SDJ:3 - "The human being has transformed"; King-Sized bed; "You usually aren't so sensitive" (April 1st)

4/1 -

Having directed the cursor-arrow over to the "play button" on his computer monitor, the young man clicks his mouse and we begin watching the video demo he's created.  

An animated version of himself sits shotgun in a car being driven by a large blue creature whose exterior seems made from car tire-rubber.  As blue shadows dance upon his face, the young man relates the concept we have asked these students to get across in their videos.  We watch him and the creature as they continue down the road, seated in the car.  

Toward the end of their drive the camera turns away from these two characters and we see the dashboard; atop which a small, blue, rectangular creature of rubber is contained inside of a white plastic dish.  A calm, soothing male voice intones "The human being has transformed."

This is the last of several videos I've been shown.  Each has been produced by students in their early 20's who have been instructed to explain the concept behind a product that I'm marketing.  Walking from workstation to workstation, I leaned in and watched each entry played on the monitor of each student.  Now I'm to select a handful of the best ones as finalists.  Although I've viewed several of these videos, this last one is the only one I can seem to recall.

Earlier - 

I'm looking down upon a quiet suburban street.  It is daytime.  The lawns are green and manicured.  No cars are passing and there aren't any people to be seen.   

I am made to understand that some type of authority figures are trying to contact Danielle to make her reveal the kinds of sexual positions I tended to instigate while we were dating.  A King-sized brass bed with a bright red comforter appears on a lawn.  Danielle lies upon it; fully clothed.

Earlier - 

I'm in a dimly lit room, lying in a bed with Anja and Sophie.  I'm waiting for Sophie to leave; but in the meantime I'm sucking on and kissing her breasts and nipples.  Suddenly, she screams in pain.  "Wow!" I say, "You usually aren't so sensitive."

I sit up on the couch and glance over the back.  Barnaby is awake, reclining on his bed and playing video games on his iPhone.  Lying back down on my right side - the position in which I awoke - I concentrate for a time on what details I can remember and jot them down in the notebook he lent me.

Putting pen and journal down, I start speaking to him about the frustration of waking up and trying to hold fast to the images and fading details of dreams that are vividly fascinating, yet so ephemeral.

For instance, I want so badly to remember the details of all the different student-videos I was shown.  Unfortunately, each of those videos was a Seedling Universe at it's dense inception.  Each, by now, has big-banged into dimensions unimaginable.   

Imagine you are at the opening of an art exhibit.  Let's say you are actually the first person to enter, and you walk into a dimly-lit room.

As your eyes adjust you see that there is a wall across from you; and for a fleeting moment you realize that this wall is covered with Etch-a-Sketch screens upon which are etched-reproductions of the Great Masterworks of art history.  The instant you realize this the wall begins to shake violently, and the images dissolve.  All you can do is attempt to memorize this moment; to hone in on as many details of these dissipating images of beauty as possible.  

Perhaps the trick is to approach the chaos and confusion of a rapidly-evolving reality with a spirit of gratitude and curiosity, rather than anxiously wishing to capture and contain something moving at a such an incomprehensible rate of construction and destruction; birth and rebirth.

Maybe trying to hold on at all is pure futility; but I don't think so.  An antenna exists as a conduit for communication, not a place where information is contained.