Skip to main content

Seventy and Seventy One



Adam has become a vampire, at least I assume it’s Adam. We’re outside Asda at twilight, and I become aware of the threat as an object I take to be my brother moves at speed through dense foliage. Against better judgement I give chase, and watch as the vampire-like creature bounds across the road and jumps a garden fence. I follow. I am aware that I am able to leap in a similar fashion, and in the back garden of a normal suburban home I consider my position. The garden has a stone bird table, and through the blinds I can see an elderly couple watching television. I’m approached by a cat, which I instantly recognize as being the vampire. It senses my recognition and scatters in to a thousand black shapes, which form a sort of evil waterfall in reverse, spewing backwards over the fence and on to the adjoining cul-de-sac. I again give chase, but find myself standing in an empty street with no sign of the menace. All the lights in the houses are on, but no-one seems to be home.


Again in sociology, but mixed with the library a little. A man who may be Russell Barras-smith leads myself and Lawrence Llewellyn Bowen up some stairs such as those found in Wentworth 3rd floor. As we climb the stairs get narrower. I am scared of heights. L.L.B cups my genitals and I turn and chop him in the throat. R.B.S tells us to behave and then seems to forward roll off the stairs. I see his body tumble through space, but am too scared to watch it hit the bottom; when it does, it apparently makes no sound. I cling to the stairs in terror.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Eighteen

This was probably the first dream I can remember having since moving back to York. It obviously harks back to specific childhood memories, blended with the usual cast of people from when I was younger (except the comedian). Misc sexual references to trains I would assume is related to Hitchcock, but perhaps Zizek is the best judge of that. Lots of symbols to wrap teeth around. 'Wandering through Putteridge Bury. An indistinct beginning, following that much traveled road to the farmhouse and dried up pond. A man spins a sports car on some gravel alongside a barn conversion I am unfamiliar with (I realised when I work up that I did know the barn...odd that whilst asleep my brain wouldn't recognise it). I walk along the track to where the old white house should be, next to the greenhouse my Dad used to own. Instead, just scrub land and some kids jumping on a knackered trampoline. I meander towards what I assume is Great Hayes; there is a long row of portaloos by the roadside. I fi...
2 comments
Read more

Fifty Six

In the past few weeks I was getting a little worried that my lack of memorable midnight recollections would end this chart of nocturnal wanderings, but in the last week or so, I have remembered around 3 dreams a night; in the process of doing so, I have started using my phone to note things down rather than a pad and pen, and then email myself so I actually remember I have the material. Remembering is half the battle. This dream I thought pertinent as I have just finished marking student essays for Spring Term (and presumably this is what inspired it) 'I am circling some sort of warehouse, possibly owned and run by Argos. Inside, a number of my students have killed a man by beating him to death. They now fall about laughing whilst bouncing off inflatable children’s toys. I try to remain stoic in the face of horror, concerned that I may be next. I talk to them a while, and on finding out that ____ is their ring leader, I try to escape. Every path leads back to the warehouse. Insi...
Post a Comment
Read more

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...
3 comments
Read more