Sal Solaris & quot;Die Scherben" 20.01.2014
Yesterday's dream does not give rest…
It seemed as if the dead, oppressive silence was tearing at the tissues and webs of the nerves. What is this dream? A premonition? An obsession or a sign? No birds. Nothing alive.
What place is this? All that was visible to the eye were concrete boxes, asphalt, and a leaden river. Smoke everywhere. The smell of gunpowder becomes unbearable. Spitting blood, I continue on my way. There are people, but it's hard to call them people – on the frail bodies are piled disproportionately large heads, huge eyes behind the skull look at one point. All of them are dressed in the same asphalt dresses. There are no sexual characteristics at all. Bizarre shadows live separately from their original sources, their movements resemble floundering in the death throes of a fish.
What other figures were they seeing? The shapes of the bodies glowed against the whitish background, exuding for miles a gray, heavy air filled with sparkling particles of something mirrored. They seemed to make sense, but they plodded on, ignoring my attempts to talk to them.
The thin monotonous sound becomes stronger and stronger, materializing in the tape right before our eyes. I try desperately to grab hold of it, but it slips away and sounds insistent somewhere nearby. And then the crash. Or an eruption?
I don't remember how, but I found myself on the edge of a huge cliff. Another step and an eternal fall into nowhere. A black-and-white picture from a dead future (past?) complements the calm sea of a cross between barbed wire and rebar. The motionless ships froze, forming statues, in this bacchanal of concrete. The long-forgotten waltz of "lake of Fire" touched his ear.
Something made me look up and look up. Faintly visible among the clouds of dust and gas was something that held hope. Something alive, bright, striving against the surrounding, flowing with the flow of life, liberation. My hands instinctively went up to meet those grains of Solar Salt that, despite all the obstacles, were streaming in a shapeless stream from the sky directly to me. The moment of reunion with life and death has come. Having absorbed every last drop, he took a step, bursting into hundreds of glittering particles in flight.
The transformation of thoughts into a dream or dream in mind? Magical realism? One thing is clear-nothing is accidental.