An artificial island in the South Pacific called Rularilalani island a.k.a John Connel island (the name is breaking up, as is the island). I bought it with Bitcoin and last visited in 2014. It feels like a celebration when I finally recover enough to go back. It’s tiny, perhaps the size of a street corner, covered in lush decorative bushes on two sides and browning salvia plants on one side that doesn’t get the correct sun. Almost like a tiny 18th-century square in New Orleans, dropped here far from civilization. Underwater I see the island is shaped like an upturned sand castle bucket, dropping away into the deep. As tiny as it is, by using solar energy and an (hopefully reliable) internet connection, this place can be a real home now. I swim in the sea around it, and I repeat a warning louder and louder as a coral snake swims toward me — us? Not sure if someone else was there. This dream persona doesn’t feel quite like me.
Gazing at a hamster in a birdcage. Though now I consider, it looked more like one of my pet rats.
An Airbnb underground, multiple levels built into dug-out ground over a long time. On the wall is a joke diagram showing it going all the way down to the water table, and Earth’s outer mantle. One house is on the corner, the place the owner first lived here, a small home with a real door and shelves and plumbing etc. Another place, more recent, is a more industrial-looking vertical shaft situated on a thin strip of lawn between the street and a faceless building. This is the auxiliary AirBnB, somewhere only guests would stay.