Night to July 24, 6 hours of sleep, continuous I was dreaming that I was dead. How did I know? - I was asking myself in the dream. "I must have died, because I see my hometown as would have never been possible in my life." I was wandering in streets among old buildingss with many canals and bridges, sun reflecting in the waters, somehow resembling Venice. I knew, this must be Hamburg before the bombings during WWII, with the quarter of workers still intact, and all the canals of the southern harbour, though the persons in these streets were not of the 1930s or 40s, but more or less of today's appearence. (Hamburg's quarter of harbour workers and others was almost completely destroyed during one bombing night with huge losses in lives, among them relatives of mine. Later this destroyed region was separated with a wall from the rest of the city for hygienic reasons as so many dead bodies could not be buried.) So, this is how it is after death, I thought. The others are not dead, probably. Maybe they are only in my mind? I was sitting beneath a shopping window on the pavement with a befriended artist, a younger man. We both were preparing a camera or other equipment, as well writing something down for the anticapitalist inteventionist piece of art that we were about to perform for today's people in the time lapsed streets of a Hamburg that has never existed like this. Consciousness raising, that was the intention. Soon we were disturbed by a strange lady who almost spat on us for not being proberly dressed and behaving childishly, anyway getting in her way. I answered her that she should first look at herself and that her white dress was in quite a bad shape as well, especially the lower seam was turned upside over her knee, as I remarked with some satisfaction. In fact she looked like the fattest woman imaginable, wearing a white chid's dress in thin cotton fabric. Resembling a dirty voodoo dress or maybe a dress in which one may have been buried. The thin white tissue was torn, must have been bursting over a swelling, humidity seeping body. Brown stains were seen under the chin and between the legs. Somehow she accepted my response and went on. A little later she came back and talked to me. She said that she really had been in a bad mood. She smiled in an unpleasant way then. She just had some days off from the hell of a job, expected back tomorrow. She was the Netherlands most important prison guard. The Netherlands, as I learned then, have their smallest and most outbound Island in the Northern Sea completely dedicated to serve as a prison for the whole state. She had the difficult burden to tame the inmates who were so mean to her and did never do, what they were obliged to. All these male prisonners who did not respect her as they should have ... I thought, what a dangerous prison guard she will have been ... of immeasurable cruelties, I guessed. But she was very friendly to us, bringing coffee and cakes, inviting me to sit closely beneath her, so that our legs touched and ordered me to eat her selfmade cakes. She constantly looked at me, quite flirtatious, sexually interested in me. She seemed relieved and animated as if she had dispelled her 'evil spirits' or maybe as if she was planning refined tortures for me in revenge for my criticizing her. I was fascinated but unsure, if I could sit, eat and laugh with her, maybe the cake was poisoned? Would she simply break my bones when making love - or in changed mood again punish me, if I proved unfit to fulfill whatever sexual demands or expectations of love she had? "It doesn't matter," I knew suddenly, "I am already dead." (woke up)