sending taking
This is the sound of a lungfish. The picture that appears is that of a lungfish. It has a wide body, and small legs, like an after-thought or left-overs. The lungfish swims low and slow. In the dream the word for the image-in-motion is ling fish. The name 'ling' seems to designate a few different kinds of fish; one that looks like an eel, (no legs like the ling), another that has a beard, another that is a kind of cod and hangs around marinas. These ling don't have the capacity to adapt to dry conditions, they don't have a lung like the lung fish do. They can live through the dry season through what is called aestivation. They bury themselves into the mud, curl up into a ball, and secrete a mucus which hardens to form a cocoon. In this way they can live until the next rainfall. Lungfish like to eat live meat. It seems my slip still attests to something though. I read somewhere that fossilized lung fish burrows of Gnathorhiza have been found in rocks as old as the Permian, with the lungfish still inside, and older (empty) burrows are known from the Carboniferous and Devonia. The oldest fossil dipnoan is Diabolichthyes, from the Lower Devonian of Yunnan, China. In evolutionary terms lung fish could be a link between creatures that swim and creatures that breathe air and walk. I'm just speculating here. Some of the information I used to speculate with is on this site dedicated to the Dipnoi, that is, the lungfish.
Wrestling the ling-fish
There was an enormous fish tank in my kitchen. All kinds of creatures lived there, an ecosystem, snails for example, and tiny things that couldn't be seen. This is the story. This bit here. He killed all the fish. He (the man, the one who is different (from me, the woman)) drained the water and cleaned the tank. Threw away the stones, the everything. That was a lot of methodical and even careful work for him to do. He did this when I wasn't there. With his obedient friend who did everything with him (because he was already two). This is the end of that bit of the story. This is the other bit. The beginning bit. It was a very hot dry day. It felt pending. Like things were imminent. She and I were talking in the kitchen. Standing-up we were lea(r)ned on the breakfast bar. And then the ling-fish appeared. First one then another. Have you ever seen a ling-fish? They are huge, ancient, with large eyes that look kind of sad. They swim slowly at the bottom of the sea, or the tank. The weight of the world, and all those kinds of platitudes. I was ecstatic. I really didn't know there was a ling-fish in the tank. And here 'it' was, two of 'it', looking at 'me', looking at 'it'. Something was going to happen that's for sure. Where can the story go now? There's no point telling you about the scene where I saw the empty tank. Where I yelled and screamed and felt such clean hatred that I wanted to kill him dead. And I didn't. The image that won't form a picture is him, with the ling-fish. They just won't fit in the same image-frame. Two days away I threw the I-Ching. It returned Kuo - coming to meet. Nine in the second place means: 'There is a fish in the tank. No blame. Does not further guests.' What becomes apparent is that the text is strange. It is fascinating to read. It does not come from 'me'. When, how did this appear? Of course, I could be making this up. She is not.
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