By Mel Hartman
Translation from Dutch by Birsen Uçar
Dreams are illustrations…you.
from the book your soul is writing about.
My name is Kate Lillian, I’m thirty-one years old, and I’m an emobeing from Emo World, the
second dimension. Emo World is a place where ratiobeings from Ratio World dreamed of and
dreamed in. Dreamt because, for most this activity now belongs in the past.
I scribble down these notes with a plain old fashioned pen. It does something to me,
the contact of my hand touching the sheet of paper, via such a pen. I don’t like a machine
blocking my thoughts from the things I will create. Even if these are simply notes or scrawls
with which I might want to do something serious later on. What precisely, I still have to figure
out. Writing a novel perhaps. I often do things without knowing where it will all lead to.
Good, there are still beings from Ratio World, the first dimension therefore, who don’t
know we exist. They still think that their dreams are plays in their own fantasy world.
Actually, we are dealing with a dimension filled with creatures, just as alive as themselves,
and within their eyes there are many strange creatures. The so-called monsters from Emo
World wouldn’t harm a mosquito, even if it would suck them dry. We too have rules and
laws, though these are based on more liberal principles than the ones in Ratio World. Emo
World is a real world, just as the Earth, which is now called Ratio World.
However, at the time, there were many ignorant. These were actually ratiobeings who
still thought they owned their own dreams. You recognize them, apart from their vague
contours; they had expressions in their eyes showing fear, stress and insecurity. They mostly
conducted themselves in a manner not quite sure of the next move. They had the listlessness
resembling someone who smoked too much weed.
Visually, these dreamers clearly differed from the emobeings and ratiobeings who
visited Emo World through the Portal. Their body was a little translucent. It see med as though
they hadn’t entirely passed through, as if the ink of the printer had run out. They ran most of
the time, although this cost them a pitiable amount of effort. In general, they were frantically