848-9008
A strange and intricate series of tents. Leaving blind corners all over, due to the sagging centers of material. (I see dark red, but something soft, unlike blood). This fabric has swirling good designs on it, tan mandalas and little Indian elephants herding groups of tan people towards enlightenment, pictographs, pictogram, hieroglyphics. The scenery is embroidered.
It is a hotel or motel. A series of canopy tents, like one great circus canvas enveloping the lower level areas, where personal rooms are formed out of the mold of fabric. (There are no doors, you have to trust everyone for your privacy, every is naked anyway.) There are naked people around some corners, or folds of this fabric, they seem to be beautiful and easygoing with their exposure. Swimming in a strange indoor pool (no doors) the red swirling canopy gives way to a clear blue fabric out here, a hint of the sun shows through and will tan you if you lay out for twice as long. The blue fabric acts like sun tan lotion.
This is simply a bad description of a good dream. There was a sense of fantasy and mystery. Also community spirit and I felt I belonged and was happily involved in this sanctum. (I pray that you are nothing like your photo at all). More than bodies, the women had gorgeous piercing eyes, but a good pierce like cupid's arrow, I walked around (floating on sandals) every minute pile of sand turned into a peaceful garden, there are small waterfalls and fountains everywhere, man made of course, but nature took over from our blueprints and shrubs of unknown origin have gathered in the corners of the main room (which is vast like a stadium). The eyes were inviting and not intimidating.
Apparently I was in a hurry to check out my room (simply a pile of dark purple blankets, a flashing clock with no apparent source of electric current, a mini fridge full of absinthe and lemonade, a flask available for rent for the public concealment of said items, ten incense burners all with a different scent filling the room with glorious scented haze that sticks to your clothes, sticks to your soul, and all of those inviting eyes might want to tangle up in this pile of blankets dependent of the scents the maids or gods or whomever selected.) There is a zen garden in the bathtub. When I tried the running water, lotus flowers bloomed out of the pipes. I left it running and came back, my bathroom full of these bright flowers. (But maintenance would later bill me for this 'spill' like a flooded tub). In this oasis I meet the women I have loved throughout my life. There is thick smoke that makes my head feel lighter and clears my sinuses. There are faucets that pour out (hot/cold) rose pedals. Everything is vibrant and vibrating, a perfect symmetry to the cosmos and the chaos outside of these tent walls. The evident danger in fire within is overlooked and there are no precautions taken to fight such fire. If it happens it happens. That is the motivation for all within this commune. Eyes pierce and we wrap up in rainbow blankets but never get too warm, we must be under a thousand tangled fabrics, many layers separating us. (there is 'a rat' in separate). But our eyes connect. They cut through the layers with laser precision. Diamond engraving. Emerald skin tone. Hand holding soul crushing warmth. The diabolic sun allows no uncharred remains of us. Gather up your friends and relatives we are moving to tent city.
