(portion of another recent email from evan)
I experienced another one of my classic hunger attacks again late last night... recalled to the site of heavy echo industrialization and panics. you're probably thinking to yourself, there should be modern medicine for this, and there is- I've even met with an eminent endocrinologist out here. a little bit of a language barrier, obviously, but with the assistance of a few pocket dictionaries we were finally able to kinda sorta "understand" one another. you're probably thinking to yourself, there should be a slick computer program for this, and there is- not to mention much more sophisticated ones coming out every quarter. why don't you just take a pill? eliminate your hunger issues forever? touchy matters, heavy matters, highly sensitive/delicate matters. human subjects have always tended to be fairly protective of the energy that goes into their food. the food itself comes and goes. the energy just changes form. if there's a kink in the system it's usually immediately noticeable. even out here, yes, in the authentic middle of nowhere. bunker mentality has its pros and its cons. waking up in the dead of the night, reaching up and touching the ceiling, reaching to either side and caressing the cinders...
...you're probably thinking to yourself what does this have to do with actual hunger? I wouldn't know how to answer that. however, that's not saying I wouldn't try answering, especially if the question kept coming up, as it has been. a massive pile of food down there, probably enough for 25 years... enough books, enough water, enough batteries, enough videos, enough daily transcripts from the civilization that lived here before us, enough music, both pre-recorded and the type composed directly on site. a simple life, you might be thinking, and you would be more or less in the vicinity of a viable answer. these so-called "attacks" are probably more of a commentary on this unnatural state of "abundance" or "rawness." when you ask about other people, and I give you one of my classic blank stares, and then start to thumb thru pocket dictionaries for the bizarre foreign words that might help yield us both a short space of semi-fictional "clarity"...
...the details aren't worth getting into. just imagine two feral animals. a long stake-out, a hunt-down, a fierce battle, then victory. blood and innards. bones cracking. detritus thrown or spit off to the side for the insects. eating to the point where the organism is no longer out, in or upwardly mobile. the "mind" is locked up as well, frozen, as it were and still just might be, gazing up into the "stars" and other various holographic "datas" , "canyons", and "rivers." all of this endless hassle just to stay alive, and for what? the authentic middle of everything. "the core of the earth", it's been nicknamed...
and then, of course, the "dreamwork", about which you are constantly asking...
let us imagine a "training ground." an "open field." a "greensward." let us imagine, but for a moment, the sense of these things actually happening. once again, I can hear you thinking aren't these more along the lines of locations? and my only response to that would be to let or allow us a "wilderness." in the classic civic fashion, we would temporarily "rent out" the wilderness. the word itself has been censored, mocked, and discredited almost to the point of... well, a semi-honest profession... of... faithlessness. and yet, don't forget, just for the record: these are all just opinions here!
let us not imagine that we can merely lie down or collapse late at night, quite alone, weary from another's day's near incessant activity, the "dreamwork" just another local chapter from which the body of the text has itself been extracted, and left to sleep, still quite alone, while the dream-figures commence their own shift of private grueling labor...
