We are living together in a big room. Although it is a fairly known subject in relation with dreams, none of us can make it work. The problem is that we cannot get to sleep, and the mood is getting frantic.

The effort is making me tired, and I decide to take a break. I go to a counter where we have the ingredients to prepare food, with the goal of eating something healthy, like a salad. I take a cucumber to cut it in pieces, when it starts to drift into a nightmare: I drop it on the ground by accident.

Quickly I kneel down and try to clean the mess, but what fell on the floor is not chunks but mashed cucumber. The pressure affects it and makes me clumsy, I feel annoyed and uncomfortable.

I grab whatever I can from the closet, more precisely the fine white towel –provided by EGI with the geodesics sensor–, but it is not enough. The cloth immediately gets soaked with mashed cucumber, and the juice trickles under the curtain hanging behind the kitchen table.

I get anxious everyone is seeing me squatting down wiping the floor with great effort and little result.

That night, I recall a second agitated dream. Artist Nicolas Darrot comes to show the design of a truck Perrine Poirier made.

In the dream I have the memory that my friend Mijael came earlier with a different and better version of Perrine's truck; the design drafts the vehicle with electric ramps on the back and both sides.

This sketch has coarse angles, in order to correct them and polish the truck design, I have to give the advise to sand them.

We head towards the Atelier in Montreuil. I am surprised to see the height of the ceiling with no windows. It resembles a hybrid of the workplaces in Lyrica. Now, where is the older version of the truck model, and where is Mijael? I act decisively and call to ask him to come.

–“Call me after Tuesday," answers Mijael. I judge him, as he typically takes his life easy.

–“What? No, not Tuesday, right now," I reply in a slightly authoritarian tone, so typical of me.

Finally I recall Mija's relatives appear. They sit on a sofa, cheerfully chatting in the middle of the studio, which to me constitutes suspicious behaviour. I'm sure they do not consider the atelier as a workplace, even more so when she adds to the conversation that her mom is also living there!

My assistant is now here. “I was the first female to live in this atelier,” I tell Huna proudly while pointing to the top of a scaffold. “We used to live there with Mija” basically because I would like her to get the value of work in general.

Nap no EEG register

Lorena and a friend of hers are about to board on a train. They bought tickets for a cabin with berths. I left my small suitcase on the train and go to retrieve my luggage. I see Lorena has everything under control and she that has tidied up the cabin. She carefully put her friend’s jogging suit over the berth, ready to wear, assuming her friend is going to wear the outfit during the journey.

She definitely doesn't want to use it for sleeping on the train, it’s the only one she has and it’s for a special occasion.

I then remember a scene in the dream where I’m with Lorena walking across the Willard School sports fields and talking about a Structure and Cement class I have to teach in the engineering school. –“Honestly, I don't know why they chose me to do this class if my mind is already busy with another project. I intend to give them a fragment of the ‘Tao of Cement’ and let them reflect on that text. It’s the best I can do” I say to Lorena.

The train is ready to leave, Lorena left my suitcase in the aisle, in order to have more room for her belongings. My baggage is not even closed yet when the train starts to move. Hurry up! I still have a big coat to squeeze in and a few others things to pack.

It's too late now the train departs and I can't get off. I'll have to wait until the next stop that it isn’t too far, all I know it's in the same town. When we reach the station, it seems to be a place familiar to Lorena, perhaps Bristol. She gets off with me. In the rush, awkwardly she kisses me on my mouth in heated passion. I feel true love for her. It's amazing that our relationship hasn't faded away over time, it has always been passionate. Seated in a café near the railway station, she advises me on the students, saying that if they’re lazy, I can send them to Férnan, her former ex associate. The train departs, and this time Lorena has missed it. She’ll take the next one.

In the last dream I remember being in the Andes, in a small ski resort called Farellones. Roberto is trying to enter "nata_dreams internet network" but is having trouble. One problem is that Katja constantly is distracting him with her chatter.

Guillaume is on his computer in the kitchen of a chalet, and other engineers are cooking. He screams when he discovers a message from a certain geek organisation and instantly this makes him really excited. The other engineers look at him surprised, wondering if he won the prize! It is not that but a first encounter in which they are going to pay the travel expenses for Guillaume, to allow him to go and meet them.

I wake up abruptly with loud disturbing construction noise.

I dream I am coming from the underworld back to the ground floor of a building where I encounter my assistant Huna and the first thing I detect, is Sergio the blacksmith with his masons doing some work in my studio.

I returned because I intend to make a last effort and repair architectural ornamentation, a sort of lintel resting on cement piers at the top of the building, a portico that leads to the sky.

For once Huna seems enthused, making notes, expressing interest in her work and proposing solutions for what has to be done.

In my dream, I refer to Ilan Bitterman holding a glass of wine.

I am here trying to encourage a meeting between him and someone else, regarding the construction works in the studio. His approval of the affair depends on the limited amount of time he has to invest in it.

While moving eight square cut-stone blocks to the ground floor of the studio I hear Ilan in a sceptical tone asking what I am doing. –"They used to be in the entrance passage of an apartment," I add “I would like to reuse them in the main entrance to the studio building.”

I only recall bits of dreams, due to the impact of the noise coming from outside while awakening. I still remember a dream in which Daniel Pons and I are doing a new home project.

Leading the concluding stage to refurbish the house, I have to buy lamps to install on the ground floor, to light the ceiling from the base of a wall.

Although several people are using the house, we still have to fix the electrical installations. Among them is a woman who is not my friend, it is not important. I'm wearing a glamorous fur coat and she seems to be jealous.

Dani is going on a trip to India with Javier Muñoz, the carpenter who's also working in the studio. They get along very well.
Then I only recall a girl, nothing more.

Then a man, who might be Jean Fribourg, is coming back from a trip with his children, though not with his wife. They lodge in a workspace.

My dream is a party of many people. We are in a dark room, and I have a cool flat magnet with the image of Madonna, a dramatic theatrical light that shows the contour of the right side of her body, but only in the dark. In the shape of a subtle line from the ear to the arm and the leg, reminding me of old Flemish paintings.

Under the light, the same magnet looks completely different: it is still the image of Madonna but with a sci-fi outfit, her head a robot-like square cut shape, in white. I enjoy showing my magnet to the acquaintances I meet in the party, moving from the dark room to the next, with the big lights on.

Now, I am excited to move to another party.

It is New Year's Eve. I know something about a party, but I don't know exactly where. I only know it is "the place to be." I am trying to find out the address from the other guests. I am not alone. My friend proposes going to a café, but I think if we do that we will easily feel sleepy, and to be honest, I would not like that.

We are now in the basement parking garage, when I see Negro Aretxabala driving a car. He is with Alejandro Boher and Matias León. I expect they know where the party is, and I intend to ask him if we can fit in his car. Together we are two or three.

Suddenly, in the dream I wake up and stop myself from having expectations. Staying away from deceptions is the wisest thing to do, I discern. I take control of myself like never before.

I hear Negro tells me Alejo and his girlfriend are going back home. Matias and Negro are going in different directions. I see a split between my friends. I think this can have an awful consequence, but I can stop and avoid having that feeling. Again, the wise thing to do is to flow with what’s happening.

Negro drives us outside from the garage. We get out of the car to somewhere in the street nearly at dawn. On the sidewalk, we bump into two girls who are going to the same party. One of them is looking in a big garbage bin in the street, because she has lost a bag of bananas she had earlier.

–"My friends are throwing the party and asked me to bring 15 bananas," she says. She is surprised she cannot find them.

I remember a dream facing a wonderful light green sea and a beautiful deserted beach of white sand, with a lover who is not Arcangelo.

I’m eager to carry out a prosperous project, a great business aimed at bringing people to this wonderful place. I exert pressure to make what I am so enthused about happen, even though he believes it has been done before.

It is clear I cannot accept that as a reason to stop doing it. I don't even believe it is true. Yet for him it is not feasible. I suspect the real issue is he does not want to bother to make the effort. The situation reaches the point of being suffocating. I find no room for myself anymore, and I want to find the way out.

It is just another emotional disappointment. I need to take it philosophically, since my reaction pushes me to look for a way out, and the exit path from the paradise beach is difficult. We climb a sand dune crumbling with each step. I only manage to advance by tiny bits. Walking up a pronounced slope is a huge effort. We fall apart; separation imposes itself.

I can overcome the situation with dignity reaching the top, where I finally feel free. I come up to a village, I see a park with trees across the street. Someone approaches to offer a glass of wine, which I accept with great pleasure. I perceive him following me, which I find disturbing and makes me hesitate.

This dream feels alien to me; it drags external energy.

A loud noise jerks me out of sleep. Machine engines from construction work being done on the neighbour's house.

I half recall a passage of a dream in which we are wearing skis that allow us to slide in the snow. I am not alone. We are trying to bring an external hard drive to the upper part of a mid-mountain field beside a ski station. It's supposed to be the duty of a professional skier, a difficult man with a temper. Trying to bring it ourselves doesn't please him nor does he do it.

A dream of a deceased friend, Pablo Dominguez.

Mauro Jofré and Chelo share a painting studio. Within the next few days, Chelo is leaving the city, and I intend to borrow his studio, to work with my friend Mauro, and spend quality time like in the old days.

I unlock an apartment on the floor of an old decrepit building in an urban downtown. Chelo, in a friendly way, helps me touring all his workshop supplies: stained clothing, dirty towels, wipers to clean, brushes, buckets, cans and so on.

My perspective on the practise of painting has changed greatly since back then, when we shared studios in Chile. That was more than 30 years ago, and honestly I don't think I will need any of that.

Through politeness, in response to his generous gesture of lending his studio, I hold my tongue and follow his conversation. A new perception comes to change my mind: I will not use those rags, and I don't even need his studio.

Heading towards the exit and letting him continue talking, deep inside me, a philosophical conflict brews, as if I don’t know what I want.

I ask myself, what am I doing here? We leave the atelier and the building. Chelo and I go out to find a bar and say goodbye. In the street at night we walk down through a dark underground tunnel, which leads us to some sort of pedestrian avenue.

In the absence of light, it feels like we are near the ocean. We pass in front of restaurants and finally sit in a classic Chilean " fuente de soda". I order a beer, Chelo asks for a spirit, and soon after he leaves. I ask for the bill at once, to pay for my beer and his drink with some coins that he left on the table. I have to put in the difference to cover his mezcal, and I do it, no problem.

Suddenly my attention shifts again to a different concern. I feel a loose tooth. I can move it in my mouth with my tongue, and it is exactly the one that Dr. Blake fixed.

Fuck! Oh god! Indeed, doctors are just what I should avoid in the States. I feel miserable; the last thing I wanted to happen is to lose a tooth.

As I fall in despair, I wonder, “Do I have to resign myself? What can I do? How do I remedy it?” I gently take it out of my mouth with my fingers to discover a strange fact: my tooth is a cell, a pod with veins, similar to the underlying wall inside a fruit. It's terrible!

Only the root is left, I need a better one and will tell the doctor to make a brand new, shorter tooth.

I awaken, jolted by a brutal noise that makes me forget my dreams.

Noise from construction work causes the disruption of my dreams.

I only remember vague images.

A dry dream, I'm going to meet Melchor Sanchez the shady bureaucrat. I bring my artist's book to show my drawings. Huna is present.

Then it is different. I remember the pleasant feeling of being with my beloved on the beach, lying on the sand. The consciousness that I have of myself and of life is pleasant. I get up to dive freely among the waves in the sea.

I recall last night I dream Erika and I, are trying to find the Iberia counter in an airport. It is odd how familiar the terminal is to me in the dream. As the airline representative is concerned about the label on my suitcase, I ensure I wrote my name and spelled it correctly. Without reason, the handler wants to put another tag on. I have no problem with that, but I am in a rush to get on the plane, quickly! I need a pen to write it again.

During the trip, my thoughts pile up in a confusion, for some reason, I thought we were going to France, and I would go to retrieve my credit card. In my mind I try hard, yet unsuccessfully, to fit a quick stop at the bank into our schedule.

As a matter of fact, Erika and I land in a Mexican airport. I don’t think it is our final destination, even though this place has a similar name. The plane stops in a cute, tiny, European-style town –not for long. Unfortunately, we are just commuting to our final destination, which is a lot less interesting.

It is also a surprise to see Gabriel Elizondo. Something is happening to Erika that I don't necessary know. I notice Gabriel is trying to help with her business affairs. It is a shame I cannot relate to what's going on, a familiar feeling of mine when I see Erika. It just bores me. I pay less and less attention, as my focus skips to my own concerns.

I distract my mind with unoriginal thoughts, my carry-on suitcase and what to do for four days in a small boring town, where nothing really happens.

I wonder why Erica's suitcase is big, while my small one has enough inside for a month of travel. It's a paradox.

At last I move to a distinctive dream, it's daytime and I'm in a contrasting white luminous landscape, a ski station in the afternoon.

A group of people lined up in bright pink outfits appears. Who could miss that?

I cannot believe my eyes: at the end of the line is Beatriz Hagel, laggard and clumsy but still following the others. I shout her name, and she sees me. Suddenly I evaluate the colour of my light green ski outfit, which exactly contrasts with theirs.

I'm not wearing skis; instead, I slide in my shoes.

A parallel idea hits me repeatedly. A fragment of something external to the plot is my bank account. Out of the blue, I realise that I must have received a transfer from a grant that I'm entitled to, in the dream, and I don't worry.

Who else is there? In the distance I sight Mijael. What a wonderful surprise. I notice he's wearing two single ski boots, and they don't match as a pair. Typical of Mija I think, slightly different from the norm. Once more I'm wrong, because it fits the current fashion in ski boots.

I see them going towards the field, precisely to the ski lift. I would love to go, but I don’t have ski equipment, and at this point it is too late to go and rent some. It’s a shame I'm missing the fun. Maybe tomorrow.

At the beginning of the dream I'm at the end of Adams Street, at the edge of the park, attending a get-together.

I think Meg Blanchet is smoking dope. We’re eating potato chips and a salsa dip made with yogurt.

More people are arriving, among them Michael Milham, and we are all invited to a reception at a restaurant located in a house right there.

The restaurant is crowded. Among the delicious dishes they're serving, I can only choose salad to eat, because I unfortunately filled up on chips.

I watch the others being served a protein-filled salad, Roquefort cheese dressing and salmon. The deep orange colour of the fish makes it very appealing, but I cannot even try it.

The atmosphere is festive. Michael is having beer and seems really happy. I'm staring at him when I notice he changed his t-shirt for a more youthful design.

Michael works in a New York laboratory, many moons since last time I saw him. I’ve always found him attractive and suggest we go to a pub afterwards, for some beer. It’s hard to tell if he wants to.

Michael has few admirer after him, I think he's unsure where it'll lead. Among the people in this gathering, I see Catalina Lozano and Katri Walker. She doesn't seem to have seen me, and I call her by her name to say hi, while I kill time to see where Michael goes.

Katri looks overloaded with work; she’s exhausted. They all did a good job organising for so many people, and finally finished. I stay there a while longer, to smoke a joint, making the most of this time of freedom in an atmosphere of non-judgmental entertainment, and wait to see Michael.

Another dream takes place in my childhood house on Las Condes Avenue, in Santiago.

Some mats are laid out under a set of parallel bars in the garden. I'm in my house deciding how to organise the space. I want to do it well and plan a better gymnasium. I move the mats and gymnastic equipment to the garden outside the kitchen and decide to put up some tarps, to create a partially covered space.

Now the dream takes me further up the same avenue, to a neglected condominium complex, where former students from the Craighouse School are housed.

From outside I observe the buildings but only remember catching a glimpse of Jimmy, an ex class mate who I have not seen in such a long time. I don’t think he knows me anymore, since I have changed a lot. I'm holding a copy of my book with dream diaries that I recently finished, proud of my publication.

I go out to the avenue to wait for a bus to take me somewhere else and experience an unnoticed and shameless sexual desire that I'm willing to satisfy with whoever. It is pure sex, nothing else. I arrive at a house where I find my grandmother, who I'm happy to see, and as always encourages me to freedom. I see her as a friend, and she empowers me.

At the house is a pool, and my ex highschool sweetheart Chuncho who I gave my virginity away waits for me. I pretend to approach him acerbically, because I'm currently in another relationship. I'm Conscious that my libido is dispassionate and merely a physical desire but that I'm prepared to satisfy it come what may.

The dream is fading into that situation; after the swimming pool Chuncho and I go on to another place. I'm diligently polishing my boots, putting polish around the sole, so they are not damaged by water and to wear them when I go out.

Nap no EEG register

I dream that I get up in this same room, my body is fragile and I feel simply worn out. I fight the impotence of not being able to remove the glasses I wear to sleep. I can only touch the objects that are in this place. I am really tired; my eyes are a sea of tears.

Past a furniture dividing the kitchen and my bedroom, it's Yto, she appears in a bed.

Slowly, I wake up confused, it's not clear to me when did she get here? I have the feeling that during the initial weeks of the 101 project. Yto was here before, that much it's true but I'm not sure when she left or if she left.

I don’t understand and I am not able to see, this truth disorientes me sending me far away. I cannot take the sleep mask off, I have lost control and shed tears.

It's tragic. I feel extremely weak there's nothing I can do and don’t know what to do about that. I ask myself if I should stop the 101-nights study for a couple of days. I lack courage and don't even know when I lost my way that's why I cry.

I have lost my connection to health and the divine.

I go by to tell the dream to Guillaume, in a house, probably mine.

We talk about the white bedding for a bed that's in front of us. There's a duvet, though typically in winter, when it's cold, I use another besides that one.

We are both in the bed; the relationship is fraternal and full of humour. He asks me seriously if I've washed my feet well. That takes me by surprise, not knowing what to say.

My body is flexible enough to smell them and stop wondering. I don’t think they smell bad.

In that house, I see my sister arrive with another woman, and I take advantage of the opportunity to ask her to return my set of keys. I don’t need them, but they are mine, and she has no alternative but to give them back.

Another dream.

I'm in Chile, in my cousins’ house in Peuco. My mother, my sister, Jóse and my cousin Huaira are there. My mother’s husband approaches to say something unexpected about a type of sleeveless t-shirt that looks good on. I take it as a reminder to take better care of my appearance. They bring me the t-shirts along with my black dress. I understand the message is to update my wardrobe. I try to see why the t-shirt is so special. The sleeves are cut full, and I suppose that is why. I'm unsure.

A woman appears in a silk blouse with an Oriental motif printed on a white background. She approaches to ask me what I think. I like it; it looks classy.

Dominique arrives with a renewed spirit and shows me a dressy blouse in a fine grey fabric, with the same cut. I like it but make no comment. I think it is best to be austere.

Finally, my cousin Huaira comes with food. He explains that jasmine rice goes with long shrimp, like the thin ones he brought me and not with large ones.

Huaira serves me a lot of rice with few shrimp. It's delicious! I myself approach the plate to serve and take apart some spring rolls, to remove their filling before eating.

I only remember the image of a dream in the room in the Lyrica workshops. Lying on my bed, I observe a wall located where the door is, covered with stuffed animals. Above, just below the ceiling, a puppy jumps on my bed, grabbing the bedspread with its tiny claws, to keep from falling on the ground, which looks so cute.

Another fragment is the vague memory of Pancho Casas, in an encounter situation, an intersection and a border inside a city that I'm prepared to defend with blood.

[meta data] That morning, the sudden noise of a neighbour’s construction interrupts my dream.

A set of strange acquaintances appears in the dream. I just finished building a structure with a number of spaces, a complex for several artists’ projects.

The opening begins, and I greet the people as they arrive. The place is big and does not fill up, except for one area: the café. Almost everyone is there, and I'm unfamiliar with many of them.

Before getting to the café, I go around anonymously patrolling. They do not come to see me, which I think is fine, because that way I control my space. At the end of the room, I recognize Daniel Pons at a table, across from another person, putting music on with his computer.

It's generally a social and festive atmosphere. When Toño Arango appears, I notice he's wearing pink lipstick. Given his dark skin, his taste is frankly pathetic.

I leave the café with a man who I cannot identify, due to the memory of the dream. The construction is new, and as usual I gradually discover its spaces and curiously move on to somewhere else. I'm in front of a big open glass door and notice the glass is marked from some kind of a blow. There doesn’t seem to be anyone inside. At first I thought it was a dining room, and I wonder why the door was left open. I suppose it's the lobby of an apartment building, which is why the door is open. Beyond it is a conference room. I'm with Lorena Silva; it's a pleasure to see her.

She came to see the presentation of an attractive speaker, but couldn’t identify him either. The seats in the hall recline and turn into comfortable beds. While this person gives his presentation in the darkness of the hall, I notice that there're not too many people, adding even more to the comfort, and the experience is actually a pleasure.

From my memory, a dream and the words University of Oregon emerge.

Another fragment. I remember Cuauhtémoc Medina. Today is his daughter Natalia’s birthday. Having her father’s friends at her celebration is a condition for her to live with him.

The dream moves to another scene, where it seems evident that Cristina is leaving the relationship. She's got tired and calmly leaves; that’s all.

I'm asked what I'm doing there. I stay out of curiosity, to observe how Cuauhtémoc copes.

I would like to see how a brilliant mind deals with an emotional situation. –"I want to see how he does with an egg". I say absurdly as it sounds, nevertheless the egg is a metaphor. Further down in the dream, I see a connection between EEGs and a pictogram that flows throughout opposites as it is between giving and receiving. The self-imposed and external limits.

[meta data] Having forgotten all my dreams, I wake-up.

The dream is like going back in time.

I live in Paris and take Marcela Armas to a white, completely empty space, the apartment of some friends. It's a place that is devoid of things; the white is pure.

Among everyone, we organise an evening together before moving to the egg of other people we know, among them is Gilles Fougerat. The atmosphere is friendly.

We cross the city to the workplace of a younger artist than ourselves, who made an interactive montage with square screens that clone Walt Disney images and cover a huge wall.

The image is reproduced a certain number of times and then changes to another one that reacts the same way, and so forth until the entire wall is covered, many metres.

We appreciate the merit of the young author and support him enthusiastically.

The student got hold of good grades of what the teachers in the different subjects have given us up until now, a few months before the end of the year. I look for my grades somewhat anxiously, hoping not to have any in red. I have a 4.8 and a 5.0, both blue but just barely passing. It's not to be proud but it is not a tragedy either.

The last fragment of the dream takes place in a swimming park beside the sea, an area that has begun to be gentrified, going from a town to a vacation destination.

A businessman is the owner of the place; the houses and cabins are for his employees, a way of subsidizing their vacations and a generous gesture on his part. The cabin is meant for the youngest, while the houses are for workers who have worked longer in his company.

He himself has a house and summers there.

The first dream takes place on the roof of a building. I bought that place, because I plan to build my workshop. The zone it's in has increased in value, and I'm making improvements in the sewage service. I start by describing the 250-metre surface area.

My friend Jaime proposed buying roast-beef to make sandwiches. He found one that's too pink, but I know where they sell a better, a more cooked piece of meat shaped like a ball.

On the way, we bump into David Jolly, who's out of work and happily accepts helping me with the workshop construction. I describe the features of the place I bought. The area is 350 metres, big enough. Although it may seem abstract, I started changing the drainage system. It's a great pleasure to have Jaime as a friend, and together we're move enthused to a different place.

Last night in my dream, a woman and I, found Arcangelo, developing an exhibition project, supposedly with governmental support.

I go into a French style public service building, an office where a woman with a special aura works. She's dynamic and capable, her attitude determined. She directs me to another office that provides services for the transaction that I need to carry out.

The office is on another floor, and I'm given an orientation on issues about the project, in an open room with armchairs. I notice a healthy hierarchy in the way the government workers act. They seem to be sensible people, and it's a pleasant environment. The protagonist of this story is the woman I saw in the first place, the one who directed me to the second office, and her true influence becomes clear as the dream progresses.

Although our exhibition project depends on support and funding confirmation, one of us made premature expenditures to get started with production, not I or Arcangelo, rather a third party on the team.

The following scene takes place in the street. I take one of my artist books, a triptych with only the top part finished. The first word is all that's written in the main section and I'm still binding it. My sister wants to help me stick another sheet on, but the final layer she applies is so thick that although it's transparent, it's going to ooze out and damage the rest of the book. A lighter coat should be applied. I decide not to risk the integrity of the book.
That's partially at the root of why the exhibition is cancelled.

In front of us, a young child is coming down the outside of a building, leaping from one story to the next on the exterior façade, grabbing onto the architectural ornamentation. He makes it all the way down the 22 metres to the bottom, and though he looks scared, he's fine. The thing is he has an impressive natural sense of balance. Those of us watching are spellbound.

My colleague looks teary eyed because of the cancellation of the exhibition. Paradoxically, she'll have to return the money she spent in a restaurant for the exhibition.

The project with Arcangelo is not going to take place. I keep my material, and the rest must be given back.

I go back to the public service building, to the main office, which directs me to another one. As I enter, I see that they're writing letters. In the same room, I see at a distance, she's trying on a long white dress, but my attention is on the bureaucracy.

There're some train tickets, like boarding passes, that we have to return; they immediately take the stub with the numbers off. I did not even use some of them. I did not get on the train. They realise that I cannot waste time. They must also be added to the list, to not have to return so much money and get out of the commitment.

Deep down I'm terribly hopeful that it's merely red tape and the exhibition is going to happen, but she advises me: I should not let the exhibition take place at the cost of paying the others’ expenses, and she's right.

A producer will have to be found to finance it, but for now there's no candidate willing to pay the expenses of the exhibition.

On the way out, crossing the government's building courtyard, I see her in the garden, dressed in white because she's going to be wed. The woman is very popular, and everyone compliments her dress.

In the last fragment, we are together, she with ski equipment and clothing but with her neck exposed. I ask if she won’t get cold, and she closes it up.

When I see myself, I, too, am fully equipped, despite the years that have gone by since I last skiied. I remember, however, José Cortés told me that skiing is like riding a bicycle: we never forget how.

In the dream, we're getting ready to live in a barely finished apartment. In my room, I had previously made a niche for the faucet, which ruined the finish at the base of one wall.

Ilan helps me negotiate with the contractors who, in turn, gather the construction workers to have them do the repairs and paint, all day long.

The clever contractors check out Ilan’s smile and teeth, using a system that lets them isolate him from the rest of the city, similar to the Cheshire cat’s smile in Alice in Wonderland, and it alone stands out in the darkness.

His teeth are clearly not a child’s. There's nothing strange about that.

A path leads from one building to another, at the roof level.

I've to walk over this narrow metal bridge with no railing. Ilan goes first; it's a big challenge for me, because I fear my balance is not good, and Guillermo had some tequilas.

Thinking more about it, it's not particularly difficult, and I should be confident.

Another fragment of a dream takes place in a large hybrid space being used as a gymnasium, but instead of a flat floor, it has ramps.

I'm with other girls watching the routine of a great gymnast on the parallel bars. It's the idealization of an image.

We're a team, and we must all try to do a kip, a technical move for getting onto the bars.

It's my turn, but despite my best intentions, something keeps me from completing it; it's a gymnast laying on the ground, right under the apparatus. Instead of giving me security, it demands more control. It would help me a springboard.

The dream moves me elsewhere.

I go out to walk through a neighbourhood and observe large houses. I'm unfamiliar with this area and ask one of the girls by my side. Just when we get to the upper part of the street, a boy points out the direction toward "the Saturday market" that's, coincidentally, held today.

The roundabout seems to be an urbanization boundary. Visible on the other side is a mountainous landscape with a zone of active volcanoes. I soon realise that a few metres from where we're the incandescent lava created a crack that can, at any moment, begin to explode, a warning sign that makes us move away.

We continue towards the market, a few metres from there. In effect, it's a street market with stands where the most varied products will be sold. They're still being put up, even though it's 11:00 in the morning.

To kill time, we wander from one stand to another.

Dream. A group of people head aimlessly in some direction, more out of duty than pleasure. The general lack of interest is the particularity of the dream. We're in a small city amidst hills, and I decide to go my own way, toward my grandmother’s kitchen, where I naturally bump into Sully.

I look in the cupboard for the quince jam, but there's none left. My grandmother was recently on a trip, and unfortunately has not come back yet.

Since I don't find what I'm looking for want, I continue on.

Further on, my sister appears among a group of people, as I walk and talk on the phone to Javier. In my dream, he's a friend, and I'm planning a date with him. Javier is obsessive about his work, so his attention is on his computer, which distracts the conversation and means frequent long silences.

My sister stands beside me with her arms crossed and looks at me unpleasantly, as if she feels superior, she's snob I think. My relationship with her ex boyfriends shouldn't be a conflict.

I make it clear it's not her problem and besides, they're good people. What happens between us shouldn't matter.

In my dream, my sister has a physical condition: her arms are stuck to her body, like a rigid doll, a pink toy. Though pathetically unable to defend herself, my sister always finds a way to be abusive and offend. Dominique built herself a world in which she feels she can be superior.

I lose my patience, grab the chocolate Oreo cookies away and leave.

Dominique is perpetually defiant and provocative, which is tiring. I lose my calm and anger boils up inside me. With superhuman strength, I lift her up and throw her, like a log; she lands flat. How can one be defenceless, provocative and offensive at the same time? Hasn’t she realised that I've no scruples?

At the end, I wake up in the dream, I have my sister on the top of me, when I notice a small plate with some organic elements among which is a small egg. I take out a straw nest I had tucked away, since I had been waiting for this for a long time. A brown starling with a golden chest and green and violet feathers on the wings suddenly appears.

It's my treasure. I shielded it lovingly from the clenches of my sister, who stalks and destroys everything.

The picture of the starling I found; has a powerful charge of a spirit typical of a greater hierarchy.

I dream of a late night party.

It's pass midnight on the first day of the year, before dawn. Arcangelo suggests traveling to New York, notwithstanding the guests think that's impossible. They say to drive would be crazy and if we do so we would get there at 6:00 in the evening. Sure of what he wants, Arcangelo insists, and we leave.

We get to New York in an instant. Arcangelo amazes me; I didn’t imagine that he knew such a fast route between Eugene and New York.

I would have thought it takes at least 4 hours of travel between the two cities, instead Arcangelo knows a better way. He plans to stop and buy beer on the way out of Eugene, and further on, he says, past the store, the city of New York starts. We arrive and park his luxurious white BMW in front of a house.

Erika’s envy is apparent when she sees us. I hadn’t realised how horrible are the wounds I've on my legs. Some are new, whereas I got the others the last time. One in particular, right in the middle of the right shin, looks really bad and is covered with some kind of transparent plasma that looks like serum. The ideal thing would be to put a patch on it, but I don’t have one. Instead I take a sheet of paper with the dream I wrote and use it as a patch. I ask for a second opinion.

We enter a house, passing a girl in front with her pants below her hips and her underwear showing. It feels she knows she has a sculptural body, and her attitude is carefree but. we know it's her personality. She appears again, this time she approaches the room only wearing underpants, to presume her firm buttocks.

Last of all, we arrive at a neighbour’s party. Inside, the mouldings and arches are carefully decorated with paint in arabesque style.

Erika is stunned by the patterns and mirrors. She's taken, because it's what she's looking for, a cosy house.

When I awaken, I'm dreaming inside this very room. I'm not alone, others share it with me. One of them is Camilo Molfino, in the dream he's the son of Marc Moran, the engineer of EGI company who's in the lodge and is on his way to wake us up.

We go outside, it's Paris. Marc’s wife, Victoria, and I go into a brasserie. A trio is playing music on the terrace, and all the tables are filled. Victoria projects anxiety she craves for real culture. We want to sit near the musicians, but they move into the next room.

Victoria looks euphoric, because she just moved to Paris and wants to be everywhere at every moment, it's a chance to go out and discover the city. Victoria has undergone a drastic change, coming from an isolated environment in which she sticks with Marc. Now she's gaining independence. Her apartment is just a few blocks from here: straight and on the left, down a street named Boissonnerie.

I notice Victoria is wearing the parka that Chuncho, gave me in highschool, and I take it from her to put it on.

The dream transplants me to the city of Santiago.

I'm walking in the rain at night, with a parka on over the other one, when near the intersection of Alameda and Panamericana, reality shakes me up, it feels that I went too far.

I'm much lower down than I thought, so I walk aware that these are dangerous neighbourhoods, I take a sneak peek around me, to see if there's someone close up, trying to avoid any eye contact.

I turn right, toward Mapocho Station and manage to go up there where there's a market. I go by a transformed industrial kind of complex, most of the stands are closed except one, the entertainment stall.

I see a red, dinosaur-shaped piece, which is a set of building blocks. The person in charge comes up to me and hands me another similar piece that is a little more adapted to me, stronger and more substantial. I try my luck playing and throw it against the wall in front of another player that is present.

I throw it hard; the block comes back to me like the path of a boomerang. I keep playing and do it again. It seems I have talent for this game! The guy in charge comes and switches the block to a different one. It's a glass boot that turns to both sides. Looking at it with interest, I understand in the dream that it demands a higher level of skills, a "certain status". I throw it, too.

Now, I keep going on my way upward, together with my friend Enrique Macias, unexpectedly a doubly high colonial house appears in front of us. A street poster with one of his works was stuck beneath the arches by someone and without authorisation, he runs to take it down.

I do the same thing with other street posters that were up in front of me. In fact the layers of paper stuck is thick and have formed a crust that I pull off vigorously when bales of clothing appear. Must be the merchandise from one of the stands in the market, stored or rather hidden.

My dream revolves around my childhood friend Johanna’s house, where her mother is coordinating her house and her family for me to move in with the Boher Reifshneider family.

My memory begins upon entering the huge property, amidst the horses. A white one has something strange on its right shoulder, a stump, a protuberance or a bone malformation, which may make it so voluminous. I, first suspect it may be an illness, but I'm not sure and I try to find out.

The family’s house is undergoing a major change, as the people living in it are moving. Carol and her husband are taking their things out, although they do not know where to go yet. They looked for a place to live in San Miguel Chapultepec and didn’t find anything satisfactory. They've had the plan to move for a long time, since Johanna’s mother and her daughter Carol, are coordinating their departure and my arrival together.

At the beginning, I thought of setting up my workshop in the main house. However, in the dream I'm conscious Lyrica is my studio, and I would not exchange it.

The dream gradually reveals that Carol and her husband are taking her things out of the house and Johanna stays. Her home is in the dollhouse or where it usually was. With some degree of clarity, I focus my attention on the dividing wall between her house and my childhood home. The wall is now covered with wooden tiles, and is also different, not among them but at the top the shape is of semi-circular sections. After so many years, the house has had quite a few renovations.

Something strange stands out in Carol’s husband’s teeth. They are crooked, some overlapping others. Carol is like the perfect wife they share an excellent social status. he must comes from a so-called "good families", I believe. Carol also has strange teeth; each tooth has a perfectly circular perforation, a hole made right in the middle, below the gums. The whole upper jaw is like that, and I suspect that her whole mouth is that way.

Each tooth is carefully painted of a different colour, some are green others pink, all in different shades. That aesthetic difference seems to be a sign of social status; each tooth painted different colour is a symbol of beauty in the dream, despite how disturbing this may seem. They are enamelled like nail polish. The process took a week, she says, and she made the holes herself!

Moving to this house is a tremendous privilege, but I take it smoothly; I act receptive to their move and take over my new home cordially. Johanna’s mother shows me how she's going to repair the bathroom. It is located exactly where the grandmother had her camellia tree.

The rustic look of the bathroom comes from the stone and also because of the openess to the elements. Johanna’s mother is going to bring stones to repair and replace the tiles, a particular kind of stones called piedra-laja, she's going to carve, to make the tiles that cover the bathroom in the house.

At night my beautiful friend Johanna goes to her house, a few metres away. She freely decided to have an open, simple lifestyle, and her family supports her in that. Under a tarp roof and rooms open to the sky, her children grow up: a wild lifestyle although she's tremendously disciplined and has excellent living hygiene, as is to go to bed early.

I see when they go to sleep, I notice the beds are impeccably made with that German engineering that make life really comfortable.

Johanna takes care of every detail. While her children sleep, she takes over. to swat a mosquito. , It's a magical image, when she goes out in the nature after the insect fliying, her beautiful long blond hair and her nightgown are light, that illuminates the garden.

By taking possession of the main house, I aknowledge, Lyrica is forever my studio, like no other and Johanna’s family’s house, while large, will be the place to living in. I thus take care of my living hygiene.

Finding out what is wrong with the white horse is still pending. I ask again and this time I got an answer. It is not a body deformity. The shape of the protuberance is now a thick, perfectly cylindrical, even geometrical rather long stick that extends out of the right shoulder, inlaid in the animal’s skeleton.

It's not a disease, they add, but a "formation".

I'm amazed and deeply touch to see the new house where I'm moving in. I walk outside of the house toward the bottom of the property, go all the way around house until I get, to find water! It's the sea!

They, in the dream, explain that there're frequent strong swells, marine currents during storms, waves that crash against the glass, water slapping the windows.

A piece of ice stuck to the house piques my curiosity, and I ask why? Could it come from the sea? I ask but get no answer.

Thrilled to see my uncle Muncho, who lives now in the lower part. It seems incredible how a house joins many lives!

My friend’s mother is somehow Muncho’s mother-in-law as he was married to one of the daughters and that connects us strangely as if it stretched time. Many people are in the house; among other activities, there's a handcrafted textile workshop.

I go back up to the entrance. In the parking area, I'm with Johanna, she shows me the dogs; they've not had a Dobermann in the house in years.

Many decades have passed since our childhood. Johanna wants to introduce her dog she has now in the dream, a female German shepherd named Roberta, "she's 11 years old", she says in a tone that insinuates an abnormal number of years, an extraordinary amount of time, it's weird, and expands time to another dimension.

This dream begins with Jonny, as a current relationship. We go on a trip with Kyla, and we’re staying in a hotel. I remember we enter the room to let our stuff and leave again when I recall that I forgot something and go back. On the sidewalk a vendor has a stand, among the things he sells is pastry. Since I know he likes them, I buy some for Jonny, but my temptation and hunger betrays me. I eat some on the way. As I enter the room, I think I left some money out in order to keep it safe, I put it away.

Inside the room, a woman is taking care of two beautiful children with curly light hair, about 2 years old. She seems to be doing a good job, but I want to put my money out of temptation. Jonny left several 50-peso bills out, and I put them away.

I leave the hotel again surrounded by woods, may be, a rural place. We're going to have breakfast together, but I cheated I ate the bread, and now I'm not hungry.

I wanted to put our money away, in a safe place, making perfectly clear which money whose money it was and how much is mine, thereby preventing misunderstandings.

Waking up from a dream, I see myself as a witch with magical powers. I cast a spell that travels throughout the water web, to attract Dr. Henrik Walther.

It's hard to say precisely if the spell is evil or not, it can be both.

In last night’s dream, we built a collective space, a workshop and a project that I head.

It's my house and it's time to do the last phase of the construction, interior walls are made of a light material. One bathroom has a tub; and my job is to decide whether to replace it with a shower and save space or, on the contrary leave it like it's. The bathtub resembles the one in the apartment on Privada Mascota, in Abraham González St. in Mexico, so I suspect the dream might involve remodelling.

If I put in a brand new shower, I save space and add value to the building, while the tub may add a plus to quality of life. I have these two possibilities and must choose one.

Another fragment is a dream in which we are on a trip to Madrid.

I go into a kitchen store and fancy some elegant-looking stainless steel serving pieces. Some are long, and another is big and round, like for paella. Instantly I remember in Mexico, I've two pots that size. However, my suitcase is limited in size and cannot fit a lot, though another option is to ask Arcangelo if he would carry them in his suitcase.

My mother and sister are there, interested in a mixture of dried red and green chiles, which according to my mother are the authentic chiles to make pico de gallo salsa, she's motivated to do so. It's common in Mexico but special for my mother.

My father is also there, but no matter how hard I try to get his support, there’s nothing I can do; he has always favoured my brother. All my effort has been in vain, and it continues to cause an unnecessary inner distance.

Elsewhere, I wake up in a dream that it's on Sunday, in Lorena’s apartment in Washington. I come to see her. She wakes up and is getting ready to go to the gym, to kickboxing classes with Chris. In the dream, Lorena pays a trainer, which works to keep her concentrated.

I ask my dear friend if she has plans for today, so I can organise my day according.

I’m thinking about starting with a coffee, when at that moment through the window I see a person swimming in a pool, the idea encourages me of going for a swim. I ask to borrow a swimsuit. She passes me one that is still wet, and I don’t feel like using it. The other one is blue, and she only gives me the bottom part. Lorena makes me think that my visit has lost intensity, but I don’t say anything, I keep quiet.

I trust I wouldn't get anywhere by forcing things and I go out to a garden. The apartments are now houses and have yards bordered by bushes. A neighbour appears, going after her dog, she calls him, but her pet runs off into the thickets.

In the following scene, a family arrives with two daughters. The younger one has short brown hair and speaks French perfectly although she wasn’t born in France. Everything about her makes me see myself reflected when something reminds me that it's a dream.

I remain concentrated. The eldest daughter is a foreigner studying in the capital for several years. This's suspicious and may be a chance for me to find out if there's a deep reason why, I was born in Madrid. I randomly try my luck and in the dream, I ask wondering if it gives me a clue about the mayor event.

–"I was born at Generalísimo st. number 69, now called La Castellana, near Bernabéu Stadium."

The answer never came.

I'm talking with their father when from among the dividing shrubbery around the yard, two lovely birds with red feathers, a kind of rooster shows up, and the powerful presence of the other makes me see everything differently.

The girls must see that!

When I remember a native African with a lower lip so deformed, that it's a great protuberance. What's that!

I question the girls’ father, a well-travelled man and knowledgeable about many things. He simply answers, “They're barbarians.” A simple answer, yet I had probably hoped for more, out of him. No matter how I ask, I get nothing special.

The dream transfers me to a table. Meg and Timothy are together with some friends, ironically perhaps the girls’ father doing cocaine in a pipe.

One drug leads to another, I think right then. It's disappointing that's not the way. I lack interest in participating and wake up.

I recall a part of the dream. I'm with José Cortés at night. It's not clear but seems to be a school during a student reunion.

Petra Saarinen has long hair dyed reddish brown, like Carla Taramasco. I irreverently order a whisky, creating suspense in the air.

Nobody else does the same, and I don’t think José likes to see me drinking alcohol. But I decided that I want a whisky with ginger ale, because I feel I have a right to drink one. Yet I'm the only one and I hide.

I want to get my freedom back. I escape from José when he comes to look for me. I have mixed feelings. He, kindly comes to look for me to give a ride in his car, but I go in the other direction.

Next, I trust a good man and sincere friend –possibly Raymundo the electrician. To open the compartment and remove the chip from my telephone, I take a clip and carefully change the card. He does it first, then comes my turn.

The man turns into a child, and a team of gymnasts goes with me, underprivileged children training on an apparatus improvised with two pieces of wood together like a balance beam. To warm up, they practise dismounts from the beam, simple moves like round- offs.

My friend taught me to change the telephone chip and goes with me to gymnastics training. After gymnastics, I go to buy an ice cream. Since my hands are free, instead of choosing ice cream on a stick, I get a mountain of merengue with whipped cream and cookies, doused with berry sauce. I go through the street eating my ice cream, when the cookie falls way down the stairs.

I find Jaime Reyes he's coming back from a "Travesia", one of the school trips. We have a conversation about a suitor, and he asks me about Moisés Vargas. Surprised, I answer disinterestedly that I had seen him today.

Jaime immediately got my point, Moisés has no special value to me, the least would be to say that I have no feelings left for him.

Moisés likes to argue and talks exclusively about himself, when I was with him my natural reaction was to withdraw and retreat inside myself.

Others who witness the scene for the first time might think that he is right. But convinced that Moisés talks with his head not his heart, I prefer to keep quiet. Jaime understands; people who speak without involving their feelings, he says, never go very far.

At the end, my memory takes me back to the first dream. Once again we are with Huaira in a car, going to the reunion, a return to the location of the first dream. The two of us are hugging precisely when my mother appears, but I don’t care. Huaira lies down on my skirt. When I rest on him he tells me he's hungry. I might guess that he would like some enchiladas, or chicken with mole and say Huaira is hungry.

I don't retain the dream well. There's a situation in a relationship with the Asperger syndrome.

Later on in the dream.

I live in a community, among a group of people by the side of a road and across from a field: is a grape plantation on the outskirts of a town.

The community takes the shape of a city with houses that are situated alongside a dirt road, a rural setting. That feels it might be San Miguel de Allende, but is just the name really.

In this dream, I'm driven by a rigid and intolerant mood.

I'm stubborn with certain people to keep their word, to the letter. I insist they should do exactly as they said.

My memory blows up then for a fraction of time.

The intense desire for people to do what they say is prevalent. It's an idea of justice without which I cannot be at peace. Not a feeling based on empathy with people, but rather with the fact that they comply with what's promised. It's a duty to do what we say, I believe there's an underlying reason for that.

From the beginning, I recall a group of people and right after that, I'm supposed to be their leader. My mission is to take care of the spaces of the community. A man I cannot remember who he's, is careless and I get angry.

One of the beams that support the weight of the second floor, is a wooden stick construction type and I get upset by the fact is not placed in the right support where it unloads the force that sustains the construction, it's not the right point and it can be dangerous.

I get really annoyed when I see the beam is not doing its structural job. I feel angry and frustrated when I see the others, clearly do not see it or even don't care.

My responsibility is the upkeep of the workshops. I answer and I have my reasons for believing it's bad. I get angry, because I believe they're not careful enough, and that remains clear to me.

In the dream, there is a mature, seductive woman. She's a witch, in terms of powers, and she lives here. I'm the only person to have access to her house. She's an acquaintance of mine. Her space is additional, and she lets me "take things beyond" through a different entrance from the rest of the workshops, open for me. Between one house and another, the relationship there's my own. The last house is my mother’s.

I dream again of that rural kind of place on the outskirts of a rather out of the spot town. Now my mood is friendlier and more good-natured and collaborative.

The idea of the visit to studios, located along the side of the road and across from a vineyard, persists. It's a single project of workshops full of tools, well organised and laid out in a continuity.

It's strange, to divide a house into parts, to reorder the same quarters of the house, along a road.

There's a relationship with a man too and it's satisfying, based on positive attraction.

After some time away, I return to that place; the street is the same, but instead of a horrible buildings, a cheap shopping centre from the 80s, that mall was demolished instead some lower, larger and cleaner buildings.

A celebrity was invited to the city. He's not a rock star but rather someone dedicated, to some kind of electronic sampling. Besides having these workshops, as a group of active friends, we enjoy quality social relations within the sphere.

This persona has come to make a presentation, and we have the opportunity to go along with him to other presentations. It's a chance to have a closer relationship and share what people generally cannot openly discuss. All of this does not manage to distract me from the task or responsibility concerning the workshops.

The phase of the dream in which this artist comes keeps me disconnected. I understand that it's important, but it leaves me unenthusiastic. I have the privilege of staying at the workshops.

Now the new buildings, the workshops, look like a neatly arranged hardware store. As a team, I'm happy for the privilege of being invited, but that doesn’t outweigh my interest in staying at the studios.

With my torso uncovered, I literally barely cover it with a towel my chest feels actually free.

I feel relax within the dream, and I also understand that people on the outside provide us with a social position.

This situation of going from one dream to the next with the same group of people, from one workshop to another, towards the end it gets slow, heavy and more complicated.

I take the liberty to go uncover; not everyone does

One's own territory deeply inside may appeal to other people I think.

There's a woman with a innocent outlook or perhaps she's a folk healer from the 80s, she got the idea of inviting the guest artist to the house Felipe Ehrenberg has in town.

This event is a further step for art as traditionally understood, and Felipe Ehrenberg is not at the forefront. While Felipe may be highly esteemed nationally, this artist is on the cutting edge of our time, he's acclaimed and internationally renowned.

Constant surveillance and patrolling of the workshop spaces is my duty. Others have outward interests, whereas I'm drawn more inward.

[meta data] I wake up my mind empty and dreamless.

Nap no EEG register

I remember a dream, I am in a relative’s house, it may be my grandmother’s house, and my mother is here.

I get mad when I go into the bathroom and see an enormous poop in the toilet. It seems to me that not only do I have to clean my own mess but also someone else’s. That's not fair.

I leave the bathroom to address someone, I do not know exactly who he is and I complain. It cannot be possible that besides cleaning my own shit having to clean others’. Suddenly I start to remember something strange, I know now that next door there's is a room where Larva, my ex-boyfriend is sitting.

Cleaning poop turns into this analogy.

Alert! I am terrified. My mouth is full of a fistful of pins. I am trying to take them out extremely carefully. Moving as smoothly as possible, I bend over so the pins will fall out, because I am afraid of swallowing one and it going to hurt my heart. If that happens, I think I will die. I react with an extreme care and the attention the urgency demands.



It turns out the janitor "by mistake" or "by accident" or better said ineptly, he puts them back inside my mouth. The dream has me start all over. Having barely finished getting the first fistful out, I have to start once more, slowly and very carefully so as not to swallow them.

It is a miracle that hasn’t happened. Luckly my heart is not hurt yet. As I pull the pins out of my tongue, the needles seem like nails, they are so thick.

I am mad at the janitor outraged by his acting and his attitude because instead of helping me by throwing the needles far away from here, they are in my mouth. I suspect the janitor threw them back into my mouth!!

My body is bent over as if I were vomiting wishing to avoid to hurt my heart. The only hope of getting them out of my mouth is in that position, far from the risk of swallowing them.

The following thing I recall it's a mix of fragments coming from before. When I say that besides cleaning my own shit there is the others’ excrement, the other person seems not to want me to say it out loud, because perhaps they do not want Larva to hear me, I suppose.

It's nothing I don’t care a thing. The truth of the crap has to come out, it has to be known. I am disgusted. I cannot keep it inside me, it's overwhelming both morally and physically.

Out of the blue, towards the end of the dream, as I'm still removing the pins gradually, taking them slowly out of my mouth, I notice that it does not hurt anymore. I feel nothing!

Restless I guess that is not normal, but as I get out of this long and overwhelming emotional state, I start to suspect I'm in a dream.

I don't feel pain, then in my consciousness, I start to realise it is a dream. I do not feel physical pain, only moral pain. By then, it is unlikely that I am dead but do not feel pain.

What I recall from last night begins with a dream in which I'm doing a painting, is a polyptych of medium size stretcher frames, 100 x 80 cm approximately. I'm going to put all the stretcher frames together to make a single landscape and portray the Andes Mountain Range.

Eddie and my boyfriend are helping me do the Mountain Range, but it's my work; I'm in the lead. They put paint on the lower part of the canvases the background is stained with the figure of a duck! Oh god!

I arrive and see how poorly they left the painting. I grab the turpentine and a cloth and clean the base. The composition foreground was ruined. Pretty annoyed, I explain what they probably do not know: atmospheric perspective in painting, as the planes get farther away, the contrasts get subtler. They stained the canvas; it's too dark now, and they broke in important law of perspective for my painting.

I try however I can't get rid of that dark layer they put to depict a black duck in the foreground, since it's the first coat in the background of the canvas, they basically ruined everything.

Besides the painting that recreates the mountains, we've The Andes right in front of us, as a model. Look at the mountains! I tell them, the variety of roses of the sunlight are visible and, as it gets farther away, your eyes can barely see the disparity of colours in the scene. In the first, the second and third planes, the difference in how the contrast lessens is glaringly visible.

Even though I get rid of the extra black paint, the canvas is still stained, and though I put white on top, the black permeates and rises to the upper layers. The pure white is irretrievable. It may seem violent on my part to remove everything they had done, but we are painting The Andes, not a humongous duck!

I definitely think what they did is grotesque. It's not even thematically related. The painting is a 10-metre-long composition to portray The Andes Mountain Range. All the summits and their valleys should be there. Now I have to get that back.

I remember then another fragment of the dream.

We arrive in a town to start a new life in a house that's at least 100 years old and is practically in ruins. We come to inhabit the old house, in order to rebuild it somehow, and we would like to add an extra floor on top.

I'm with someone else I don't remember who he's. He insists that better foundations must be made for the house. We're going to use the stone we count for that.

I'm totally enthused and grateful for what's to come. The foundations are to me actually reinforcements. We'll make the walls thicker, with the stone we have although they will reduce the space on the inside, I'm open and thankful for this new place to live.

We begin to make it's interior structuring with some reinforcements that hold it up and then, part of the exterior, in order to build another floor.

After that I remember that I've a small painting I did of San Miguel de Allende that I want to hang.

Another dream I'm in the street, when suddenly a car stops in front of me, and I jump in. Isabel, my friend Santiago’s current wife, is the driver. Her hair looks like she comes from the hair stylist!

She seems to be a dynamic, the attitude of a spirited woman, while driving her car she asks us: –"Do you have time to go and eat with the twins?" We must have plans already but fortunately we have time, so why not? I accept the invitation.

The twins appear at the moment of delivery. As astounding as it may seem, they come out through a channel, by a conduit, that leads into a tiny river, a stream with enough water for the babies to land in. The boy appears first, then the girl. They're swimming in the river with the clay that's normally stirred up off the riverbed when we step on it. I'm surprised to see them immersed in a wild environment when babies are usually kept in sterile spaces. This shows that the babies are strong.

Isabel knows what she's doing very well. Besides taking care of the twins, she generously invites us to eat. She must actively control her life. It's interesting to see how certain mothers can subject her children to natural environments they are out of the ordinary.

The boy appears first. Is incredible, he surprises us when he appears speaking Spanish with an accent that reflects immediately Santi’s genetic history, particularly from his father's lineage.

It's not only does he talks, it's also what he says, plus he's 1.10 or 1.20 m tall.

He learned many things very fast!

I notice with curiosity that, despite speaking with a strong Spanish accent, what he says is not regular information to have acquired in such a short time. It's a mystery where he gets this information and how he could assimilate it. I try to understand.

Basically, how can a new born baby looks like 10 years old?

As a matter of facts he was born 3 months ago!!! How can that be? The dream has problems with rational times, but I attempt to calculate, 3 months since I got here plus the 2 months in Mexico, I remember perfectly well that Erika came to visit. It doesn't make sense.

The girl is shyer. It's hard for me to imagine a baby with social contacts, though she has fewer social skills than her brother. The two of them together are stronger than one appart.

They get along very well she has him and vice versa, because they share a common origin. She has light hair, and he's distinguished for being dressed in a suit, at least to go to the luncheon.

He comes first out of the pipe into the water then is she. Her hair is shorter on the sides like my cut. I briefly see that he has that same haircut.

This reality amazes me!

I continue on my way and get to a room with two beds.

Rodrigo is in one of them; perhaps he comes from the same luncheon at Isabel's house. I'm in my bed, and Rodrigo is in the other bed, next to it. As he talks, sitting on the bed normally, I curiously notice that the quilt on the bed is moving. I suspect it's a woman giving oral sex to Rodrigo. For him, that might be an everyday occurrence.

Astonished I see a woman showing up from under the quilt. When I see her face it's covered with the product of Rodrigo's ejaculation.

Just like that she gets out of bed, all too natural to get the semen off her face. Is terrific how she pulls at a hardened transparent gel, as if it were a beauty mask: the chin, mouth, nose, the whole face up to the forehead. She's perfectly clean, the most professional job I have ever seen.

I remember a cyclical and paradoxical dream.

Pedro comes looking for me in the torrential rain. To avoid him, I hide, try to run away, but I have to admit that Pedro is a great help. I find myself in the middle of a philosophical contradiction.

It is pouring; Pedro comes to look for me. The scene repeats over and over, in a loop all night long.

I cannot tell a single dream. No story is stored in my memory.

Just the vague memory that I am going through a frustrating period. I do not understand why they call me if they don’t need me.

I may be disappointed, and that annoys me.

After a long time, I go back to this town called San Miguel de Allende in Mexico. I remember walking up by one of its cobblestoned streets along with a local when I recognize a Mexican cantina, a place where I used to go regularly. I would like to sneak inside and I ask him to come with me.

In another fragment; I ignore where we come from, but I am with two people and a woman’s shoes. There are two simultaneous situations, extracts from my memory. I am conversing with the man when some black high heels appear. They are elegant shoes, but it is strange that while similar, each foot is a different model. It is a one-of-a-kind pair, and that is how they are being worn.

My conversation with him is going in a different direction when the shoes appear. I don’t pay much attention, assuming that they are his wife’s and that is about her freedom; I would never butt in there. I am organising an outing and would like us to share the responsibility. I want to make that clear.

I suddenly realise that the dream put us in a construction site. I see backhoe loaders moving earth in front of me, specifically to create a mound in the middle of a field, in other words a well-defined esplanade. The aim of the construction is to throw on more earth, intentionally put dirt on top of dirt.

At first, I try to figure out what it will be. I quickly arrive at the conclusion that it is an enormous bed. A gigantic cement sculpture. I notice influences of Italian Futurism in the folds of the sheets, in the style of Umberto Boccioni.

Look how original! I didn’t know it was an art centre. It is good that the bed has wheels, enabling the bed to be taken away and put back at will.

Personally, I think it is always good to be able to empty out space every once in a while. That may be a notion of freedom. Better yet is to prevent getting saturated.

Someone appears who wants to put in a bare stretcher, with a text in the middle.

In order to preserve the minimal style, I make sure that it's put separate from the others, at medium distance so as to keep the space empty and available.

Sergio, the blacksmith, comes to work at the studio space. Standing in the first floor, my viewing angle is higher up when in my dream he enters smoking a joint. He is relaxed; it is clear he derives pleasure from his work. My interest is occupied on something else though.

I wake up and fall back to sleep. The whole dream is a journey to another workshop in the neighbourhood. I pack my rucksack with my things. I carry it on my back, and it is full of cash.

I must be more careful, Arcangelo, appears as my ex boyfriend and tells me that the zipper of my bag is open. The one on the pocket that is empty. It is, in fact, open, but to be sure I check the other, and fortunately, the money is still inside.

On our way, we enter an old movie theatre with several floors. We go up to the box seats, which are on the top floor. We go in one of the doors, from where we see the area in front of the screen, and it is empty. We are with another couple. My boyfriend and I decide to get closer to the screen and go down.

I don’t know what movie we came to see.

We finally make it to the other workshop. It is a house with bow-windows and a 180 degree view. The three panels are glass, the one in the middle looks out on the street and is covered by a grille. It is for protection against thieves.

We really came to wander through the house and are still with the same couple, walking aimlessly.

The only intention with Arcangelo is to be together. I feel free; it is a bond with a sense of spirit. On the second floor of the house we find a mezzanine with a bed, or rather an area made up of mattresses: a surface where several couples can fit at the same time, without mixing.

They are on one side and we are farther away, wrapped in a blanket. We want to lie down in an embrace, passion concentrated in the space existing between us.

In the dream I am studying in a school located in an old house. I get out of the lecture in the morning; other less important classes are in the afternoon.

A get-together has been organised after classes by the students.

While I would like to stay active and be there in the social activity, the wise thing for me is to take advantage of the time to rest.

I'm aware health is of capital importance.

The dream is absent. Silence and emptiness reigns in my memory.

This dream is a complex one to tell. It is at the core of the encounter between the known and the unknown.

I recall it goes from being at a gathering of friends, to turn into something new.

In the dream they come for me when I observe a situation. I have two options, to ignore it, or may be I should fix it. Later on, this transforms into an opportunity for an encounter or some happy fulfilment.

My memory wavers through a strange imposed condition. In order to lead to a unified outcome I should react as respectably as possible. I cannot get the words out.

When they come for me, I trust it is possible to display optimism and I have to prepare myself for that. I apply a kind of shiny varnish on my body, so that I can go from one phase to another.

It is a single, long dream, so fragments from my memory may get jumbled.

The next scene takes place in the country. I see a type of a presence that reminds me my friend Johanna. We go out to a green field; the grass is up to our waist. In front of us are some fleshy, furry, light green plants. I remember they ask me to pose for a photo with the plant to send it, to someone, to a precise destination.

What is an epic tale about how to move forward, eventually turns into an issue of philosophy. An abstraction on lifestyle and the way we do things.

The story mixes with a heroic act. Somebody has to decide to let go of something, may be of himself. It is not an erotic situation of competition but rather of letting go in order to move forward bravely.

I want to show the example, so I go first. The idea is solely to go forward and I trust that my reaction will end up being positive.

Another important factor, is the rule of staying at the edge of time, we must plan things rhythmically.

At the end, there's sequence of events that starts with the story of a bed and the other person, is a man.

Moving forward allows me to obtained some things, and although is out of my control I would like him to acquire others.

The first part of the dream is a mess, a total confusion and a problem. I bought a house that I cannot use, because the people that are still living in it cannot vacate it. It is a problem in search of a solution.

They explain to me nicely what is happening, the reason why they cannot leave, and I listen to them patiently. The point is that they do not tell me when they are going. That part of the problem is always left pending and remains unresolved.

I enter the office of the lawyer Diego Latorre; I want to make an appointment to speak with him next week. I need to explain what is going on. He can surely do something. I need to put a stop to this situation. I have been extremely tolerant; they pushed me to the edge of abuse, it is an injustice. I took over a house and paid for it. I cannot go back; the deal is closed. I have no way out of it.

Another fragment; I walk alone through a rural town. The sun shines; I walk and it feel as if I were on vacation. I enter an events hall or a restaurant, and I bump into Pablo Mackenna Dörr.

Since he does not trust, Mackenna staves off love. He denies real affection, because he is afraid of it. He is still in love with me but doesn’t let himself go with the feeling, because he doesn’t know how.

We are in the upper part of a tiny town, the place is very familiar to Mackenna. It is his childhood house. Of all my teenage friends, he is the only one that still lives there.

Between Mackenna and I, there was always some kind of seductive game and this dream is like a revival. What is not clear and I cannot explain here, is why Mackenna fears this situation. He kind of goes back to his original way of being: fearful, rigid, and his conservative side becomes blatant.

Mackenna is an interesting guy but that is his choice and I flow with it without a problem. I am happy to return to Chile and I believe life smiles at me. I see a stand where they sell oranges, and I want to stop and buy. What? 281 for 2 oranges! I'm perplexed, is one or two oranges? I don’t have enough money. The coins I grab from my pocket are mixed, I have Mexican pesos and I am in Chile. The value is different. It is embarrassing; I don’t have enough.

At the stand they also sell grapefruit. I don’t know the price. The attendant ignores me for a while, and when he finally tells me the price, I thank him.

I keep walking, I am on my way to my parents’ house. The landscape reminds me the road that goes through upper Con-Cón. The time to leave arrives.

Something is missing here and the fleeting memory of a Webcam remains.

Supposedly Mackenna routes me to the bus but for some reason he buys puffed rice and seeds to share with me, which is a loving gesture.

I am in a joint point. In order to get to my family house I have to decide: I can take the bus in El Estero de La Boca or go to Viña del Mar. Definitely Mackenna does not want to go with me to La Boca, yet to Viña del Mar, he does.

We approach Valparaiso, the ground is oddly dirty and I am walking barefoot. As if there had been a market, the ground is disgusting, I walk on the trash. Quickly I put shoes on while I think about arriving to wash them.

While Mackenna doesn't allow me to seduce him, I hear the word "no corresponde", like an alarm clock that comes to annoy me, as an infiltration that does not blend in gently.

From the first dream, I have to evict the inhabitants of the house. It is a prize that is waiting for me, a trophy or may be, it is a favour.

Resembling the chain effect; the unavailability of one leads to that of the other. It is not something that has a solution in sight, but rather just a situation.

My memory is convoluted. Dian and Les are in a house on Zacatecas Street close to Lyrica Studios. We are neighbours. I am busy organising a project with Dr. Reyes Haro but they left a bottle of wine, and I taste it.

I remember another dream. Sitting with Lorena in front of a suitcase while we neaten the notebooks and manuscripts from it. I pass them to her one at a time, as we talk. I do not know whether they are hers or not but it seems to me that Lorena is only responsible for putting them away.

Out of the suitcase comes a light shining along with a 13 x 27 cm sheet of paper arranged vertically. My name is written in the centre.

It seems I got a promotion and am now director of a creative multimedia centre. Completely naturally Lorena puts her files away carefully in the case.

Several people are in my dream.

Something exactly the same as last year happens. Just like it, Katri Walker is here and facing a problem. The landscape is covered with ice. There is a get-together, and it turns out to be part of the problem.

I have to sign in with several people, and it stresses me, so I come up with a plan, like a trick, to be able to be everywhere at the same time, without falling apart. Still, in that way, I can keep the feeling of a single entity.

I don’t understand the origin of the shame.

Some things are incomplete, we were given tasks and I want to be sure to do it well. Some assignments are pending matters that I must coordinate, put together different moments that occur simultaneously in order. My task includes as well as necessities of others, my own needs.

This is my second year. I have to take care of several problems together plus the demand of a number of people, but this time I want to be sure that it will work out well.

I want to make sure that I can take charge, and do not lose sight and can safeguard what is mine, and what feels comfortable.

My dream goes as follows. It is someone's special birthday celebration. A unique meal is made for this occasion. Despite being surrounded by people, I always retain an independent dynamic attitude but the time is right to attend and converse with important people.

Once again I have the pleasure of trying something different, I create a privilege for myself. The enthusiasm and the independent character move me from one place to another. I believe they are driven by my freedom.

I come upon a woman. One of my nostrils is small, and it is stuffed; the other is bigger and is completely clogged. I manage to open it and get the snot out.

Precisely today I am learning how to plant in the soil. There is a plant with long, thin leaves that has a thorn at the tip that pricks. At the centre of the stem, others sprout out of the heart, and they also grow out toward the sides. It is quite peculiar.

The birthday celebration is for a man I love, a friend or a brother.

I am very lucky to be able to taste this remarkable soup. It is a singular opportunity, and I take it with due respect.

I remember a conversation at that luncheon, or perhaps right after, about Asperger syndrome. Someone asks me what it is. It is a light form on the autism spectrum, with high neuronal connectivity, I say.

[meta data] Attributed to November 22

I digress in a dream: I am in the backseat of a car, sitting on the floor where feet go. Some people are sitting in the front and a female is next to me.

While I talk to them about trivial things, I pee in my pants, discreetly. I believe their attention should be elsewhere, far from me, when they give me an objective like participation.

I get up from the floor of the backseat and discreetly peek to see if I left a halo mark on the carpet. I assume that if I can see a mark, then the others can, too, but since I don’t see or smell anything, I assume it has gone unnoticed.

They are about to give us a white BMW to drive.

I am in a city. It is strange, I suspect it should be a familiar place but I do not recognize anything, I am lost and I lead a group of people. We should find a place to eat sandwiches, those unique Mexican tortas. However, I am not sure where to go.

I vaguely remember a torteria where they sell really good and inexpensive tortas, but I hesitate between two streets and honestly, I cannot find it.

I walk into a café and ask about a small food truck kind of thing, describing it as a sort of counter, where they make and serve tortas. It seems the place no longer exists. The area was gentrified now the local commerce is for Hipsters, similar to this one.

Perhaps they won’t mind going to a different restaurant, I say to myself.

I know they like Japanese food, but if I ask the man, I think he might prefer something else. After looking at all the options, we finally put in an order of three tortas: two of the same kind, with beans, onion, a lot of lettuce but little cucumber, so it doesn’t slip out of the sandwich.

One is for me and the other is for the girl with me.

The third torta is special: it has ham, cheese, and a fried egg. Right there, in front of us, the helper starts beating eggs in a bowl. Confidently, I tell him that I don’t want scrambled eggs; the description clearly states that the egg is not scrambled, it is fried in order to give it the right texture.

Lastly I remember, a tall, thin, nice-looking man. He wears his hair in a bowl-cut like Moe’s in The Three Stooges or Iggy Pop’s when he was young.

It is a self-created character.

[meta data] Sediment of the memory I have of the dream from the 22nd of November.

In next part, we took large steps because there was no gravity. I handed something to someone and felt like it was the moment to escape. I have a tendency to hide myself in order to escape. I am not alone. I am encouraging another character to escape by jumping out the window and climbing onto the roof.

One house connects to another. The mayor and his wife are going to move out and my mother and I went to visit the house. As we looked around the all the rooms, I remember planning out how we would arrange our things there. We decided to settle for this house. In order for us to have it, the mayor must start moving out.

Events happen simultaneously anywhere and everywhere. That, for one, was the first event. In the second event, I find myself at a ski resort in front of the ski lifts. There are two ski lifts because one doesn’t work.

Everyone knows that the ski lift of "Los Tontos" ski field in Farellones doesn’t, and has never worked. They remodeled it but for reasons beyond my understanding, it still doesn’t work. This circumstance forces us to the other side, where we must dare to take the first step, like one does in the face of new situations, even if they are abstract.

The mayor is slightly corrupt and his wife may not actually be legally wedded to him.

I just remember a dead rat next to a live rat, even though it didn’t look like a rat. I don’t know why they are called “rats” if what they killed is a bird with feathers. In other words, there is a “trapped rat” here. I am suspicious.

The mayor and his wife will have control over the house but we will have control over their position. We discreetly surveyed the rooms, which enables us to take the house, sooner or later.

– “This is the reading room,” I heard, even though it looks like an office to me; not just one, but two, one for each person. After passing the reading room there is another space that is farther away and open. Perhaps it is part of a different house. Perhaps it is part of ours. I think my friend Erika is there. I notice she seems rather clumsy.

On the one hand, there is stupidity, and on the other, there is audacity. At least that’s what I think.

Secondly, since we are the ones moving into the house that belonged to the mayor, we must move the elders out and put ourselves in his place.

Infinite details occur simultaneously but I have a strange intuition that is coming from the past. This notion comes on a level of understanding, and not of imagery. The things I don’t remember outweigh the things I do.

It is only a matter of time before we can successfully displace the couple. The mayor and his wife must leave and we must take their place. I would prefer it to be discreet and non-violent. They must leave before we move into that house.

There are a number of secret places. I take a checkbook and hand it to her, pressuring her to leave. The moment to “help them move out” has come, but how does one proceed non-violently? They must leave the place to us so that new ideas can flow.

That first thing which I thought was a rat, which appeared dead, squashed, and dried-out, is now before me as a second one that I see. It surprises me, “wow!” if there are two rats, it is probable that there are more.

To judge where I come from, the house is large and we started from another place, on the other side.

The black rat begins to take on a strange appearance. I hope no one steps on it because it has feathers. It was a strange animal and I never found out what it was called.

In all honesty, the couple that precedes us is useless. The mayor is a good person but he is not competent. Stupid people ascended whose positions have been revoked. We aren’t part of them, we have a different vision.

There is something we do better than they do. We are more capable and the renovation is positive. I watch the change with confidence and respect it even though the spaces are still occupied.

The notorious living-room/reading-room appears before me as just another corridor. The corridor is somewhat narrow and long, longer than usual. Someone mentions that this is the reading room but I see it full of things, which makes me anxious because I know the history of a couple. It's as if everyone should have their personal office and space, I think.

Around the corner, there is an outdoor space. Perhaps it's towards another house that has sofas and everything else needed in the case someone liked to sit and read.

As I wake up from the dream, I remember going to the American East Coast to an apartment I found on AirBnB, the apartment of Meg Blanchet.

I rented out a room in her property. During my stay, my landowner, Meg, wanted to build an extention a couple meters away from my window. She decided to destroy a wall to build another along the length of her garden. Her work disrupts my right to work and dream. I believe it is an abuse. The construction interferes with my rest and has consequences to my health. It seems that she does not take this into consideration.

I demand justice. I paid four months in advance and have the right to ask for my money back. The contract with AirBnb states that if the rent surpasses the monthly quota, then it is subject to Oregon State property laws. It is $5,000 in total, but Meg refuses to return any of it or to take responsibility.

After studying the AirBnB policy, I learn that cancelations require at least a 24-hour notice. She can’t charge me more than one day, I thought to myself in the dream. Her greedy, selfish attitude makes it clear to me that justice is necessary for peace.

I leave in search of a lawyer who can exercise Anglo-Saxon Law. I immediately think of my brother as the only and best candidate. I always feel vulnerable in these types of situations because I am a foreigner. In addition to everything and in spite of my exhaustion, I must resolve it immediately.

There is a bath with a mixture of 18th and 19th century architecture that lies at the outskirts of the city. Meg is on one side of the landscape, in an urban setting with large avenues and neoclassic buildings built with cement and columns, porticoes, and tympanums. On the other side of the landscape, there is a strange man in a tent a few meters away from the beach. The tent is by the edge of a beach that is inside Meg’s garden. Even though the context is paradoxical, it seems natural in the dream.

In general, the man is content in his space. However, the dream reveals that his tent was wet once by a wave that reached his camping site. Water got inside and got everything wet, including his sleeping bag. The content man calmly considered that he was more fortunate than me in life.

The next one is a new dream.

In a town that could be Zapallar, I find myself with Pancho Casas and his new partner. I have a presentiment that Pancho decided to settle in Zapallar, which is not surprising given his social ambitions.

Just in case I ask; Pancho’s response is unexpected. He lives in a very small town not far from the highway and close to the city of Valdivia. That is not close-by!

The distance to the city of Valdivia increases with its rainy weather. Just like in Eugene, it rains almost everyday. The sight of Pancho and his partner together makes me nostalgic. I think about how romantic it would be to live in an isolated place, hidden from the mundane noise.

I find out that Pancho and Yura are no longer together. I lose track of my imagination as I wonder about Yura. Pancho arrives with a feminine, golden watch and shows me a diamond ring. After seeing the ring, I realize that Pancho had just been proposed to.

Valdivia has liberal laws that allow homosexual marriage. That same morning, Pancho and his partner happily get married. I wonder what will happen to his ex-boyfriend, Yura. Its useless and unimportant now.

Sporting white stockings that I didn’t know were transparent, I turn around into an inverted position, like gymnastics. Pancho asks me what’s wrong and why I have a plaster on my coxis. I tell him I have skin herpes even though the plaster doesn’t actually cover anything. I take the plaster off in front of him.

My fist appears in my brown underwear which makes me rather uncomfortable. In that moment, I realize I am badly dressed and I return to my house where I find my entire family.

The dream turns into another one in which we’re going to celebrate my cousin Huaira’s wedding. My sister, Dominique, wants to take my speakers and music system, she thinks she can take it because I gift I gave to my grandmother before she died. I don’t think that’s fair, though. If she isn’t here, then the system becomes mine again. Now, I have three different ones and she doesn’t dare ask for any of them.

They give me instructions to the bathroom in my cousin’s house but they are all occupied. We are many waiting for the bathrooms; probably all of us getting ready for the wedding. I attend Huaira’s wedding dressed in red and escorted by Arcangelo.

I tell my mother, “I don’t understand! I don’t understand!”

I suffer because I don’t understand what is happening and I can’t describe any of it.

I remember dreaming that I was on the street of a small, provincial town standing in front of a crane which was moving my red, 20 feet long container. It is suspended between the electricity wires but I find a way to control its oscillating movements with two pincers that hold the container on each side.

Guillaume and I successfully managed to displace the container. Soon, the police arrive. They search me and find marijuana, I'm on the spot now, making me a law-breaker.

Pierre Bellec is also there. The container was left someplace between the back alleys of a town similar to San Miguel de Allende. It was left open. The police went in and found more marijuana, which Daniela Pérez forgot there. However, they held me responsible because it is my container, making me suspicious and accomplice in a crime.

Guilt creates distance. I feel pressure from the attention that they give me and Guillaume’s need to judge me but feeling guilty is useless, I think, because the others also use it to justify smoking marijuana in secret. They found us out, and what’s done is done. My error disappoints Guillaume, but that’s the way it is and there is nothing I can do.

I skillfully evade the police and go towards an area of the town with large avenues. I hide everything; I left with my pockets empty.

In a different dream, there is a place that reminds me of my childhood home, the one in Las Condes. My mother and Giselle are there.

She approaches me to tell me something. As usual, I have to tease the words out of her, but I feel like she has something important to say this time. Giselle doesn’t want to keep on working in this house, and I understand her. I suppose she finally got fed up with my mother’s apprehensive and controlling character. Her words make me deeply sad. We are great friends, almost like mother and daughter. It is as if my own mother was leaving.

My mother arrives later and gets dressed as I cry about Giselle’s departure. I try to tell her about my grief and hope to find solace in her, but she is cold and hard. She ignores me. She doesn’t show any empathy or sensibility. I am pushed to the point of breaking and decide to leave. The current situation at the Las Condes house leaves me nothing, so I leave.

In the dream, my grandmother Eli, before dying, left me Oscar and Maria Alicia’s house on Tupungato St. in Santiago. I tell my mother I want to officially accept the house and sign it to my name. It is the first step of a big decision. Since Giselle is no longer here, I feel alone. But I am hopeful that she will want to return to work with me in the new house.

The house has a patio that faces the street. I notice a similarity to the houses of the San Miguel Chapultepec neighborhood in Mexico City. Surprisingly, I run into my friend Pablo Mackenna and I ask him for help with the move. I notice something strange about his clothes as I talk to him; it is his 10cm-high boots. I do a double-take when I realize that I am dreaming, and then I realize that his boots are a representation of “the glamour of his character” and nothing else.

Pablo tells me he is waiting for someone to bring his daughter, who in the dream is named Luna, and thus he can’t help me. I have no option but to figure it out on my own, I respond.

I ask my mother to put me in contact with Maria Alicia but she puts me in contact with her son Francisco, instead. When I take the telephone and introduce myself, the dream transports me to the living room in of the house on Tupungato Street, where Francisco is seated.

After many years of not seeing each other, Francisco asks me, “How am I sure that it is you?” To make a connection, I say, “I am very sorry about the hurricane.” There was an earthquake in Mexico City recently, and two days afterwards hurricane Irma hit Miami, where he lives.

In the dream, Francisco is still the same beautiful, freckled child. That and the unfinished walls, some still under construction and others barely finished with stucco, confirm it.

As I walk towards the nursery, where the television is, I see a man with short hair and a white face cross. He is searching for Maria Alicia, his mother. I guess he is a family member of Oscar who I don’t recognize. Yet, he approaches me with open arms, happy to see me. At the same time, Maria Alicia opens the door of the room, still sleepy from her nap with Francisca, Oscar’s daughter. It wasn’t my intention to bother her and I can patiently wait outside until she wakes up, so Maria Alicia goes back into the room.

It makes me happy to see her remodeling her house. It represents the first step towards our new room with Arcangelo. Every change implies a plan. I let myself get carried away by the excitement of setting up the main room of the house, the rooms in the corridor, for when Guillaume comes, and the videogame room.

In the darkness of the night, I am restless as I lay on suitcases trying to fall asleep but not finding a comfortable position. The surface on which I rest is not flat: the suitcase pockets are filled and create an irregular surface.

Because I can’t sleep, I get up. There is a woman next to me, a friend, and a man who looks like Iggy Pop in his youth. I stand up in the middle of the suitcases and some people approach me to show me stuffed animals. One of the stuffed animals looks like an unpolished version of my owl, Aurora and my neuron Asper. I can only think of resting.

We aren’t alone. It seems like there are others sleeping on the street, over suitcases and under the street lights, like cats. Why are there so many people suitcases? All my belongings fit in two valises. It is all I have. Yet, everyone else has many and there is no room to move. Why do they have so many suitcases!

The discomfort prohibits rest; like her, I get up. I walk along the narrow corridors, between suitcases, towards a social space like a café or kitchen but there is no service. There are chocolate cupcakes and other delicious pastries sitting over the refrigerated countertop. I try to take one but I cannot because they are wrapped together with cellophane paper. It is frustrating.

The floor-space is also limited in that place. We can barely extend ourselves and it occurs to me to sleep there. I don’t see how people pass by, even at night. There is no space to move; it is a terrible idea.

I go back to where I was and grab a muffin that was on a table on the way.

In the silent darkness I notice people sitting around a table. Prudently, I ask if the muffin is theirs, which they affirm, so I return it to the table.

At the beginning of this dream Mauro is at a workshop where I made a painting of mixed materials and structures.

In front of me I see a mountain, which I think is Mount-Hood in Oregon. I take a picture of it to project on the wall to make a red map. It is a dramatic composition: a sunset over a rustic mountainous landscape, one of which has a natural red hue.

I take a picture of the mountain and fuse the drawing, the landscape, and the painting with red. I proudly show my masterpiece to my friend Mauro. It is a painting that we see through the telephone. It is a landscape of mountains that extend into the distance: in the foreground, there are mountains and snow peaks, a chain of mountains lies behind them. Even though the perspective is distorted by the lens of the camera, the mountains in the photograph look immense. I used the red paint to highlight the mountains on the black background to create a surrealist illusion. I show Mauro my creating though the telephone screen.

In the same dream, in a parallel version, my mother is at the entrance of Chalo Dominguez’s house next to a group of people. They are my family and can’t wait to see me. I am not interested in seeing them; I am only interested in the creation of my painting. My mother made me a delicate wooden box for me too store my paints in.

From a distance, I see Matias Camus’s younger brother enter Chalo’s house through a narrow entrance surrounded by pots. He dresses like Robert Smith.

Chalo is old but he is still alive. I am happy he has kept his house, even if it is out of nostalgia.

His eldest daughter drives by the outside of the house in a car. When she sees me she stops to ask if I have called a taxi. She then arrives as a taxi driver, which confuses me, and I wonder to myself, why would she ask if I didn’t call one or need one?

I avoid the discomfort and I ask her to come later on. She tells me she has an appointment in the morning but that she is available after 12:00. “Where do you want to go?” she asks, to which I respond – “from the Mexico City Museum to La Dehesa. But I want to go later.”

A place is both a displacement of time and a physical distance. Places are in different cities around the world. They are a partial compromise: far, but not far enough to unwind. It is ethical because she is my political cousin. That said, the best option is for me organise my trip to the museum with Camus.

At the end, I went into Chalo’s house and found Elle, reading a newspaper annex. “What are you doing reading the horoscope?” I ask her as I wonder what mine would say.

At the beginning, I don’t recall much but fragments. I dream of the vague sensation of a complicated plot coming to life. We are in a mysterious place: a hospice-like, stone construction.

Daniel Pons takes care of me while I lay in bed connected to electrodes. I have the suspicion that I am sick and cannot take care of myself. I need help to set the electrodes on my scalp and Daniel will come to fix them in an hour. He leaves me with the electrodes connected and goes to see a friend of him, a girl who lives close to the hospice, all of this I didn’t know about, until now.

I like that Daniel is a free and independent person while others keep me company.

When I look at my feet, I see a bruise that covers my foot from my toe to my instep. It was caused by a subtle hit, just a brush, which makes me think it is a symptom of my illness.

After an hour, Daniel comes back to take out the electrodes but I am still working and cannot take them out yet. His attention fills me up. It is a true morale booster and emotional support. Even though he adds that if he had known, he would have stayed with his friend. Over all I feel loved.

Lying in bed, I feel in my stomach my digestive tube obstructed from my feet up to my neck. I give myself a soft massage to the right and feel relief as excrement comes out.

Feeling better, I get out of bed to work on colour theory, an interest I share with Daniel. I am aware in the dream that Daniel investigates the scientific mathematics behind colour, and I enthusiastically tell him that I have decided to dedicate myself to the study, too.

In the depth of my conscience, I am with Daniel and Johanna, two friends from the past Johanna, I have known her since childhood, though Daniel and I, we were friends during adolescence in high school, and up until our thirties.

I don't see them anymore. In the beginning my best friend Johanna we shared a pure spirit. Her soul is characterized by long, blonde hair. Next, Daniel: he represent a platonic love. In my dreams and for the first time, I have the honor of introducing them to each other.

In the next dream, I am driving a car on a landing stip. I am going to fly with my mother and Jóse in a private. We are going to spend the weekend away from here.

I am going towards them. For some reason, he left the jet on the other side of the highway; he stopped to double-check before crossing though. Suddenly in the dream I acknowledge that years ago I had a terrible accident in that same place.

As we are preparing to leave, my mother shows me her suitcase. A semi-transparent blouse with black and white stripes and shoulder pads grabs my attention. She says she bought it in the market for cheap. Yet, it looks good and has exactly the kind of cut I need. There is a butterfly like design embroidered into the shoulders.

She shows me other shirts with a Mickey Mouse design, but I don’t need casual clothing. I need something more elegant, formal, and feminine, so I don’t pay attention to the shirts.

Separately, Jóse and his friend are building a piece of furniture for the television with a special backing to protect it if it falls. As my mother forever says, “Jóse is always running around with strange things,” but this time, his improvisation is up to professional standards.

The third dream contains features of the two previous ones.

I am excited by a project in a practically unknown roman built town. The village has a large exterior corridor, a long wall is about 50-meters made out of stones. That's the entrance, to my left, the wall is at a slight angle with another one. In the sense I walk through this passage the exit is slightly narrow and that forms a funnel that accelerates its aesthetic perspective.

I find myself with Katri, she let her hair grow like Johanna I am exited to show her an image I took of the painting, I did in another dream, is the Mount Hood. It resembles a photograph although it is not yet finished; the brushstrokes are visible if you get close enough.

Out of the blue, I remember to think of my good intentions to help a friend, Anshul.

I am about to finish the painting. The trestle is like the door to a closet in which the striped blouse, a skirt, and a golden belt hang, an entire outfit!

I tell Katri about a trip, I am supposed to go to the island of Serdeña and how interesting is my discovery of the unknown roman building, specifically because it is unknown.

From the corridor, I saw a group of tall, round buildings with pointed roofs. It is a mayor project I would like to build.

I also tell Kat that I applied for a scholarship for the project. A feat, to accomplish a personal dream is an idea that has always fascinated me. The building is in the north of Europe, 2000 km from Rome. When they built it back then, they had to fight against the Francs and the Gauls.

Constructing something so large and so far away from Rome is a feat. On the other side of the corridor, there is an unmapped building it is unknown until now. I plan on taking the responsibility of to bring it back.

I am practically a Roman, I tell Kat slightly joking.

I only recall a dream in which Guillaume has connected me to a company.

I commissioned an engineering structure and a frame for a large image from this company. It is a solution for building a large image (for one of my paintings) and for building the support structure, too. They present a large, rigid steel structure like a design for a kind of spectacular advertising. The frame and the depth are about a meter off the wall.

I ask them, –“what about the space in between the wall and the stretcher?”

The information flows actively and quickly. First, the engineer proposes me to make the painting larger to cover up the gap. In fact, he proposes to build a complete art installation in this particular place, behind the canvas as part of the work. It seems to me like it could look like a changing room. It is an interesting solution that I need to think about.

In the dream, a confusing conversation keeps my attention regarding the street that instead of following the main arterial road redirects traffic to the left, like Monterrey Avenue in Colonia Roma, in Mexico.

Guillaume is about to arrive. I know today is his birthday and I ask him, the engineer to tell me when he will be here. I have something to give him: a song. Guillaume is very busy, he quickly moves from one thing to another, from here to there, he is everywhere. I was in the shower when Guillaume entered the bathroom. Rapidly I close the curtains so he wouldn’t see me.

Nap no EEG register

In my dream, my friend Lorena and I are visiting a city. At the end of a long trip for work, the mood is unbearable, we are tired of coordinating everyone in order to make the group activities possible.

Lorena gets impatient but not that it's too tough, I recall she called us lazy, myself included. Exhaustion makes people intolerant. I understand her and don’t pay much attention to it. I have known her for thirty years and know that we can react differently under stress. There is no reason why our relationship should change but we are not alone.

With limited time, we quickly pass by a supermarket next to it with the work group. Lorena is carrying her suitcase because she is about to leave. A group of us wait outside while others go in. I suddenly change my mind, I feel the need to take advantage of the opportunity and shop a special cereal, a locally made granola. It’s my last chance before leaving.

A man shows up, someone with a bag of popped rice of the same brand, this triggers a strong desire in me making me think that they would stock the cereal.

The owner of the supermarket comes out to talk to us, he's here to offer us a taste of sponge cake. As if he had come to look for me, I take the opportunity to go back inside with him. The supermarket is wonderful. The design is appealing, elegant, and clean. The best I have ever seen is the restaurant on the lower level. I congratulate each employee and they are caught off-guard by my enthusiasm.

After all we leave with our suitcases and shopping bags. Lorena sports a kippah, that's confusing because her attitude is more Muslim than Jewish, at least that's what I think, I say to the person walking beside me.

I only remember fragments because I am so tired.

In my dream, a monster chases me at night. I infer from his appearance that his image is inspired by the last episode of Stranger Things.

As I hold my owl stuffed animal named Aurora, I observe how the monster gradually becomes a real threat. I gain some time with this information, cross the train tracks, and start running.

As I open a miniature Christmas card, like the ones you write notes in and attach to gifts, I notice tentacles growing uncontrollably out from the small perforation that loops the card to a string. I do not feel safe anywhere, and I wake up.

Another intense dream. I pass by a house, and then another one. Jean Marie Villanova is in the first one. I am conscious of a previous situation in which Jean Marie had a tiff with someone. I thought it was an uncommon event, but Lou and Alain also had a misunderstanding with him, even though they have been friends for decades. That makes Jean Marie a rude guy. This aspect of him is novel to me.

I excitedly pass by Lou and Alain’s house, to then go to a different friend’s house, when I am told that there is a party at a bar called "El Galianillo". It is a new bar to me, but I know some of the people invited to the party, so Lou, Alain and I change our plans.

Lou arrives at the party wearing only a feathered boa and white underwear. What is bizarre is that Lou has dark skin. But I am pleasantly surprised to see her with such a liberated attitude and I comment, –“how summery!”

The last fragment I remember is an event that takes place in a large space, like a semi-public institution, perhaps the School of Architecture. One of the inhabitants of the Ciudad Abierta, in Ritoque shows me a wonderful place.

It does not have pillars or walls or any type of subdivision. It is an almost-perfect place. Even though I try to find a fault, I cannot find any functional deficiencies.

I ask –"Where the professors work now?" when they show me a tunnel. It is a long corridor that connects the new addition to the old building, where they used to be.

A table extends along the length of the complete corridor, upon which there are library-like desk lamps. The teachers can sit as they please, without having to be assigned a specific spot within this aesthetically minimalist common room.

I just had a dream that was essentially apocalyptic, an event from which there is no turning back. Hope is miserable, it pushes us towards the exodus. Civilization is collapsing, and there is a general alert.

In this reality, my grandmother is alive, old, but alive. The two of us are alone in her apartment, attentive to the emergency; protecting her is my concern. Probably no one will come out of this alive, but my intention is for Eli to suffer as little as possible from the stress and grief of the disaster.

I try to see things as rationally as possible and fall into pessimism. I can only see how to survive in the last few hours of life and keep my dignity. We only have each other. Out of love and compassion for her, I try to filter the information all around us so that she does not suffer from anxiety. She is old, and these life events cannot be avoided.

The latest information suggests using electrodes.

My grandmother is willing to pay anything for them, but what she doesn’t realize is that in this type of situation, money cannot do anything. Since she only knows part of the situation, she pressures me to get her an electrode system. There are options, but right now only a doctor can make the final decision.

I have reached the limit between what I can and cannot do.

During the next fragment, I only remember the image of a dream in which I eat mushroom risotto at the foot of a mountain.

Lastly, another dream. I wake up in the morning connected to the electrodes in a hotel room. I see a small group of natural sponges cut into different sized cubes. The chambermaid left them, and I want to keep them. I am not alone. My friends Eddie and Valeria come to visit me. I don’t have the necessary time that they deserve. They feel ignored and leave.

The same thing repeats itself. Now, it is Johanna and her son, who in the dream appears as a six-year-old named Sergio. I feel special affection for Johanna, as she was the light of my childhood and her presence has kept me company throughout these 101 nights. I say goodbye and thank her. She is someone I wholeheartedly embrace; her friendship is crucial to me.

I keep that feeling from childhood intact. The love is mutual and shared. Separations are sad. I hope that this goodbye is only momentary and that on my next trip to Chile, perhaps some Christmas, I will see her again.

Considering how exhausted I am, I don’t think that I will go to Europe, or Chile, over Christmas. It is time to say goodbye. We hug repeatedly, and I thank her for being here.

Alejandro Boher arrives: “This is your cousin, Alejo,” I say to Johanna, ironically true. How I would love Johanna to stay, but she must go on tour. She has a “one-man-band” type of show and has a performance scheduled every other day.

Saying goodbye is not easy. We give each other one last tight hug.

A literal phrase from Stranger Things, “You won’t believe it,” emerges directly from my dream.

I do not know how it begins, but I have an encounter with a classmate and teenage friend, Vanessa Crocker. She comes from the past. I found out that she has a flight stopover in the city.

I don’t know why, but after thinking of her as a pleasant surprise, I now take her visit as an offence and do not want her to visit Lyrica or cross the limits of my personal space.

I see her come and go. She tells me she just saw Chapuzzó, who was her boyfriend back then. Oddly, the feeling is displaced and projected onto me, as if I were she and had just seen my own boyfriend, Chuncho Arriagada. Even in the dream, the idea perplexes me.

Vanessa evokes the limits of adolescence: infidelities and disloyalty. That may be why I do not want to take her to Lyrica and much less for her to meet Arcángelo. Yet, Vanessa decided to stay and changes her flight to an hour later.

She foxily finds the time and place to make her way into my space. I greet her in my house with the dignity she deserves. As I glance at my feet while I go down the staircase, I see a red carpet and the generous heights of the building I custom built for myself. Looking at it from the perspective of time over the last 30 years, this accomplishment gives me a sense of personal security.

At dusk, Vanessa goes up to her room and I go to mine. As I enter, the view of the city lights extends before me magnificently. We are situated on a slope at the top of a valley of light, surrounded by hills and the industrial activity of a port city. Through the large window, a futuristic landscape opens up, as helicopters lift off below. I ask Vanessa if she saw them from her window, but it doesn’t seem like it happened, perhaps because she got there late. She tells me she wants to stay, and I decide to take her to Las Torpederas Beach, in Valparaíso. We discuss whether to take the Cintura path between the hills or the trail along the coast. We decide to take both: we will go there on the upper path and come back on the lower one.

In one fragment, Arcángelo and I are in the bathroom in Lyrica. The bathroom has two tubs separated by a corridor. Even though we are both in the same bathroom, he bathes separately. I see him sitting naked on the edge. A white viscous liquid comes out of his anus; it is embarrassing. Talking about infidelity: Vanessa, Gis, and everyone else, there are loads!

The story ends with an old woman of about 90 who tries to stick her head out of the window. Her head barely fits, and she has to make a big effort. It is like she comes from a different dimension to lean out and announce that it is 5 p.m.

My internal clock must be backwards, to sleep during the day and wake up at night.

I cannot remember even one single dream.

The vague memory of a dream leads into another space. We are in the middle of a mysterious construction where water flows. Arcángelo, Lorena and Steve are there. I cannot remember the whole thing, though Lorena’s presence dominates. We are expecting something. It is a surprise and invokes the unknown as a gift.

A pot with a plant floats by in the water. It is a pine branch that Steve’s sister sent him. She stuck the branch down into the pot, but it still has no roots and we must wait for them to grow.

“We have to take it out of the earth and the pot,” Lorena says, because it is too small. It would be better to open a room for them to grow in. I know their roots grow in water and in the darkness.

Lastly, Steve's daughters Sam and Zoë are there. I see Samantha in life, and I take it upon myself to go somewhere else with them.

I still have the image of Guillaume, who in my dream comes to pick me up from a house where he left me months before. I don’t know if any things changed from the outset; perhaps I only moved to a different room.

The house has an “experimental” quality. Each room has a specific concept that converts overall into a condition.

A woman approaches us and gives us a map of the geography of the area. The image splits toward the sea, where the heights of the continents become islands.

The image of a sheep on a mountain peak appears on the map. I teasingly point my finger and yell out to tell Guillaume, –“There we are!” Not exactly, but close to it, on the coast. We go into the sea together with the woman, who is familiar with it. She is from nearby and will guide us to the island. She who lives in the sea assures us that there is no danger while swimming. However, Guillaume doesn’t dare. He is afraid or do not trust because he is unfamiliar with the ocean currents.

We visit a town that has a different coffee shop at every corner, which confuses us. Instead of searching the Internet for breakfast options, we wander from one side to the other. That seems crazy, too.

[meta data] As I awaken, I instantly forget my dreams from when I first fell asleep. I wake up and notice the Net Station Acquisition is paused, which stresses me out.

I am visiting a completely unfamiliar place. I am inside and outside a painting that I am painting.

I dream a sort of analogy between painting and dreaming that opens a new dimension within the dream.

At night, in a public place, there is a car parked on the street under electricity wires. In my hands, I have all the necessary materials to artificially illuminate my painting. All I have to do is to paint the roof of the car and apply a layer of oil paint to spread it out to the limit. The oil that I have is semisolid. The brush melts it, as I move it across the canvas, and it stays on the surface of the support, where the ceiling light goes. I control the motion to achieve this consistency and transform it into a delicate nocturnal glow.

Simultaneously, a studio meeting is going on inside the building; it is the end of a conference. Franka is there, and I awkwardly confess a personal matter, I think I have Asperger’s syndrome. She looks well prepared. She takes out a questionnaire to conduct a test. I watch her as she draws circles where the dots of the “I”s go all along the page.

I find it hard to believe Franka also has this syndrome. It is actually disconcerting.

I am with Jim Morrison. At first I guess we are in my studio, because I have said that I built it. It is nighttime and Jim wants to make love. He seduces me, and we are about to get intimate. We are in a bed in a dark room.

Slowly, I think of the main space of the small chalet my family has in the Farellones, in The Andes. The room is slightly different. It is not a fancy place but has enough character for us to hang out. His close friends in the rock band The Doors are there, and as we move about the chalet, they seem excited to be here. Although they still think I built it, because I said so it is a misunderstanding. I omit the dialogue because I don’t think that it matters. As we go around, I see the walls vanishing and space opening up.

Jim and I go around together, his rock band following us. I see very few acquaintances of mine.

I introduce him to someone – “He’s Jim Morrison,” I say the real one and still alive. I realize the importance of the poet, rock star and lover that I have by my side. In the dream, I feel the butterflies of sexual arousal in my stomach. I get sensitive down there and have the urge to get close to him again.

At first, I remember a dream - no less important. I remember the strong presence of a relatively young German shepherd. That dog is there only for me and nothing else.

To give him the worth he deserves, I relate him to my Doberman, but this is a mistake. Sambo has a competitive spirit that this dog transcends.

This dog protects me, although I don’t know exactly what from. I start a journey without knowing where I am going except that I am with the dog. I forget everything and feel a sense of relief as if I have gotten a weight off me.

I find myself lying on a bed in a house, resting with sleeping glasses on, one on top of the other. I take off one, then two, three, four, five… an infinite series of glasses!

I appear in my father’s house. It looks clearly different. The light is dimmed. I move diligently as if I knew the way perfectly. It is a unique situation, because both my mother and grandmother are there. Having my mother and father together is never easy, but for now there is no problem.

My visit is shorter than usual, and I must take advantage of the time I have. Oddly, I am supposed to take my mother and grandmother out to a restaurant. My grandmother died a couple of years ago, so I doubt I will do it. At least not now, or today, but even so, somehow, I must take water to my mill.

I would say that the architecture of the house is based on a corridor that connects several rooms. When I arrive, I am going to look for my father, who I think is with his wife, July. As usual, she insists on managing our time, which is, naturally, awkward.

I see the backside of a dog in front of her; it seems to be a black mastiff. It has a large body and short legs, similar to a hippopotamus. The symbolic significance of the dog in my dream puts me on alert. I don’t show any emotion or expression. I just go by.

July wants to shepherd us and administer our time while she is busy taking out her clothing. To show off, she proposes taking us all to see our dead Tante Tati. What she proposes is sinister, but she does it to call attention to herself, because she doesn’t have enough power. She only has that dog, whose name, for the record, is Mr. Kowalsky, and her performance fades away.

I look for my father, who is also dead. I want to know what his plans are. My temporal trance is strange. I need to know the time on the clock, but my father cannot tell me that. My father doesn’t communicate orally, but telepathically.

I anxiously try to see the time on my watch, but the battery ran out. I have the charger, but everything looks dark. So, I ask someone who has died what day of the week it is, but that person cannot answer either.

When I ask what plans he has, I try to guide us within what is real. This time, my visit is shorter than usual, as I only have the weekend. My father responds with his mouth to say, –“The good thing is that you are not married and do not have children.” It is cold.

I feel another wave of confusion wedge itself between us; I am not always available it is a misunderstanding. I judge it to be a product of selfishness, but perhaps he is right.

I notice that there is a mark on my father’s leg that resembles the mark that the electrodes leave on my face when I take them off every morning. I approach him with extreme caring and ask what’s wrong, –“Do you have a virus?” He doesn’t answer and pays no attention.

I recognize his stoic disposition. Later, he confesses that he had an accident in the bathroom. It is a cryptic place of a house, I think. When he says that he fell on the floor, I react alarmed and ask him, –“How did you fall? –Why didn’t you tell me?”

Now, my disposition has changed; I am worried about him. My father’s personality rejects any display of emotion. He thinks the fall is of no importance. He didn’t tell anyone anything about it.

What is of note is not the fall but the fact that he was peeing when he fell. I jokingly say in French “— en gros, tu as pisser sur le toît!”

The image lends itself to interpretation and marks his territory within the large dome. It seems natural to spend time together, even though he is dead and now he is into everything.

I remember dreaming at the beginning of the night about a room and a bed next to an open window. It is my responsibility to keep the place safe and lock the window. We are a team that involves other people in a collective project, and I am able to close the window with everyone’s help.

The feeling of the room is similar to a campground. Lorena is focused on one task, a talk or perhaps a presentation. It is important to let her do her work. Guillaume is there, too.

As I exit through a semi-closed pathway, I see Kat and Amy Sales on skis going towards a so called Lagunillas Ski Center. The prospect of skiing with them is exciting, and I let myself be convinced. The closer we get to the ski-lift, the farther away we get from that room where I should be working. I am overcome with anxiety and ask Katri to show me the way back so I don’t get lost.

Even so, we get farther away until we reach the ski-lift made of individual wooden seats. The engine looks old and of lesser quality. Honestly, I prefer not to continue on.

In the next dream, I am going toward Katri’s house, a building with several stories and an inner courtyard. The option of carrying out a collective project there is no longer possible. Kat decided to rent the apartments to solve her economic problems. She receives 80,000 pesos a month in rent. There is nothing to be done; Katri is the owner of the building.

Next is a small fragment of a dream that escapes me.

Katri leaves, and I am left close to the road. I watch as a red fox arrives. Now, sitting in a car, I observe how she astutely approaches my window and opens it with her snout.

I watch, amazed, how she squeezes through the window into the car and turns into a woman. The transformation teleports us to the inside of Katri’s apartment again, but she isn’t there. Now, it is Hardey who manages the apartments. I spy on him while he acts naturally; he doesn’t see me. I suspect he shares a secret with the fox that snuck into the car. Hardey acts without inhibitions, almost a permissive attitude. I want to see if he is disloyal to my friend.

Surprisingly Kat appears dazed to take her Aari their baby. Another guy arrives to say that Hardey can't come out of the room. The problem is not with him but I suspect that something hides in the room, a woman.

She asks me not to say anything to Kat but it is too late, she is here determined to do justice.

I recall being in bed with a dachshund on the top of my body, crossed at chest height. I feel suffocated.

The last scene I remember is unusual and operates on a metaphorical level. Her room gets flooded up to the roof, the level of the water up to the point of drowning, and there is no room left for anything.

Nap no EEG register

Another dream takes place in a large, cold space, like a science-fiction movie. The concept is a scary individualist atmosphere.

In a complex mechanical and novel environment, I see my mother appear, strangely, she looks different. As I approach her, she does not connect with me. She turns around and escapes from me, in search of personal benefit but I decide to follow her. Despite my insistence to save her she slips away up the stairs.

After a while she returns back down here but this time she takes on the shape of Giselle. I don’t understand how she can be so shameless.

The specific details of this fragment, I do not remember them properly only is left to me the feeling of a daughter whose mother does not respond. In the face of a cold, artificial and an overly designed world built on individualistic elements that are disconnected from responsive human relations, she gets lost in the distance.

The last thing I recall is abandoning that infertile world to go in another direction.

Initially my dream takes me back to 25 years ago on time, to a gathering of friends and family. I feel fulfilled, among the painters is Matias Pinto d’Aguiar, he hugs me in the dream we have a close, romantic relationship. Between my relatives is Willy Guerig and my friends, Pablo Dominguez, both still alive.

Matias treats me like his girlfriend. I feel something in my throat like something I swallowed that is now choking me. A white thread comes out of my mouth. It is my earphone wire. I pull on it carefully, but it is abnormally long. Finally, the earphones come out, but the wire is still inside.

I gradually pull on the wire, sliding it up my throat. It seems like not just one pair of earphones, but many! I keep breathing as I can and do everything possible not to choke while I keep pulling on the wire, without hurting myself.

It is horrible! It is making me anxious. I don’t understand what is happening. Why is the wire so long? I pull out another pair of earphones. They are for my phone, and I don’t understand how they got there. I pull the wire up my throat until it is all out, but my throat feels irritated and my trachea almost closed.

Matias comforts me with tea and tells me I’ll get better. I sit still for a while. Next thing I see is his girlfriend is the charming Argentine model who doesn’t seem bothered by our relationship.

The sensation in my throat does not go away. The interior walls loosened from my neck, my soft-palate and epiglottis bounce upwards along with all the other organs in my throat that form the wall of the digestive and respiratory tract. I ask my mother to take me to Las Condes Clinic. She and Jóse look 25 years younger too.

The second dream is abstract.

We are surrounded by a system of mysterious red lights like the ones in Stranger Things that communicate with extraterrestrial forces. We are referring to the energy of strange beings that transcends matter. We establish a simple system of contact, and it works. We see it.

Iggy Pop is part of the scientific community. Communication with the Cosmos is an introverted affair. At the same time, we participate with the public so they can establish contact, too but it is forbidden.

The police arrive, pursuing us for a crime that is difficult to prove. They pursue us though they don't have evidence that shows darkness or that proves that we broke the law.

The system is simple. It consists of a graded bar which is a connection index that measures contact level and lights up red at the highest level. The police want to arrest us because we show people this system but they arrive too late. The system is everywhere and cannot be halted now. There is even a contact pole in front of the police station.

The third dream. We are held captive in a laboratory, where the personnel exploit our skills. We are the subject of an investigation for an evil organization. They investigate the task of the conscience using the efficient method of electrodes.

Several of us children are working together on an escape plan that I decide to collaborate with. Stalking the laboratory entrance and exit until we see an opportunity to cross nimbly and get away. It is now or never. I have to dodge an obstacle to get free. I volunteer to participate and put on a hardhat and a few electrodes.

[Meta data] At the end, my memory tends to fade me, as I take off the helmet while still asleep, starting with the electrodes from my face and forehead, with the expansion mesh on the outside still connected to the terminal, recording. As I am about to get up and regain consciousness, I look at the clock, which says 6.

I wake up and I lay back down to sleeping and dreaming.

Now, I am part of a university research group and, like most of other students, live in a small flat. My activities are centred on campus facilities and the street. All the students must write their names on a coloured post-it and add it to the raffle box so we can decide randomly where the party will be organised.

It doesn’t make sense to me. I don’t think it is a good idea to invite a large group of people to a house without a garden. Most of the flats, like mine, don’t have outdoor space.

Four or five people it is reasonable; more would be irresponsible. The party should be organised in the gallery, like an “urban party.” –What is an “urban party?” they ask. Is an artificial event that hosts social gatherings. At least this is what’s what it means to me, but the person who asks doesn’t seem to know.

Urban is social and artificial at the same time, I repeat. The party will be at night, and the gallery where it will be hosted, lit up with electric lights and full of students!

In the distance, I see someone approaching with a gigantic camera. It is a monstrous thing that he carries on his shoulder as he comes towards me.

In the end, I remember that I am wearing a strange pilot helmet, a hard, padded, thick shell.

My memory of the dream is limited, as its events unfold slowly.

Every year is the same. We make a meringue cake with tomato and basil sauce, it is delicious! The layers of meringue are small and therefore break, but it doesn’t affect the recipe. Sandra is lucky, because she is with Michelle this year. There's a list over the table of iPad, iBook, iPhone of electronic things and appliances. Out of curiosity, I wonder who this list is, are they your things? She tells me that those things were sold to someone then I understand that Sandra has a store.

We are going to make the family Christmas dinner at her house. We literally prepare ourselves for a tornado. Sandra plans to use the force of the wind to move the furniture inside her house to where she wants.

We are in an open, roofless building. Just some tall walls provide the space with height. We reposition the furniture and refrigerator for the hurricane. Every year it is the same. We organise to get out of its way, knowing that it may veer left or right. It seems that this year it is turning clockwise.

I remember seeing a starling. The lucky sighting fills me with happiness. I see someone next to me. I call them so they see it, too. The bird is about 20cm long and eats a lot.

In my dream, the starling is not reminiscent of William Shakespeare but of Jules Verne, and it can be identified by its yellow band.

In the distant sky, a flock of starlings appears. It is a unique event. This time instead of telling the story behind the origin of starlings in America, I just watch them.

We must stay alert, because those birds poop a lot in flight.

The dream leaves me in a profound state after I discover the existence of a hole under my sheets, where there is a giant gothic dome. I am asked to draw it as precisely as possible, with all its tracery.

An aristocratic woman guides me. She shows me how to do it, points out the way, and the line to follow is clear. I draw it just as it is: a dome with organic shapes that reminds me of a different drawing I made a long time ago of Nôtre-Dame, which looks like an insect or a sort of inverted artichoke. Even so, it is a space of light.

The second dream begins when I can remember the Fine Arts building, an urban and social meeting centre. I walk with a curator at night. The building is surrounded by monuments, sculptures arranged as a geometric belt that makes it a garden of sculptures, not of plants. They are perfectly organised in a rectangle, and people stroll amidst them. Something makes me suspect that it is a major urban centre.

The façades and all the monuments surrounding the building were commissioned to a single artist. The stone sculptures have renaissance details. I observe the details of the drawing and the artist’s meticulous approach, in awe.

It is a major commission, and I think he mastered it. I am surprised that it was given to a Mexican and not a British artist. As I wander around the museum grounds, it becomes clear to me that it is a popular destination for young people to socialise.

Out of nowhere, I am told about another artist, the one who makes his art with futuristic images. At that moment, I refuse to see his work, because I fear to feel overwhelmed by a completely different concept.

In the third part of the dream, it is still nighttime, and a big group of young people is sitting outside the same museum along the staircase, in between the sculptures. The atmosphere is festive with a bohemian feel. It is experiences like these, living in overcharged nights, that naturally expands an individual’s limits.

Among the streetlights, silhouettes appear out of the shadows, when Miguel Conejeros appears less than a metre away. He hasn’t seen me since the early 1990s. It seems like he tries to avoid me and conceals his surprise.

Now, between the mundane atmosphere and the bohemian ambience, I spot Cristina Paoli. In my dream, she is an artist whose work is focused on abstract, organic forms of the body and human material. The genesis of her art is in space: in between two life-sized tongues, structurally assembled in the shape of a cross and fastened together right in the middle. Influenced by the disquieting concept of “formlessness” or Georges Bataille.

Certain aspects of the city remind me of Santiago, but it is different in my dream, or perhaps I feel like a foreigner. A two-way avenue runs in front of the museum. It is late now and time to go. In the end, the events of the night tend to expand even more, especially as it is a social centre of the city. The way back home is a party.

People lying on the ground not in a sign of decadence, they are construction workers and now they deserve to have their own life after work. It is more a sign of free spirits capable of expressing themselves, all of this reflects a more egalitarian society. The street party irradiates a pleasant feeling. The slightly drunk men look calm.

I completely forgot that Miguel was there, and I think it is mutual. He is surprised though, when I run into him again.