I Dream a Lot

I'd been booked to play a gig in a band, I can't remember exactly who was in the band with me, but we'd been booked. Though we'd never rehearsed and didn't have any songs. I had a few errands to run in town, so I left my acoustic guitar just next to a shop and walked off. Then deciding this was not a good idea, I picked up another acoustic guitar and went to retrieve the first. By this time, I of course wanted my electric guitar, which I had left in a different part of town. Upon arriving, I found it being used by a group of tramps to play lively folk songs. Not wanting to interrupt, I made the conscious decision to collect it later.

The gig, whether it was originally intended to, was a party at a close friends house. We were due to play but everyone was sitting around watching television, chatting and eating. I was in the kitchen, then I was on the floor watching the people watch television. It is here, as with almost any dream, that the details go blurry and I can't quite link on how it got to the next part. I ended up being in a far smaller group of people, but I have no discernible memory of anyone leaving. I think they just disappeared, and the house altered to some other realmly ghost house. A lot of phone calls were made, there was a deal being done, but we knew we couldn't stay in the house. We opened the door into a land where everything existed. Think of all the different fictional storylines of everything ever created or written, they all happened here. But this was not a healthy way for a world to live, and had ultimately transformed it into a nightmarish reality, the baron landscape covered in ruins of different canonological pieces.

We stayed put for a while, toying with the idea of using a car, but chose to use our legs.

We were on the move, but under attack from every side. There were toys, Gremlins, monsters, all coming at us, and we were all only armed with small penknives. But we still managed to fend of the assault, using the apocalyptic mess around us to our advantage, skewering our enemies on old gate posts and pushing them down hills. We had just reached an old building made up of long, but not too long, corridors. As we walked through, there were bodies hanging in the centre of the corridor. As you got too close, they would jump forward, their long hair flailing around you, but they were ethereal and I could walk straight through them. However, I knew that one time, one of them would clasp a damp, fleshy hand around my wrist as I walked through...

Hard-Boiled Wonderland



...and the End of The World



The last few dreams I've had were intense but clouded by a high temperature and the loss of my breathing capabilities.

There were a lot of people. There were a lot of gremlins. There was a lot of blood. There were hostages. And trains.

That is all I can remember.

People can't really be trusted.

I awoke to find myself walking in a seaside town. The surroundings were very ornate, very cobbled, implying that perhaps this place had once been an old fishing port or harbor of some sort. Now, it was a simple resort, bright lights surrounding the buildings and strung in wires from pole to pole.

While walking with my friend Oliver, I spotted a boy who has lived in China for the past year, Steven. Obviously, I was excited, so I ran over to say hi, we exchanged pleasantries and he asked how my New Year's eve was. This bemused me, seeing as far as I can recollect, New Years Eve was just about six months ago. Never mind, I thought. He's been out of the country, he might have missed it.

Let's play frisbee

I looked down, Steven must have seen the frisbee that had appeared in my hand when he uttered those words.

I'll catch up with you

Oliver and I continued on our slow paced walk, now on a mission to find a decent enough car park to have a good throw about. Oliver questioned why my friend had been wearing oven gloves. "He's got rather large hands so the blood doesn't circulate all the way. He needs to keep them warm". Those oven gloves wouldn't be too good for frisbee though.


...and that is why people really cannot be trusted.

I was held up in a quaint cottage in the middle of an undisclosed wooded area.

    Rather, I wasn't so much held up, I was being held along with about five adults, let's say they were over 30 years of age, and about fifteen children under the age of 12. All of us unable to escape, due to the undesirable presence of werewolves. They looked like perfectly normal people, if a bit tense, but you could tell what they were. Wolves in skin. People skin.

    I hadn't seen them in their true form but I knew that I wouldn't want to. It would be best not to aggravate them and let them continue with what they were doing. Until, that is, it became apparent that they would be using us all as hosts after their bodies had worn down. I can't exactly remember what happened, but I was left unguarded and grabbed the opportunity to dive for the tiny little yellow flowers, which in retrospect might have been a mutated form of buttercup, as obviously, these were one of their few weaknesses..

    Shit went down, we got one captured. This would be a victory in the name of the human race! However, he (the head wolf) refused to negotiate. I knew what I had to do. I turned my back, marched out of the cottage and down to the clearing at the end of the garden path, where, as if waiting for me, there was a seed growing from the stem of a huge plant that grew up to my chest. The seed was the size of an onion and not much different in weight or appearance, but it was most definitely not an onion.

    I plucked it, and carried it back with me to the house. I entered through the back door, which is when Head Wolf turned around to reveal his face. As I watched it grow to a fur covered elongated grimace, I ripped the top of the seed off and squeezed, which sent a torrent of lemon juice onto the werewolf.

His face melted.

This alerted his minions, so once again I headed back down to the clearing to gain another of these magical lemon onions. On the way back to the cottage, I passed a line of children and a teacher who asked me a very unimportant question that I simply didn't have time to answer, or even acknowledge that they existed.

I'll be using this journal for my dreams and art.