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A Boy and his Blog

I was walking in the street in Paris, in a very residential neighbourhood, no shops, tall white haussmanian buildings, such as the ones you see around Assemblée Nationale or in the 17th district.

There were a couple of people with me with which I had obligations. And as we walk in the street I run into dozens of large cardboard boxes full of old electronics, cameras, and art supplies and other stuff like that. And I mean, really interesting, first-grade stuff from the past.

I start digging in the top box and although it's trash, everything is super clean and in really good condition. The first box is full of 1970s to 1990s cameras and camcorders. Solid stuff, made to last, mostly Sony stuff with really interesting designs (that I was imagining as I was dreaming it). I was going through a whole  (imaginary) history of vintage photography and film equipment.

The design of a lot if the cameras was kind of bulky, made of thick textured plastic usually white and grey or beige. Of course I wanted to pick everything I would find interesting up, and take it with me not only to save it from destruction but to maybe use it myself or find out if there's data inside, etc.

So I started placing the best stuff in an empty cardboard box. Apologizing as I was going to the person with me (I don't remember who or what was going on at that point). Quickly, I get to the second box. More awesome stuff, pocket Super-8 mm cameras, beautiful wooden vintage boxes, large rolls of Super-8mm film that I was excited to find out what was recorded on. Third box, more electronics. High-end (by 1987 standards?) calculators in mint condition, and with every box, the more I dug, the more awesome the stuff I found was.

More boxes and this time it was art supplies. Large cigar boxes with amazing typography (typography!) and alphabets on them (that I thought at the "time" maybe were in the public domain and could be turned into fonts?), full of quills and vintage ink writing instruments. And I think "why are these people trashing this! All this combined is worth hundreds of thousands!".

People around me start getting impatient, as they have interest in neither of these things and do not understand the immense historical and creative wealth of the find "we have to go to the restaurant... they're leaving tomorrow..." etc. I ask the person if their car is around, they say yes, but they converted it into a bed for the night. Useless. I'm looking at my boxes of amazing, incredible cool stuff by my feet, and I'm getting stressed out that I won't even be able to carry anything around. I slip some small stuff in my inside jacket pocket to be sure that at least this stays with me. And I tell the people with me this disturbing thing "you don't understand, this is one of my recurring dreams; to find really awesome stuff in the trash - and it's happening right now!".

The place we're going isn't actually very far from the amazing trash boxes. So I take one box of the best stuff, and go not whole-heartedly with the other person to the restaurant where we're expected to go, down a street and to the right - knowing and obsessed by the thought of all that I'm leaving behind. We apologize to the people there that had been waiting for us or whatever, we chat, we say polite stuff. And then I just can't deal with this, I run out of the restaurant and go back to the abandoned boxes. The trash compactor is here, and the guy that works for trash collecting is putting every box in the compactor one by one. I tell him to stop, ask to see inside the truck if some of my boxes that I can't see on the floor anymore, are in there. All I can see in the trash compactor are pieces of crap and newspaper bits flying around. I ask him to leave this pile here for now and he doesn't want to, I tell him it's all mine and I'll take it away.

He leaves. I look at all this amazing stuff, thinking about what a crime against technology it would be to let it go, and have not a clue what to do about this.

This dream was most probably inspired by a combination of feelings I get while visiting rummage sales, garage sales, antique shops, ebay listings, photography history and camera books, online photos of equipment.
Feelings of inventing and designing objects myself, either sketching them, modeling them in 3D, etc.
Feelings of the memory of experiencing design for the first time through everyday objects, such as the solid switch on the EUR version of the SNES or bulky office equipment from the 60s/70s/80s/ that I often found in my life and took apart or studied closely, such as old stuff that I find in the street or that rested at my father's house when I lived there shortly.
Feelings I have for the history of applied product design, obviously, and the fascination for creative tools of all sorts, and what they can or cannot do to express the ideas of the user faithfully or unfaithfully.
The feelings I have towards people who have spent their lives gathering equipment and creating, and whose stuff will just one day be on the street curb because they've just died, or died a long time ago, and no one cared or no one survived to care, or they didn't even die but stopped caring about this stuff because technology changes and things evolve.
The feelings I actually got when I ran into a pile of old belongings from a photographer in Paris, near Porte de Clichy, in 09, less interesting than the pile in this dream, but still somewhat fascinating and sad, all the more because a slight rain was starting to fall over these abandoned relics, this torn apart wunderkammer mixing intricately the life and the tools of a human being.
The feelings I get whenever I do run into great stuff in the street or in second-hand shops, the adrenalin to find something exciting, to learn something, to find new ways of expression, reinvent the old ones, etc.
The feelings I get when I'm around other people and they have a one-track mind that stays one-track (and on-track) no matter what is happening around them, or when things happen around them that do not matter for them as much as they matter for me, and the mutual incomprehension that can arise.
The feeling that my curiosity for creation and ways of expression is not quenchable, whereas I always know pretty much what to expect from non-creative or even some social situations.
The subsequent feeling of being totally cut off from others that I have when I feel I should delve into something unexpected that just showed up as I looked around me, an opportunity that presented itself, and that I am the only one to see as an opportunity, while people with a square mind about things expecting me to behave otherwise.

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I was slaying lots of zombies with a very sharp blade.
They would come from everywhere, when I didn't expect them but I slayed them each time.
At some point they were following me in a forest and coming out of the branches, I wasn't so sure I could beat them then.
I was driving a Lancia Stratos Zero, which was pretty nice.
Most of them were after a valuable artefact, a small, golden armadillo skeleton (that could also have been an ankylosaurus, as the bones were wide and flat).

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First part happened in a large book store and newsstand.

I browsed the magazines and at some point had to stop and sleep there on a mattress in the middle of the books and magazines.

I remember a very tiny book the size of my thumb and many other fascinating printed things.

I discuss with two guys, one asks the other to write “CHAMPON” in Japanese on a piece of paper for him. The other guy does it, and writes it with just one symbol.

I say, nah, that’s not how you write CHAMPON, to write champon you need to write --M (then I think wait, how do you write “M”?) but they I realize I erased what the guy had done for the other guy and that I should have minded my own business because the first guy was very happy with the wrong way on his paper.

At some point the bookstore became more like a class, as someone walked in that was like an important person /teacher. I realized I didn’t study very well and didn’t read the book I was supposed to and wouldn’t be able to pass the test. So I was like “oh, well, I’ll do it next year”.

I asked the woman if she needed to hire a writer or a journalist. I can’t remember her answer.

Then a big storm (a bookstorm?) swept away the store and people were being pushed in all directions and so I walked out.

Once I was out I was in Paris 15 district, in the south of the district, between parks and streets. There was a bench with very old and has been French TV people and actors who seemed to gather there to hang as a ritual (Stéphane Collaro, Bernard Menez…). They would look around suspiciously, and make lame old jokes as people walked past them without recognizing them most of the time.

I was sitting on high stairs nearby, and then this couple was sitting near me.

The old people by the bench leave, and the woman talks to me and tells me where they’re going, and if I want to go see.

I say yeah sure why not. I follow her and all of a sudden get distracted: I am in a medieval neighbourhood, perfectly preserved as is for the most part. I have no idea where the woman went, but I walk around the neighbourhood and see a baby piglet on a leash with a sign:



The pig looks in bad health, all of the front of its face is crumpled together and seems sore.

There’s no one around so I keep walking.

I see a second pig on a leash a little further, this time looking a bit healthier but I can’t really tell if his eyes are ok, and with the same sign on him.

I unleash the pig and take it with me, wondering if it’s ok to have a pet pig where I am.

The pig having a variable size, I put him in my pocket on top of some paper towels, and start walking around.

I enter a bar, which is modern on the inside with a large round bar and the waiters standing inside in the middle.

I pull the pig out of my pocket, and put it on the bar. It is now the size of a big mouse, and isn’t moving very much. Its eyes are very small with a concave yellow dent in the middle and I am assuming it’s blind.

A lot of poop came out of the pig while it was in my pocket, which slightly grosses me out and worries me about its health more. Its poop looks like strands of poop, like an earthworm would do, and is all around its butt and on the paper towels.

It’s also not moving very much, and I wonder if it’s sick.

One of the waiters looks at my pig and tells me it shouldn’t be kept alive because it’s sick/dying/dirty/etc.

So he shows me a large wine bottle and tells me he would kill my pig for me, smacking the pig to its death with the bottom part of the bottle. I look at the bottle and see that it’s not flat, as most wine bottles, and express concern about the efficiency of the technique. He tells me he’ll take care of him and I don’t question it, but I go look for a place to wash my hands.

I am now outside in a sort of concrete path between two gardens and medieval sheds. I see a woman sitting between two sheds with a sign:



I think to myself, fuck that, I’m not paying 20 dollars just to wash my hands of pig’s poop.

So there’s another kind of beat down medieval brick house, I get inside and there’s a very old brick sink with a water hose above it. I think ok, that will do. So I run some water on my hands and think about when I had a pig.

Then I walk outside and there are many boxes on the floor, one of them says “(MY NAME) - DRAWINGS”. It feels more like I’m in my old high school now, built during Napoleon. I’m alarmed and surprised to see that here. I open the box and there are drawings inside that I made and also lots of bits of super-8mm film strips that are probably mine too.

Then I woke up.

I am not sure how to analyze this dream. I think maybe when I was a kid I had lots of sickly little animals, and people around me would suggest I kill them. My cat was like that too at some point during my teenage, which made me feel some of the highest levels of empathy I ever felt.

I also often feel closer to animals than to humans in my dreams, not sure why. And I love pigs, I find that they’re closer to humans than most animals. One of my favourite films ever (the black cauldron) is about a boy in medieval times who has a pig he cares for.

I also went to high school in a very old high school built under Napoleonian times. Lots of places I knew as a kid were built in medieval times; stables, farms, churches, lavoirs; old stones, dirt, absence of modern comfort are a large part of my subconscious perception of the world. Or maybe these dream elements pop-up in my brain because of a more atavistic reason, as if all the dreams and all the lives of my ancestors were written in my DNA and I am exploring them with each new dream, sometimes merging them with my own experience…

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There was a Tom Bunk exhibition, people were waiting in line throughout several quite empty rooms in a modern and colorful building.
People got to talk to him and ask him to draw for them. I asked him to make an animated film and he made one.
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I discovered a great library, owned by David Lynch, all the material inside the library, books, DVDs, etc, was related to his personal collection and his films.
The place was really nice, it was a building by the water, and at the end of the main room, you could stand on a peer-like terrace over the water.
I was hired there to digitize 35mm prints, so I would take a roll of 35mm films, put it in the projector and film the projection while it’s being played. Each film was 2 hours, and someone told me I had three more films to digitize before I could go home so I calculated this in my head, and found out that I would only be home at 4 A.M. so I thought that was really late.
David Lynch had a daughter that worked there with long hair and glasses, she was kind of my boss.
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I forget who these people were, but we were looking for a place to hide because of several tornadoes coming our way.
We found a cave that we could hide under, kind of like a horizontal cave with a roof, and we would see the tornadoes pretty well, and I even got to film them and take pictures of them, and when they would move over us, we would all crouch in a protective gesture, and we were fine until another one came.
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In the first dream I was in France and ran into friends from Chatenay, the mom, the dad and the youngest son were going on holidays and told me I could tag along.
Then we were in an old castle that they had either bought or rented.
Some of its rooms were very small, like 1 meter high. I went into one of them to take a shower but it was like torture because I couldn’t stand up and did’t know where to put my legs, etc, so I came back out.
Outside they were sitting around garden tables enjoying drinks near the castle.
Then there was a little black cat walking around, very tiny, very cute, he climbed on top of a little mound at the base of a tree.
A big dog came after him, sniffing his trail and arriving under the mound the cat was on.
The cat became immediately very scary, puffing his tail, opening wide yellow eyes, and opening a mouth full of very sharp and rather long teeth. The dog, scared, walked away.
In the second dream, I was sitting in a classroom, and some of my friends were too although I don’t know which ones. The teacher was my old boss the film producer, and somewhere around was his assistant. He was teaching film production I think. Students would take turns to fill up the coffee machine (like would employees in a previous job I had), and I came to help two girls that didn’t really want to do it. I put lots of coffee into a metal box with a handle, a lot of it fell to the table below, so I swiped it into the trash and I was done. I made a remark for the teacher and his assistant about how it was easier to make coffee in the previous places we worked at together.
Then I left the class, almost forgetting to say bye to my friends on the way out.
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A street with shops. I walk into a restaurant because I'm hungry and they show me a bag of pasta they can cook for me that has a price label on it of 25$. But they wouldn't even cook the whole thing for me, they would just cook a few pasta and wrap it in a very small leaf.
The man shows me a carved bamboo piece with leaves i side of it and asks me to chose the one I will eat with the cooked pasta inside of it. I start thinking that it makes no sense and that they're probably going to ask me a lot of money for something minuscule that won't stop my hunger. I say no.
Later, in the restaurant, I talk with the waitress who looks like one of my coworkers when I worked in the Eiffel Tower. She's looking out the window at a tree that grew all the way up to the window in a straight line.
As it often happens in my dreams, I start floating like a balloon until I reach the corner of the ceiling. Then I wait to be able to get down.

In the second dream, there was a woman that painted with graphite. In her art supplies case, she had a compartment with weird round spikey fruits (or rocks?) and she would rub her brush against it and then when she painted on the canvas it would be like graphite.
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Some I forgot.

First dream
I was supposed to have lunch with my godmother's family; her, her daughter and their kids, and her brother (I've never met him but in the dream he was just like her but with a long wool coat and a hat).
At first I was rude with them because I was looking at my phone the whole time, then I realized I had an appointement at the doctor's at 11:10 and it was 11:08. So I walked out on them. Called off the appointment.
When I came back they were on their way out, pissed, and her brother gave me a 20€ bill he had planned to give me all along but without talking and then left. Super weird.

Second dream.
I was buying groceries at an open air market with my mom, we had a wheeled cart, and we found an exit to the market that if we took it we didn't have to pay for our groceries, so we took it.

Third dream.
I was sitting on the floor with a friend, and I found little toy cars Micro Machines as well as other toy cars right next to me so I took them, and I was pretty stoked.

Fourth dream.
The people who used to write the magazine Player One. In the morning, in a bar, having coffee.

Fifth dream.
My mom could hear Julien's laugh from her window. I told her she was lucky.

Sixth dream.
I was in a big house with bullies and they were bullying people.
And another scene had their house/mansion destroyed and they were taken by force into a bus. A very strong guy stopped one of them and punched him on the head three times very violently.
I stood behind the buy being punched, I was on the side of the puncher not the bullies.
The three punches played out in a loop several times in front of me, sometimes in very slow motion, sometimes faster. The guy's head was beaten to a pulp and covered in vivid colors. Sometimes I held his arm up for him to be punched properly.
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I jumped back in time from my "now and here" (being 34, living in California), and all of a sudden I was in a car in 1985 Paris.
No way for me to get in touch with anyone in my family or friends, who would have been freaked out to see me aged 34 on their doorstep.
No real way for me to prevent my younger self from making all their life's mistakes without creating more paradoxes.
My wife won't even be born for the next 3 years.
Besides, I could never get an ID, or a job, because I wouldn't be able to get a birth certificate.
And the 1985 Paris is a lot crummier, dangerous, dirty and under construction than the one I liked and knew.
So one of my options is to stay "undercover", maybe abroad, until 2015, while letting my younger self do everything that brought him to life I knew and left.
Then prevent him somehow from time-jumping from 2015 to 1985. At which point I will be 64, and will have waited for this moment for 30 long, wasted years.

And when I do stop my younger self from time-travelling, I will instantly die, or vanish, because there won't be a reason for there to be an old me anymore, since the time jump won't have taken place.
There would be just one me, picking up their life where I left it.
Not such a joyous perspective, and quite a sacrifice to let someone "else" get "your" life back where it suddenly stopped.
And maybe when I'll be 64, and somehow survived all these difficulties, I won't want to die anymore, I'll want to let that time loop happen again, maybe I'll have friends, maybe I'll have a sort of life that I don't want to throw away. Maybe I'd have kids. I'd be the oldest self that has ever lived. And maybe the path that I took since the time jump is safer for me than picking up where I left off. Maybe if I stop the other me from time-travelling, I instantly die but my younger self dies a few days later as well, car accident or whatever.

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