A professor, and a necklace encased in a clear resin block. He gives it away to a child. The only way to damage the necklace is by finding the right vibration to shatter it in place.
A garden. I’m rearranging garden furniture at night. I overhear someone say “she’s gone, only left one shirt here”.
I walk through a modern housing estate, remembering a festival, tall ship-churches floating down the river, psychedelic coloured lights shifting on every surface. I try to remember to invite my brother to next years festival.
I’m trying to pack things away. Something that looks like a toy UFO, but is actually a perpetual motion machine. I want to leave the house before, or very soon after, my dad gets home.
A protest march. We run through muddy trenches, there are rats. Tents have fruit, water, and impractical clocks in them. I’m fitter than I think.
I get to a hotel. The president is staying there. Men in suits with nuclear launch codes in suitcases pass me on the stairs. I’m carrying a cd box set. It’s an audiobook about perpetual motion, by Prof Motivator. Inside, text is written on rounded isosceles triangles of paper, ordered, but unbound, a never ending book. Each triangle lists a series of headings, and, sliding one of these down, more text appears. The writing tells of vibration and movement, and the dangers of staying still.
I look for a way out of the hotel, down dark, green walked corridors. Outside, the ground is mud, and the buildings orange.