Fifth and Sixth and Seventh

Having worked in a supermarket for longer than I would have wanted, very few of my nocturnal wanderings take place in this space, which is definitely a good thing. These are the three I have written down in the past few years since starting work (and am now only part time thankfully). All of these seem to involve twilight, or an odd relationship with light, which I think is largely down to me working stupid hours.

Supermarket, shelves all higher than I expect. Some sort of scam is going on. To me 'Everything here is perfect'. How are they fiddling this? (I enjoy my lack of detail on what the scam is). A man, possibly the floor manager from TFI Friday whose name was/is Will, flies about on a hover fan type machine, inspecting things. My mum works there for an unexplained reason, and I tell her this 'Will' character is watching me. She tells me to look busy even though there is really nothing to do. Outside it seems like twilight or a late summers afternoon. Chris is there, but changes form often.

In the shop's warehouse, much larger and drawn out than in reality. Mary, the scum bag (in reality I don't think she is a scum bag, just a moany old cow), is looking for a complex computer box to control things. I wander around aimlessly. It is cold here, and often reminds me of parts of City 17. I stumble in to an unlit industrial sized fridge. Two people, possibly Joe and Michelle are in their chuckling about nothing in particular. An odd glow about the place. I refuse to walk in to the main part of the building.

In another supermarket, but one cluttered with pipes and shelves at odd angles. I eat a mushroom that has a blue pattern on the top. The space is being used for an art show, but all the regular shoppers go on buying things like there aren't huge constructs hanging, twinkling above them. All is mid evening. Mike is there, we haven't seen each other for years. I dont have enough time to talk to him.

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Fifteen + Sixteen

Long pause between posts owing to house moving and a lack of internet connection for over six weeks. Most frustrating. The intervening period has however furnished me with some new and skewed meanderings inside the subconscious underworld. The first, as you can guess from the reference to a certain daily newspaper, is from a while ago. The second (a double post to make up for the absence) came from a book I found whilst packing that contains notes on a defunct record label, conversations not appropriate for verbal discussion and occasional nocturnal recollections. 15. A warehouse, not dissimilar to Asda, where everything comes in multicoloured stacked boxes. Most boxes hold copies of The Times. I tell someone that they're not selling because they're not as cool as the new Berliner format Guardian (depressing how sad I am even in dreams). Later, am on an island, a little like the one in Lost. At one point I even ask when Walt is coming back. There are a crack team of commandos a

Seventy Four

The city has been invaded by some sort of 14th century Shogunesque army. They've taken over the giant bathhouse/restaurant, akin to the one from the film Spirited Away. We attempt to retake it by crossing a bridge, carefully balancing on taught wires [I've been playing a lot of Ghost of Tsushima], but archers lean from upstairs windows: they fire down at us, and I see bodies plunge into the river below. I try and alternative tactic for entry, taking an alleyway behind the building, but before I am able to help I become entranced by the unusual intersecting pipework that criss-crosses the space . Staring dumbly at the patterns, I hear the battle continue in the distance.

Sixty Eight

In some sort of wasteland, possibly Malton from urbandead but in reality. The buildings and general lay out of the space appears to be a grid system, dark green, crisscrossing and bisecting the land; it resembles a giant board game. The sky is muted orange, and I have a feeling there is something lurking in the increasing shadows that dusk has introduced. Someone who I am with shows me around their flat. From the window I see abandoned car parks, and in the distance lakes and mountains, though this view is partially obscured by smoke rising from refineries that seem to encircle the town. The light is falling away. No-one is on the street when I am taken to the next house. The view from the window is the other house. Each subsequent place I am shown around offers a view of the preceding property. I am caught in a loop of property viewing, with some unknown menace responsible for the trap I find myself in.

A Disintegration Loop

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