Dream Seminar

Four thousand million on earth. They all sleep, they all dream. Faces throng, and bodies, in each dream— the dreamt-of people are more numerous than us. But take no space. . . You doze off at the theatre perhaps, in mid-play your eyelids sink. A fleeting double-exposure: the stage before you out-maneuvered by a dream. Then no more stage, it's you. The theatre in the honest depths! The mystery of the overworked director!

Perpetual memorizing of new plays. . . A bedroom. Night. The darkened sky is flowing through the room. The book that someone fell asleep from lies still open sprawling wounded at the edge of the bed. The sleeper's eyes are moving, they're following the text without letters in another book— illuminated, old-fashioned, swift. A dizzying commedia inscribed within the eyelids' monastery walls. A unique copy. Here, this very moment. In the morning, wiped out. The mystery of the grea<sup>t</sup> waste! Annihilation. As when suspicious men in uniforms stop the tourist— open his camera, unwind the film and let the daylight kill the pictures: thus dreams are blackened by the light of day. Annihilated or just invisible? There is a kind of out-of-sight dreaming that never stops. Light for other eyes. A zone where creeping thoughts learn to walk. Faces and forms regrouped. We're moving on a street, among people in blazing sun. But just as many—maybe more— we don't see are also there in dark buildings high on both sides. Sometimes one of them comes to the window and glances down on us. 5
