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Journal of No. 118


August 18th, 2003

Dream from a few days ago @ 08:56 am

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I don't remember the circumstances, but there was one detail odd enough to be recorded here. Rebecca and I were riding around on the sands of Venice Beach in some sort of strange conveyance that you could rent from a tent on the beach.
Imagine sitting in a plastic bathtub, but instead of being rounded, it's made of triangular facets. The edges where they join are not quite hinges, but they flex so that the whole compartment changes shape.
Hard caked sand, more like sandstone really, encapsulates the plastic seat so that it's like a body, and four long stilt-like sandstone legs reach down to the beach. Altogether, it's a strange sandstone headless animal-shape.
As we rock from side to side in the seat, our shifting weight makes the triangles flex, and the rocky legs walk across the sands in a strange camel-like gait.
Bits of sand break off and fall to the beach with every step, as the flexure pops off little chunks or puffs of dry sand.
Back at the tent, the people running the business are busy packing sand back onto the steeds that have been returned, significantly lighter than when they left.
 
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Journal of No. 118