It's 5:30 AM and I just woke up from a spiritual dream which I must write down.

I was in an art class with a former Spanish art teacher I had during my university studies. The class took place in a garage in the house of said art teacher (Ramón Almela). I doodled most of the class in a black notebook, just like one I used in one of the most introspective moments of my life.

The class finished and everyone handed in their assignment. I was embarrassed that I didn't follow the instructions, and left without handing it in. Once outside the class I thought I ought to ask the teacher if I could hand in the assignment the next day, so I knocked at the metal door of the garage, which was ajar, and looked inside. Ramón hadn't heard me, he was busy moving things here and there, so I called him out, and yet he didn't seem to hear. Finally I stepped inside and interrupted him.

"Ramón... Sorry, I didn't follow the instructions and just fooled around with the assignment, would it be possible to hand it to you tomorrow?" I asked. He said yes, but you will have to hand me in whatever you did today so I can take a look, and then you will hand the assignment tomorrow.

I opened my notebook and saw a lot of colourful charts from the virtuegraph. Flipping through many coloured grids I was trying to find the doodles I had been drawing earlier, which somehow had ended up in the middle of the notebook.

Finally I got to them, at the beginning of the notebook, and I saw a progression in my drawings. First there were a couple of badly drawn eyes, then after a couple of pages the eyes were arranged in a circular pattern, and then after a couple of more pages they were arranged in a spiral pattern, filling the page. I thought it wasn't too bad so I wanted to mark the beginning and the end of my visual exploration so that Ramón would have a clear idea of my work on that day.

The garage had filled with a lot of people who had sat down at a large table for lunch. I approached Ramón with my notebook in hand, and Ramón said something regarding my father which explained my current behaviour, but I didn't understand his Spanish accent. I asked him to repeat, and again he mumbled through his heavy accent which I didn't understand. I smiled and pretended to understand, but I didn't.