A Disintegration Loop

A distinctly wintery feel with this one. Unusually centred around somewhere other than the city which was both a pleasant surprise and ultimately disturbing. I have found my sleeping patterns have altered noticeably since leaving a job that required a 5am start, and as a result the nocturnal ramblings I have have been allowed some space to mutate more. 'Somewhere in Russia, in a collection of fields and mounds surrounded by barbed wire fences. I assume it is a gulag. Myself and Zoe are investigating a disappearance. At one end the field passes through a rusted gate to a crumbling road. We meet a man on the road who runs a kebab shop from his garage. I ask him some questions as his English is good (I seem to have checked first) but he is reluctant to answer them. He does reveal that the fenced area is not a former gulag but is actually an old zoo. After purchasing a 'chicken burger' we return, only to be chased by a bear through some woodland to the north of the zoo. We for...

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...

Longish entry, again City based, obviously inspired by reading Millennium People. Happened about a fortnight ago, since when I have been largely unable to remember nocturnal occurrences, aside from one where I spent a long time drinking whisky like it was water. Hopefully this trend will evaporate once my time at the supermarket is terminated next week... I am a police informant/spy, and have infiltrated a terrorist organization based in a waterfront property in some old Victorian-style docks. The waterway is located where West Hampstead Thameslink station is in reality, the train line being a river area. After walking along the planks to the hideout I am greeted by a man with a short beard and small eyes. He tells me to watch the hideout. He'll be back soon, in maybe half an hour. On hearing this and watching him depart, the anti terrorist unit, who I am apparently a part of, mobilise to bug the property. This involves Channel 4's financial correspondent Faizal Islam, dressed...

Shortly before going to Edinburgh with a large group of friends, this is obviously picking up on the underlying concerns of something going wrong (which never happened)...written around 4am; this seems to be a fairly common time for waking for me, presumably influenced by sleep cycles. This one impressed me because I managed to spell nonchalantly correctly despite being almost asleep. I also subsequently visited a bookshop with much anarchist literature. 'On holiday with friends. We appear to be staying in a rocky crevice, in pairs, on a volcano...possibly Vesuvius. My partner is a man called Dan who is tall and thin, with long wiry hair. He is almost entirely grey and resembles no-one I know. During the night, which is not unusually warm, I go out walking along a narrow road. I see shadows of people climbing to the peak of the volcano. I can also see lava spewing out. I rush back to the holiday accommodation to tell the others of the impending danger. My hair briefly catches fire ...

This happened during a night of largely restless sleep. The mornings growing lighter, the birds louder, people go to work earlier, all encroaching on my ability to stay in the realm of subconscious meanderings. Still, I recall waking from this confused as to where I was, and then angry at needing to be at work 'I have lost my job, working in a non specified warehouse. Outside are terraced gardens, the feel of an afternoon spent in rural Italy. A bald man is explaining to me why things have to change, and that when he says 'fired' he means 'being transferred to a distant war'. The warehouse is some sort of command ship. A fat man talks about how the enemy is a self replicating virus that mimics human form. As he explains, the whole place goes in to some kind of lock down, with lights flashing and soldiers running. He suggests I get a gun. All that is left are some out-of-date dusted over technologies, which actually prove to work better than the regular equipment. I ...

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...

A surprisingly recent entry is in order, and this came fresh from the cortex last night/this morning. 'In an old tall building on the outskirts of the City . Outside, numerous fires rage, rubble is strewn across collapsed streets. I am with a group of friends, and part of some kind of elite squad trying to hold the building from marauding hordes of unknown evil. With me are real life compadres, but also several people from stage and screen whom I should recognise but do not (waking based research indicates these people to be actors Peter Mullan and Michala Banas). I have a weapon, but am told not to use it under any circumstances. This seems strange considering our role as a military unit. We are told to a) contain the threat, voice comes via an unseen radio, and b) make our way to the base of the building and meet up with a security force, which seems to be led by my real life work mate Nick, who has one purple eye. Action shifts relentlessly, I am often confused as to where peopl...