Saturday, June 16, 2007


I was inside a house, at the very top. Somehow, thanks to some kind of glass partition, I could look out onto the roof. Large amounts of bees were nested there and I could get really close because of the glass. The bees were actually in the form of cats, but I knew they were the same entities from previous communiques. The fur colouring of the cats was bee-like; dark brown/black with bands of ginger.
I currently entertain two cats in my community with that kind of colouring, Bessie and Clara. Clara was definitely one of the cats in the dream.
Clara pitched up on our porch fairly soon after we bought the house. She started to make her home there, and occasionally we would feed her. I would throw her off the porch regularly, because I didn't want her to take up permanent residence (and she was ugly to my eyes). She would persistently come back nonetheless. She never made a sound. One day she had eight newborn black kittens, and it seems to me that all the time she was there, she knew she was pregnant, and that she needed to get a safe foothold to give birth. She probably did that underneath the house. We fed the mama and the kittens. Every day a dead squirrel would be on our doorstep as an offering - usually the squirrel was bigger than Clara. One day my fiancee was pulling out of the driveway, ran over and killed one of the kittens. Four more of the kittens mysteriously disappeared. After that, we took in the remaining three - Clara remained on the porch. Two of the kittens we managed to offload. The remaining kitten was the smallest of the group, and also the most aggressive and quickest. Nobody would want her. To this day, she lives on the back deck and I occasionally feed her. She is called "Partisan", and occasionally "Osama" because of her stealth and capture-avoidance skills. Clara lives in the house with us. She is still silent, and now I think she is beautiful (though a bit strange). She has some kind of ancient spirit in her.
The bee/cats were being gassed. I could see their eyes expand and warp into wierd shapes as they died from the gas. Their corpses were piling up against the glass.

The dance

When Theseus returned from the labyrinth thanks to Ariadne's golden thread, he did the dance of the storks to communicate to others the correct passage through the maze.
Sometimes I wonder if the real monster in that story was the infernally tricky labyrinth itself, created for King Minos by Daedalus to hold the Minotaur. Daedalus was a master engineer, he came up with that winged escape trick for him and his son Icarus. (I think he also came up with some kind of fake mechanical bull to enable Zeus, in bull form, to mount someone's wife - I'll have to look into that one, it's a bit hazy). When Icarus disobeyed his father and flew too close to the sun, the wax melted and his wings fell apart, so he fell and died.
I was speaking to my own father the other day, he was an engineer. This put us in opposition because I always rejected that kind of thing in favour of arts. I saw it as one of the Empire's methods of enslavement. I was telling my dad how I am planning to do a masters degree in engineering - Modelling and Simulation. This in itself is of course a form of trickery. I see myself as going behind enemy lines to work out their tricks.