||[Oct. 21st, 2007|10:27 pm]
we were in a grain silo, a cyberpunk art fair ; artworks hovering, some kind of futuristic circus, as usual.|
intermittent shots of children, ten or twelve years old, sleeping on bunk beds; babies in a nursery, laid out side by side on wide steps on either side of a rift in the middle. it reminds me of bowling.
every hour, on the strike of the clock,
a child disappears
and an infant, rolling over in its sleep,
falls down the gash, silently. one by one, absorbed by the depth.
people at the art fair.
infants falling. perspective from below : narrow, angled, labyrinthine souterrain tunnel, the infants propelled to their deaths, sent crashing, smashing against the walls, floor and ceiling nuch like a marble in a pinball machine.
there are no sounds
i wake in terror.