breathing.

hell week ended last night at 12.40am in the morning. it was drizzling when i stepped out of baker hall. i was numb when i got home to my apartment, and there was nothing of interest on tv. there was, finally, echoing silence as i sat against the solitary light of my worktable. i flipped the calendar another month ahead, 7 days late into november; and then i could count 8 remaining weeks left in america.

last night i dreamed of checking into a hotel in hong kong late at night. it wasn't hong kong as it is recognisable today; like the tokyo and new york which i have visited in dreams before, i was in a hong kong from a futuristic past. there were alien forms extending into the sky, reaching across the harbour and bridging a black, neon reflecting sea. there was a promenade on mountain top, and a very long walk.

i woke up feeling chills. like brian once told me, dreams are theatres of our subconscious.