volcano. a thatched wooden hut of two stories perched over grassy mountain-hills. granting favours to people, an assistant to a witch, but with fairy wings, bound by a kind of servitude. people come with their problems, and we help them solve them.
(a waterfall in an earthy landscape. a tourist, somehow, marveling at the way water breaks into the ground in white explosions.
a boy slips (some lawsuit?))
below the witch's hut, a boy tells me he has never seen a shooting star, and hence cannot draw it. I tell him not to be ridiculous- doesn't he have an imagination? I point to his back- look! a star is erupting already! we turn around, and sure enough, the sky erupts with the flames of stars, lighting the sky in fiery explosions. it turns out, however, that these are the flames of a volcano.
the sky swells with volcanic fire till the coal fiery clouds engulf the roof of the sky, sweeping towards our little thatched hut that lies on stilts over the hill. we grapple the soil with desperate fingers, climbing our way towards the hut. we manage to get away with a few possessions, albeit closely.
a carnival. park of some kind under the moonlight. the streets are painted a ghostly halo, and all is brushed in shades of silver. there is also a multiple-storied shopping centre with banisters of glass. a luminous halo shrouds everything that strongly reminded me of the short story "Murder Mysteries" by Neil Gaiman...
an enormous glass building that is a tank. it looms over the streets with no end, its belly bulging with huge glassy tanks of water.
numerous pale koi fish swim around in these tanks, their bodies shimmering with a ghostly light. under the moonlight, they look eerily like a procession of silvery ghosts. I grapple for my camera, which isn't present.
(I had a kind of detached lucidness throughout this whole dream.)
later that night: in a stadium. it is night, but the sky harbours cracks of silvery light that pierce the clouds, as though hiding slits of the day. it's one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen.
on the stage, a woman rises. she sings a looping opera that seems to have descended from the heavens. we sing with her, our bodies and voices rising in a crescendo with the flow of the music. It felt like we were a painting of shadowy moonlit shrouds rising and falling to an unearthly tune. it was a most heavenly feeling, and I remember thinking it was the most sublime thing I'd ever experienced, molding into this scene...
later: a lawsuit. no one can hear me. I must, must take a picture of this beautiful scene. I rush around Yanny who is suddenly dressed as a pale, unearthly witch clothed in dark purple velvet and scarlet nails. no one hears me because of the noise that dims over everything in a kind of perpetual radio stutter. I pick a stone and throw it at Yanny in frustration. it bounces off her and breaks the thin glass banister. I am startled, and am shipped by her to the police where I patiently explain it wasn't really my fault. I get let off, I think...