The smoke from the neighbors was so intense when I had gone back to bed in the morning after having a mostly sleepless night. I dreamed that I drove my car. The one Lincoln that had been towed away to the junkyard. Down said stairs of all things! Taking a left to end up in a small end up in a small room. In a public space, A passing space. For say, the CTA, or some other transit area. And there, lo and behold, in the corner was a man that was the striking image of my grandmother’s step-husband, Tex. There he stood behind a counter of Panatela’s and Dutch Masters smoking a cigar. Completely oblivious to me and everyone else because of course, that was his way. Seeing me, and I seeing him, I asked, “Do you know who Anthony Salvatore is?” And he says, “Yeah, I’m related!” And that was about all I could get out of him before he got up from his stool, When he got up I noticed that the entire display of cigars behind him and in front of him actually an appendage of a . . . how would your say? Something that he wore. It was very odd?
The issue was how to portray the underlying message. It came down to entering symbols of power into the elevator. And making them visually understandable. In a very short almost immediate time. And this dealt with taking a single solid tetrahedron and dividing it in such a way that the component parts would animate telling the whole story. I went through this again and again and again and again. Until . . . I had something that was workable but no one wanted to really give it a chance. They’d already made up their minds. The simple version. Or perhaps their version that had nothing to do with me?
Each night I went to bed feeling scared. So scared that I only had a doubt wish to sleep. A gun close at hand. Each night wondering what would happen if someone broke in? How little time I would have to be able to defend myself to the point that I realized that I wouldn’t survive. That my assailant would basically overcome me. My only choice at that point was to make sure my assailant would come with me. That a definite commitment would be made! That we would both go together. But then I found out after listening to someone else who had really pondered very meticulously in terms of all the great ideas by other men who called themselves philosophers that the assailant that I must have feared was me. The gun in hand was basically my ticket out. And if I was going to fail, I had to use it. Really all I was going to do was use it on me.
A video/voice based version is available at: