A Disintegration Loop

The dream below combines a brief mention of the Mostyn Gallery, a recollection of seeing Peter Sallis, and my brief annoyance at a four star hotel for having no locks on their toilet doors, though a man didn't walk in. It is another Asda dream. This depresses me a little as I left there nearly two years ago; 'I am shopping with a small old man, who may or may not be Peter Sallis. He roams aimlessly pointing things out, like the fact some of the crisps are called Jorges Borges – which I remark is pretty classy for a supermarket . Zoe is also there, looking for baking stuff which they don't have. A faint hint of some mad woman at the old style deli. There is a closed art show in the space where George once was. In the toilets, a man walks in on me as I finish taking a shit. I grab him by the neck and throw him in to a mirror, breaking it. "Have a bit more fucking courtesy," I yell at him. He looks at me, blood dripping from a cut above his eye, and says "Try lo...

Shockingly I managed to forget to post a dream for March, so I am here combining March and April in to one all consuming somnolencefest. Additionally, last night I had an odd dream in which a man named Mafooz was convinced I had slept with 'his girl' and waited with a gang of people outside my parent's house to 'beat me up'. When he learnt I wasn't in (I was, just spying from a distant window), he cut off the head of Mick over the road and threw it through my window as 'a message'. Grim. Any way... 'Lanark style, this one. In tenements of Glasgow, except at the time I think it to be elsewhere [?]. Find a small newsagents, with a labyrinthine underworld through the back door. The place is made of old fabric, and fucked stairs. I follow a woman through numerous passage ways, under wooden constructs and mangled embroidery. Her head is that of a freakishly large woman, but with shapely legs. Eventually I emerge at the beginning of the shop, where Dad is ...

'Ben Barry, who I have not seen in reality for a good many years, has a vendetta against me. I am returning from a shopping trip with my Dad (Marty Crane from Frasier) and as we leave the lift, Ben is there with an accomplice who I am unable to see. He has a bag of bottles filled with petrol and a lighter which won't work. He tells me to 'fucking watch it.' I go inside, put the shopping down and call my brother, who by a small leap of logic, is Kelsey Grammer. He suggests calling the police. I do this, but as I open my door to check if Ben is still around, he runs at me, knocking me to the floor. In the hallway outside the apartment (tall building with remarkably few stairs, seemingly built where the Galaxy is in Luton) he tries to light the petrol bombs and gut my apartment. I grab the flame - oddly it doesn't burn my hands - and throw Ben to the floor. Then I run, down the stairs and out in to the quad, which is an odd mix of Luton and Birmingham, everything garis...

'In the hills of some unknown country, where Zoe and myself have been abducted by a group who bare a passing resemblance to The Shining Path. Their camp, which appears to mix elements of the Slaver stronghold in Fallout 3 and a farmers market, is easy for me to escape from, and I jog down through the hills on an unguarded road which ends in a gate not dissimilar to the one in Jurassic Park. After escaping, I realise that Zoe has not followed me, despite my believing that that had been my original instruction to her. On an opposing hillside, I plan her rescue with a motley crew of carnival freaks. I draw up plans on a picnic table whilst everyone eats and makes excuses as to why they are scared of rescuing her. I go on a reconnoitring mission over the hills nearby, which now resemble Austria. I decide the easiest way in is the way I departed from, but everyone disagrees, unable to understand how a lack of guards is a good thing. Next to the picnic area is a military compound for ano...

A final post for the year, sent early to avoid my forgetting; 'I am planning a holiday with old Uni chums, in much the same way as the TDEER weekend happened. I have to travel in advance of the group by train to scope out where it is we are going. Whilst on the train it becomes obvious to me that I have forgotten completely. Never mind, I'm in Norwich suddenly, except it is The City's version of Norwich, so part St.Ives, part LA. I've reached the centre on the Uni bus, which I was inexplicably not charged for. A teenage couple behind me serenade each other, in a way not dissimilar to Palomino Molero in Llosa's book of the same name. When I disembark, I walk around and look at the long bearded men that seem to populate the promenade. Following a kid through some back streets I emerge at UEA, but an odd hydroponic style version where everything is under three inches of water. My camera won't work. When I try to take pictures with the faulty camera, a man holds a p...

The dream below, a very current one, combines a brief mention of the Mostyn Gallery, a recollection of seeing Peter Sallis, and my brief annoyance at a four star hotel for having no locks on their toilet doors, though a man didn't walk in. It is another Asda dream. Depressing. I think it is because I remembered that I left there over a year ago. It is also the second dream I have had involving an art show in a supermarket. Any way; 'I am shopping with a small old man, who may or may not be Peter Sallis. He roams aimlessly, pointing things out like the fact some of the crisps are called Jorges Borges – which I remark is pretty classy for a supermarket . Zoe is also there, looking for baking stuff which they don't have. Also, a faint hint of some mad woman at the old style deli. There is a closed art show in the space where George once was. In the toilets, a man walks in on me as I finish taking a shit. I grab him by the neck and throw him in to a mirror, breaking it. 'Ha...

This one was very recent, with characters inspired, I suppose, by watching Never Say Never Again, the anomaly in the 007 canon which seemed to involve the input of no-one from the original series. It is also influenced, I think, by the programme about tigers that was on BBC One the other day, featuring an ensemble cast of largely superfluous naturalists who wandered up and down a river looking at shits. 'In a high mountain forest, most likely China, with an explorer friend who resembles Max von Sydow. We are searching for a Mamon, a rare sort of bear/wolf/lion hybrid. In reality, it is Mexican slang for 'absurd fuckhead'. Whilst climbing a slope, we spot one hiding in an abandoned border post, but by the time we reach it, it has gone. On the opposite slope border guards move about beneath oversized comedy hats. The border guards on the mountain we occupy are angry with us for following what they consider to be an evil creature. A man draws me an example which I vaguely reco...