Rivet Kitten 2001-06-06

This room is very sterile and cold, like a hospital room. It is vaguely unsettling to be in. The walls are bare, the window is half-shuttered. I am sitting in a chair and I am by a desk, the only furnishings in the room. On the desk there are pictures of strangers. They look very happy, and I wish that I could jump into the pictures to get out of the room.

The photographs are interesting, possibly suggesting a withdrawal into a fantasy world to escape the problems of reality.

The trees are enormous. They command this forest. No light manages to filter through their tightly-knit branches. The undergrowth is very thick, and it is very difficult to navigate the forest. I try to do so without disturbing the forest's natural state. I am obviously an intruder here, an outsider, so I try to make my way though causing as little disruption as possible.

There is no path to be spoken of - therefore, the going is very difficult. Undergrowth tangles up between the giant trees.

I come upon a giant waterfall. It is beautiful and astounding. The water is pure and clear - I drink from the pool at the bottom of it to quench my thirst, and it is good. There are two brightly colored fish swimming in the pool.

The vessel is a wine goblet. It is elegant and simple at once - it is made out of beautiful, light blue glass - nearly irridescent at times - but strangely unbreakable.

Normally, a glass like this would be considered decorative; however, the qualification that it is “unbreakable” gives it a strongly practical character.

This key is like no other key I've seen before - it is beautiful, elaborate, but so thoroughly rusted over with age that I doubt it will open whatever it once did. I ache with a desire to know what it is that it was made for.

The “ache” comment seems to suggest that this cynicism disturbs the subject.