LANA (& LAMONT) I see in the sky behind Jon, a huge gathering of rapidly moving storm clouds. It’s like the air above has been churned up somehow, like out of a Steven Spielberg Close Encounter’s movie. “What’s wrong Lana?” Jon asks. “Why are you looking at me like that?” He doesn’t see it. Can’t he feel the weirdness? It’s amazing. The air around me is tingling with energy, as if I’m standing in the middle of a storm just when it’s about to shoot out its first lightning bolt. Silence has swallowed up in one gulp the sounds of distant cars, the falling water, and the chirping of the birds. LAMONT But she doesn’t feel the wrongness of it all. The immense, onerous loneliness. It’s as if something has brutally ripped the Park right off the planet and brought it to some place of…. Of what? And why? LANA (& LAMONT) The very air smells different. The scent of pine trees is gone. A strong sweet smell, almost overwhelming like someone who doused themselves with the whole bottle, its scent reminds me of a mix of honey and vanilla. The scent of some exotic hot house plant like an orchid? LAMONT It’s as if we totter on the edge of a precipice and down below are jagged rocks. A great tragic feeling clutches at my breath and pulls it back down my throat. I definitely feel it. I must tell them. I’ve got to. Concentrate Lamont. Remember this is a dream. I can control my dreams. I must get Lana to speak. Must use her voice. There, I feel like I’m getting through. “Jon, we’ve got to go. Now!” I did it. I spoke through Lana. LANA (& LAMONT) “But we just got here,” Jon replies puzzled, “and now you want to leave? What’s wrong with you, Babe?” I look at him as if he’s gone crazy. I didn’t say anything. What’s he talking about? Hey. Why is it suddenly so cold? And so dark? How can he not feel it? How can he not see what’s going on? I’m shivering so much my teeth are rattling. What’s going on? I’m scared. I don’t understand. This can’t be happening. Jon doesn’t look like anything is happening. Maybe it’s all me. Maybe I’m going crazy. Jon’s mouth is moving but I can’t hear him. I feel sick. Real sick, like I’m going to puke. A weird feeling crawls up out of some deep place in the pit of my stomach. I feel something, or someone is watching. Something bad is here. Something big. And there it is! It’s a funnel of shimmering light and swirling air. It comes down in the center of the circle. I’m scared. How could this be happening? Jon finally notices something. I watch with horror as he gets swallowed up by the funnel. He’s got this strange expression on his face. A blank look. Hey, why is he suddenly so far away? One minute he’s in the center of the ring, and then next...he’s like miles away? Lana, get a grip. You’re tripping out here. But before I can even place one foot ahead, a sound rips into my guts. It’s Jon. He’s calling my name. He’s so far away and he’s afraid. I start to run to him, suddenly released, but it’s as if it’s all in slow motion. I see everything with perfect clarity and singular sharpness, each needle, on each branch, of each tree, as strangely and slowly, I pass them all, each and every tree in seemingly endless succession of trees. There’s this weird light and thick fog wrapping around me, which has a strong spicy scent. I’m running within it and not getting anywhere. After what seems forever, I’m a few feet from him. He’s standing there looking so scared. He’s frantically reaching out to me and yelling! I can’t hear what he’s saying! Now there’s this purplish light all around him. I try to get to him. I can’t reach him. Again, I can’t move. “Lana!” Jon screams out. It’s so loud! There’s so much noise; it hurts. His yelling is like the sound of some tornado. Then, the flash of purple collapses into nothing. Everything stops. No more weirdness. The sky is clear. The birds are chirping like crazy, car alarms are going off. Everything is back to normal. Except... “Where is Jon?” I ask. I feel abandoned and empty again, only so much worse. As if some ice demon had ripped out my heart and gleefully ate it. I call out Jon’s name. He was just standing there! Where is he? I heard him. I saw him. What just happened? It was like some movie or something. Pull it together girl! People just don’t up and disappear? He’s not here. Which means he must be somewhere else? Where? He must have run down the hill. I just have to catch up to him. “Jon! I’m sorry! Jon, wait up!” I try as hard as I can, to go as fast as I can, to catch up. He must be up ahead. That’s the only thing that makes any sense. That’s what I keep telling myself, even up to the time when I almost run into the cop car. They ask me if anything is wrong. I know they think I’m on something or drunk. But I’m not. I just wish I were. I try to tell them what happened, what I think happened. It doesn’t make sense. I don’t make sense. I can tell that they think I’m out of it. They’re just laughing on the inside at me. The cops accuse me of making up this whole story. It doesn’t make any sense. People don’t vanish. How could he? That’s impossible. The cops tell me to go home, they offer to drive me, but I say “No way.” They finally drive off. Maybe Jon hitched a ride and left me, they say. Get real! He was upset with me but not that much. Yet, where is he? I keep searching all over Golden Gate Park, till the cold heartless stars appear in the sky. The pale moon seems to be watching me sorrowfully. Walking out of the park, I’m crying, worrying, getting angry with Jon for leaving me. Why did he leave me? He must have. What other explanation is there? Back at his apartment, it’s clear Jon hasn’t been here. There is no sign that he ever came home. I try to fight off the horrible madness and the fear that clutches at me. The fear that feeds on the emptiness of his apartment. Jon isn’t here. Something terrible and freakish has happened. I need you Jon! Come back to me! A flood of tears start to fall and I sit in the painfully empty apartment with only my fears for company.
 Specifically the Encyclia cordigera that is found from Mexico, though Central America and Northern South America, and reportedly into Brazil.
KEYWORDS: H P LOVECRAFT, LOVECRAFT, DREAMLAND, DARK FANTASY, FANTASY NOVEL
Editor: Gary M. Jaron This specific blog will explore the dream journals of Lamont Corazon and Basha Edelman. [That are the names that I, the editor, have given them. ] I will also added material gathered from interviews, as well as some footnotes when needed. This material will cover their lives from 1979 - 1980.