I'm in a house high up on a forested mountain. The basement, an empty disused tiled pool that spirals upstairs...I don't think to try and figure out how the pool keeps level, accepting that it spirals up over a couple of floors...

Upstairs, a dark paneled room, there's a museum or art exhibit of sorts, curiosities, books with leather-tooled custom bindings done in the fantastical shapes of demons heads and gargoyles. Opening them they're like the "Codex Seriphinianus", an inventory of colors, shapes, writing in foreign languages, they're all puzzles, riddles wrapped up in enigmas and mystery...

The objects are as well curious, of no discernable function or purpose, this resembles an orrery, but isn't, this a compass, or globe, but not, and so forth. Everything beautifully done, but inexplicable. Somehow I think that maybe it all explains itself...

Outside a cool fall day.

Discussing with the other visitors I find that the owners of this curated collection of absurdities explained it all the night before, at the gala opening, I missed it, but - somehow I think I know them - and I'm thinking of this bigger goth couple that would show up and buy my curiosities for sale in Calgary, these must be the people hosting this...