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Eleven

This one is semi recent, and reminded me of several places I had been to, alongside the three places I have lived in. Again, the subconscious city is ever present, looming, resourceful in its way via rearranging, regenerating; it is never static. I think this is why I find it so unsettling. This was written at 2.30am, which appears to be a peak time for waking and notation

'I am walking around a hollowed out area, with high brick buildings encircling a sort of square with a tree and a police box, which sits in the centre like the TARDIS. A man, tall and angular, with a candle stands outside it. He is waiting to walk me somewhere. I ask him to wait a while longer, as I have noticed a familiar building. It is my old home, from York I think. I look through the window in to what seems to be the front room. All the rooms, cupboards and fixtures are the same, though contained within one room, like the other rooms are collapsed down in to it. I go inside, as the door is not locked. Inside I find Sarah Martin and Ben Vince, who seem to be cohabiting. I point out how similar the house is to my old house, even though there now appears to be some sort of stairway leading off in to darkness on the left hand side. They tell me the man outside is waiting.'
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