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Dream of the night between the 14th to the 15th of May 2016 - A Boy and his Blog — LiveJournal
Dream of the night between the 14th to the 15th of May 2016

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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