5

 I am in a large bookstore or supermarket, browsing through and then replacing on a rotating book display a book titled "COLOR" that is filled with network figures. A young woman asks me about the concepts in the book and I explain that I studied network analysis, I know all about it, but I want to keep her at a distance. As I leave the store I feel preoccupied, perhaps by the music playing over the broadcast system or because I am watching the people around me...
 It is late afternoon and I am riding home on a deraileur bicycle through parts of a neighborhood that look like Long Beach and other parts that are new. All the time I pedal Mozart is playing in the sky. I pedal through traffic. Up streets. I pedal up curbs and grassy lots and through a store in a shopping center, empty of people and merchandise; I make the bicycle skip to the tempo of Mozart as I wheel through the aisles and out the door. Someone (a young man, perhaps Jacob) is watching me, and I am showing off...
 I am driving in a large white car, a bit old and showing use, when I am stopped by a small police car with flashing blue lights on the roof and a sign with "MENTAL" in big blue letters hanging over the front fender...
 I am traveling with my parents in the mountains. We pull to the side of the road to take in a magnificent prospect - a steep glacial valley and a high, airy cascade of water falling between two green hills, the water coursing through a narrow channel of black rock. It is raining and we are wearing slickers. Father goes to talk to a man sitting with a group of people, like a guide or a teacher, and shows him a large rock - black granite with large white chunks in it, very light like pumice, wrapped in clear plastic. Father shows the rock and tries to convince the man that it is special: he says it will even burn, and by this time the man is interested in it...
 Then I am in a living room with an open iron fireplace, just me and the man sitting on a white sofa, and in the fireplace is a head, a wooden or waxen head of Buddha, burning. As I watch myself sitting there looking at the head in flames, I think "The hardest part in life is learning to fall in love again"...
 As I lean over the bar a woman touches my back and says, "there's something here on your back." I reach between my shoulder blades and feel the lump, pinch and tug at it. I pull out a long, large nail, buried up to the head, bent under the skin. It corrodes and grows larger as I look at it, bewildered...
 I am conducting experiments for someone: they entail laying out very large sheets of white waxy paper, perhaps three feet wide and twelve feet long, and smearing them with some kind of paste or seeds. Or maybe paints or chemicals. These change or grow somehow; the purpose of the experiment is to study this transformation. I seem to be conducting these experiments wherever I find the space: in public hallways or on stairway landings. I talk with a group of women, holding the test papers folded under my arms. I don't seem to have clear purpose, as if I don't quite understand the experiment or am looking for someone to explain it to me...