Experiment Five: Jon Bernad

SENT - To understand what happened to me during the telepathy-related moments between 12:00 and 12:10pm on Tuesday July 11th some background information is necessary. The previous night I bought a 1990 BMW convertible. A French artist, Samir, is in LA for three months to make a movie, so we bought the convertible together since he cannot legally buy a convertible in America. After three months he gives the convertible (which we had named Johnny) back to me to do as I like, which is to make a convertible residency for artists visiting LA and in need of a car. I imagined a list of names and projects that would grow over the years and become increasingly wonderful. I had driven the car home the night before screaming Yes! on the highway and pumping my hand in the air. I texted my friends: "It's like a dream." The next day Lauren called me to remind me that 12:00 was approaching. I was lazily getting ready for the day, and the first order of business was to get the car registered. I put the top down, got inside, and started driving. The mailman saw me and Johnny and I waved back and pointed to us as if to say "Isn't this amazing?!" I then looked at my phone and it was exactly 12:00.

The map shows the approximate starting point of where I saw the mailman along with the final destination of where I arrived. (My actual route was different, however, than the straight line. I took a zigag way.)

I make an instinctive effort to send messages rather than receive. I wave to the mailman, and that has to be good. I have a Proust book in the backseat, I am really happy, trying to find the right song on the radio. Nicki Minaj does not work but Flo Rida's "Wild Ones" kind of does and I am wondering what I am to make of all this while trying to ignore the "check coolant" light that just turned on and has maybe been on the whole time and is starting to bother me. Nathan told me all the fluids were okay. But it's important to stay positive, to send some positive energy. I look around for something positive while waiting for cars to pass to make a left but am just annoyed that I have to wait for turns, and starting to feel different from the skydiving-like high from last night's drive. I notice the temperature gauge climbing steadily towards the red. I think of the gas stations near the DMV on Cloverfield and try to think if they have garages. Maybe I can get a ticket and instead of waiting and reading I can have Johnny checked out. Things become less solid. I become self-conscious about the loud music I am playing. Everything seems false, or forced, or blurry. I can't say for sure what is happening. The gauge is as deep into the red as possible, pushed to the limit, unable to go further. The water in the engine is starting to boil. I pull into the DMV and park. Two things become clear: there is something wrong with the convertible Nathan Benson sold me, and my dreams in life will never come true. It is 12:10. Jon Bernad, Los Angeles

RECIEVED -  A puddle of water. A lightbulb - the non-energy saving kind. An explosion.
SLICA, Los Angeles & Johannesburg