A Disintegration Loop

Not especially old this, very vivid. It followed an early morning of extreme sickness in which I managed to read 60 pages of Philip Hoare's excellent 'Leviathan', whilst in the toilet, but enough of that...this dream essentially involved multiple versions of me imagining my own waking, none of which actually took place. 'I awake from a restless sleep, convinced that a fire is present somewhere in the building. It is not like a regular fire, as it doesn't grow, but instead hides. It doesn't want to be found out. The room I get dressed in is the front bedroom of the York house, though this has become the main bedroom now even though, in reality, none of the furniture would fit. I spend a long time staring at the socks in the sock drawer, convinced the fire may be concealed in one. Zoe attempts to reassure me that the fire has probably tired of our home and has moved on elsewhere, where people are less intent on discovering it. Outside the sky is pleasingly blue, ...

Old one, which from the date happened during that thankfully hazy year where I worked nights in one of those modern day supermarkets. Summertime, I would sleep throughout the day in blistering heat, some sort of sheet over my head to block out the light, and a fan on its highest setting blowing semi cold air over me. Prior to this I thought sleeping in the relatively pleasant upper teen Celsius was oppressive. Dreams from this period seem largely confusing. 'In the tower of a castle, and also in a field on the edge of the city. I have a george cross on a shield I'm holding, and, inexplicably, a nazi sword. I am clearly prepared to defeat someone. Steve coogan tries to drive me to a battle but his car is caught in a flash flood. Water swirls about me, and I wade through to save him, despite the obvious danger to myself. The battle doesn't seem to take place. Later, I am wandering around a University department, though not one of the Universities I have ever been to or visite...

'After taking a coastal path, I am obviously floating in a disembodied way, not the regular moving by vehicle or flying. Passing along strangely narrow A roads, like a coach, but again not, as previously mentioned. The side alleys and passages are Tudor in appearance, twisting out of view to an unknown end. It looks like a nice place to stop in and do some shopping. I make a mental note to tell my parents, as they enjoy this sort of old world place. My mental note is however readable as handwriting. I have written the word 'Winchester'.' 'In my house, after being out at sea holding someone's tits and saving a child from drowning. I have murdered a person, by stabbing them through the back of the neck. A countdown begins, presumably until the authorities arrive. I assess the possible options. None of them result in anything less than me being arrested for murder. The blood is crimson and the consistency of treacle.'

This comes from a collection of various night-thought that I made whilst at University (the first time), and as such I have no knowledge or memory of it, owing to its place in the past (alongside someone called Kate who liked Gordon Brown and thought we should all give him a chance, a pub called The Black Horse, and the consumption of a meal in several stages [which is not the same as eating several courses]). It must have happened because here it is, we can all see it. 'On a trip to Africa [non specific]. Running around the grassland/savannah trying to find our lodge. I'm quite fast; I don't understand why everyone is following the same path. The countryside looks amazing, but in retrospect not that different to here. Every now and again someone distant laughs at me, but I pay no attention [though apparently enough to note it down]. I remember, on reaching the lodge, that I'd given my bag to a black guy to take for me. Where is it? Zoe shows me where it is, basically w...

New Year begins with last nights nocturnal wandering, I believe inspired by the opening of the Burj... 'A large glass office building in the city , empty owing to a potential attack by a separatist movement/elves. No-one explains which though. I have a gun, and am prepared to defend myself. I hide in the toilet, pointing the gun at the door. If anyone comes in, I will shoot them. A steady stream of people enter, I shoot none of them. 'If we're all in the same room, this will be a massacre', I say, and exit tentatively. The office is quiet, and I make my way slowly to the top floor. My partner is up there, gun holstered. There is a meeting going on in a open plan room, with a cafe in the background. I wait for the meeting to finish, and keep my gun out. As the meeting concludes, a woman comments that all the lifts in the building are coming up to the top floor simultaneously. I take this to be the terrorists/fairies opening salvo. An arrow flies past me from an unknown a...

I was hoping to add a minimum of one entry per month, but I am currently a little snowed under with work and my PhD, so have decided to make this post-26th birthday dream the last one for the year, with Twenty following at some stage in the first week of 2010. This particular recollection was ridiculously bright, and happened in an easily recognizable Luton, making a pleasing (though disconcerting) change from the usual city based ramblings of my brain. For other reasons, the dream is recreated on my main blog (tisar.wordpress), elaborated on, taken on detours etc. 'In Luton, well...initially some nondescript countryside outside Luton, where a small community has sprung up around an impressive tree, with a face carved in to it. There are buildings of various kinds, a factory, a threshers (in the tradional sense of that word), a milliners and a pub called 'The ____ Horse'. I go there with friends, as a sort of pub crawl. Start in the country and move to the town is the ide...

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...