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Diner At The Summit a dream by Paul Garner's subconscious I was at the summit of the mountain, collapsed pretty much flat on my face and out of breath. The rocks under my chin were grey-beige and flinty, and everything was enveloped in fog; I guess we were up in the clouds. A hand groped up over the ledge in front of me and found purchase. It looked strangely swollen and sickly, or… not swollen, but fuzzy in my eyes. It was also grey-beige, like the rocks. The hand pulled up an arm, and then a second arm, and the arms pulled up a whole man. He didn't notice me, but I observed him curiously, as indeed his whole person seemed to be afflicted with the strange swollen-fuzziness. I was trying to make out the features of his face, which were somehow impenetrably indistinct, when it struck me that he wasn't swollen or fuzzy; he was in fact vibrating rapidly. I think perhaps he was also shaking his head from side to side as well, all at a similar frequency to the buzz of a fly's wings, yet silent. He stumbled past me, treading on my hand as he went, wandering off into the mist. Feeling in need of some refreshment, I picked myself up and headed in the direction of the summit diner, an incongruous piece of Americana and stainless steel joinery. The curtains were drawn down at one end of the room, where my cinematographer and the assistant director were busy going through the dailies. On the end wall I could see projected some footage of the vibrating man stumbling across the summit, though I was out of the shot. "Looks good," I remarked, "especially the fog." They showed me some footage from inside the diner; glasses on a glass table, with a white paper napkin. The glasses were cheap, the chunky and durable kind you often find in cafés, but that only enhanced the prismatic effect of the glass. "It's too dark," I said. I wanted to bring out the mesmerizing, shimmering highlights waiting to be unlocked from this mundane still life, but the dark glassy green of the table seemed to be a sink, draining all intensity from the frame. "How's this?" ventured the assistant director. The film they were projecting must have been somehow 'live', as I could see the composition of the shot change as he moved the glasses around on the table, though I couldn't see his hand in the picture. "No that's not it, we need more light," I said. "But that's how the light is in here," he protested, "it's supposed to be foggy outside, look." "I don't care," I replied, "just shine some more light into the scene." He obliged and the result, to me eye, was much improved. I heard a car engine and looked outside to see twin headlight beams slicing through the fog as someone pulled into the diner car park. Back Copyright © 2002 - Paul Garner. |
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