I fell asleep much earlier than normal.
The set for the dream was only half built.
I was supposed to be on a hospital roof,
admiring the view, but there was no hospital,
only a building site, a stethoscope and
six pale people in purple pyjamas.
After a little sleuthing it became clear:
I had to build the hospital myself.
It was an enormous, virtually impossible job,
but it had come at the right time.
My waking life was going nowhere and I was
desperate to do something,
one thing that I could be proud of,
something I could tell my children I’d achieved,
even if it was only in a dream.
I approached a cement mixer and rolled up my sleeves.
Five hours later I’d figured out how to turn it on.
Clearly this was too big a task for one evening.
I had to return to it, night after night, dream after dream.
Years were spent just learning the basics.
Structural engineering, site planning, materials, insulation, etc.
Months of dreams just trawling through architecture textbooks.
Luminous green highlighter pens running out.
Luminous pink highlighter pens running out.
Hours of scholarly tedium,
decades of drab dreams.
Sketching, erasing, sketching.
In one of them I actually fell asleep at the desk.
I was dreaming of dreaming while dreaming.
In the dream in the dream the hospital was there.
Overbuilt, but there.
It had a fizzy moat bubbling with Pepsi.
I took a sip.
Which one's got the most sugar?
Isn't that Pepsi?
it had a crystal drawbridge.
I walked over.
It had a single neon pillar (horizontal)
It had gold gargoyles.
It also had a pile of bodies at the entrance.
At first I thought it was a sculpture.
Something controversial about death.
But no, they were dead people.
They’d seen the building and decided to
review it by leaping off.
Frank Lloyd Wright, Le Corbusier and several others
far too famous to mention, all snapped and mangled.
I realised if I ever finished my hospital I
wouldn’t be on the roof admiring the view.
I’d be up there to step off.
I heard an ariel scream and looked up.
Frank Gehry was plummeting towards me.
I woke, covered in sweat, back into the first dream.
I knew what I had to do.
I put four bricks in a square and threw a paracetamol inside.
That was my hospital.
I stood on top and stepped off.
Posted by Michael Crowe at 6:22 PM