My dream of bread making is coming true

heaven is near in the flotilla I believe thoughts and emotions of species and inter calculating narratives. Muscles are necessary on a flotilla and fingers for typewriting. Engeneering the energy levels. why don't we get lost?

Heading onward a night falls navigating by electronics and stars and promised utopias

After a few hours the majority of the crew seems to be arriving (mind lag) The first casualty happened, although not too serious. Boo has been violated by rats. The doctor keeps him sedated while the agave wound heals. In the mean time, the craftsmen are building Boo-sized rat traps that he's wearing while hibernating (sun has disappeared, so his energy levels are low.) The flotilla needs a kitchen extension (temporary)., in order to accommodate the vast numbers of cooks interested in contributing to the feast. Furious purpose and I blame my mother are silent for most of the afternoon. Fp is catching up on sleep, IBMM seems disconnected from the Flotilla activities and is immersed in his computer (seemingly doing something unrelated (but I could be mistaken). There are several people working on getting the digital fire going and even more working on hanging a chandelier nd a sundry of table decoration. Meanwhile portraits have been taken of all flotilla members, for posterity. Overall things seem to be running smoothly, but difficult to keep the shared purpose alive beyond individual revitalisation.

Furious purpose dream sequence:

Flotilla seems to be a very safe place for now and with the sun gone I have opted for a mandatory two hour rest period after 13 hours of driving, traveling and preparing for the Flotilla voyage.

Sequence: Parallel large buildings.

        Voices. 
        A crew member is using a computational device to stimulate 
        HANG GLIDING
                   Cars as last refuge of safety when confronted with the people that seem to be 	              
                   everywhere  and stalking.
                   Breakfast. Darkness and cold. Snowscape. Breugel with cars. 
                   give me a break. Corridors full of red velvet. 
                   The people everywhere. 
                   Lumivourous tactical grace is talking to me. 

To be moonwalking with the new moon you have to be dressed in white.

Machine is not working properly, better call the Engineer.

Prousts seconds or how l'huile extra fine enhanced our moonwalking

never allow doctors of medicine and mechanics on a road to musical enlightenment we had a singing bottle that needed its chords oiled and time to spare since we just left the port. never have oiled the works before we needed inspiration and Berninas guidance a vessel like ours is not as simple stories get told, its rather a mixture of hulls and beams, downunders hidden on top and cloth and canvas hiding the juniors from real action. The Resilient is a crafty customer, never too ashamed to tell a sly joke or pull a lame one on no matter who. lubrication in deep disarray hitched our cottons and turned her upside down. minutes later we drowned our swissmade musicanics l'huile fine and heard the tunes of vienna again. this was never going to get sorted, viennas subconscience has nothing to look for on our resilience Vessel, Proust would need seconds of chrystal meth and poppers for downers to catch up with us going down to it on this bottled tune.

moonwalking to Vienna, Vienna, Nur die. is the start of this journey wet or dry.

an abundance with fires with illusionary heat, a sound like frying sausages and little consumption of the wood. and then videos of video fires and recording of frying sausage fire sound and no extinguishing necessary, ever. it goes out by itself. a fire warming nothing, or is this an illusion? where is the captain, my captain? the real fires on the table and in the dishes burn white.

en vibes ss, ginger, bread, gold, man stirring in the pan

lore ipsum, but not really, its just a trick. But it still does not make it into a meaningful text. more damage to itself. nobody should really be going through all these, so that is why we simply needed to lift the anchor and go, just go and sail and sail and perhaps never return to the flat lands or any kind of land for more than a week or so, preferably even less, maybe for an hour and leave immediately after we have traded the goods with those still staying on the land, still trapped into their permanent happy lives.

hello flotilla nice to meet you

nice meat ; i ; I

C: A I: HELLO whh- hhhhhhhhhjjnnjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjj hhhhhhhhhhhhbbbbtry

I hate the Bronte Sisters sooo much

39 steps to goo

:/

:-

: 1/4

=3

..

(k)

(-k)

(-k-)

ij:%

golden cheese and hazelnut schnapps after a lush feast. definitely past the famine months. definitely past the famine months… but for how long? reported stolen water and forgotten lights. it seems difficult to leave the past lives behind, gentle knispering of digital fire in smoky darkness. Distillation fumes from the kitchen. Planning extraction of Furious Purpose at 0600. extremely low energy all around. encountering heavy weather, additional navigation duty. The beginning of the feast was invigorating (pouring of agave junce into mouth, enjoying efforts of cooking & design of the table. Stories shared. Intoxication and exhaustion increasing. Distillation and gambling seem to be upcoming activities.

The second shift just began. Energy levels of the crew very low. People are invigorated by sunlight and sharing documents, skills and knowledge of past experiences. It seem that people's bodies are on the flotilla, but their minds are still in port. Personal stories are shared, but not extensively. The handbook is slowly emerging on the walls. When people are immersed in their activities, all seems fine. Others roam, check email and look lost. There seems to be a lack of ease and trust, among the crew to be able to be completely absorbed in the actuality of the anti apocalypse day. It is difficult to remember people's names, but this is slowly getting easier. Personally I find it tiring to try make connections between what people are doing and the shared purpose. Instead of being invigorated, i'm exhausted. And it's only been hours. Need to let go and observe.

The last hours of 12-12-12 just ticking/clicking…… …… ….. when the above air black dissolves the birds fly over breathing out their insight of the night, inhaled by the human elementals passing underneath, the flotilla. then the white stripes, then they call these the first hours….