Thirty Five and Thirty Six

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 buying a card with his own printed message on it. They overcharge him. I point out they have spelt one of the words wrong.'

'In a house I apparently share with people from the PhD course. There is some sort of power outage whereby I need to go in to the basement to fix it. Tom is there, dressed in Safari gear, hitting his head off ironing boards and doors as he runs about chaotically. I go upstairs to ask Keith what is going on. He turns so slowly that I think he is trapped in time. He is unable to answer me.'

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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.

Seventy Three

'Michael from season 4 of The Wire is trying to kill me. We drive through an abandoned city, weaving between wrecked cars, firing guns at each other. None of my shots make contact. In a scene reminiscent of the end of Heat, I follow Michael and his accomplice through something which resembles the Holocaust memorial. I shoot at Michael, and as he falls I continue to riddle his body with bullets. Despite there being a lot of blood it becomes apparent relatively early on that this is not Michael but a cardboard cut-out. I have a flashback to a similar incident where my partner was killed and inexplicably replaced my Matt Berry, dressed in a 70s-style outfit. He had a seizure and rolled around in the mud. Back at the memorial and I am pleading for my life and crying.'

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...

A Disintegration Loop

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