Dream #7: White Dove Trapped in a Glass Egg

It was a sunny day. I was sitting in the living room. My mum was sitting in the garden by the pond. I could hear the trickling of the waterfall my dad built.

I looked behind me to the old antique sideboard where all the ornaments watched me.

The two bronze statuettes of strange semi naked women. One one of them was severely dented at the base. I always imagined someone’s head had been smashed in with it, but my dad assured me it had just been dropped.

The old carved cigar box my mum said was haunted.

The antique carving knife on its wooden stand that we weren’t allowed to touch.

The massive clock on the wall behind, it’s shiny brass pendulums hanging on long chains.

The silver trays full of matches and biros.

Right in the centre of the antique sideboard there used to be a little glass ship in a bottle. Now the bottle was egg shaped. Crammed inside the glass egg was a white dove. It had no room and was squashed up against the glass. It gazed at me pitifully.

“Mum,” I called, “why is there a dove in the bottle?”

“It has always been there,” she replied.

“It’s suffering,” I said, “can’t we let it out?”

“You’ll have to break the glass,” she said.

So I slid the antique carving knife from its varnished wooden sheath and took the glass egg carefully in my other hand. I began tapping the glass with the blade, trying to crack it without hurting the dove. The little bird just gazed at me through the glass.

Eventually the glass egg cracked and fell in two in my hands and the dove was free. But it had spent its life stuck inside the egg, so it couldn’t fly. Assuming the dove was hungry as it had never eaten, I took it outside to the garden where it could eat worms or insects.

Next to the pond, I discovered a mass of fat slugs writhing in the mud. I put the dove down gently and it began to devour them ravenously. Eventually it had eaten them all and doubled in size. It ran around the garden flapping its stunted wings in vain.

Then my dad turned up with two small white dogs, and they played in the garden with the fat, white flightless dove.


Dream #6: MC Battle

I can't play the piano...

I can’t play the piano…

This dream starts with me queueing in a hardware store. At the front of the queue there’s a bloke handing out new era caps with numbers on them. Across the road there’s a venue, and I can see the stage through the doorway. Their are two MC’s on stage freestyling, taking turns to tear each other apart verbally.

The people in the queue are taking their caps and going over to the venue and queueing again to get on stage. While we queue they are talking to me. I remember some of their faces from the London hip hop scene years ago, and I’ve rapped with some of them before, one guy I remember rapping with on a night bus. I can’t remember any of their names though.

So this bloke says to me, “Are you going to freestyle?”

“Yes,” I reply, “but I’m not great at freestyling.”

“Why don’t you just spit some written rhymes then?”

“That’s cheating, really,” I say, “I have to try to freestyle like everyone else or I’ll never get any better.”

So he starts rhyming, then I start rhyming. I rhyme these words. These did not come to me for the first time in the dream, it is a track I wrote years ago and never ended up recording, it’s called Masterpiece:

They say that you can count your true friends one hand,

Well I counted more than five liars.

That’s why I’m a live wire.

Till they strike a match to my pire,

I’m spitting smashed bottle raps,

That would flatten a tractor tyre.

Dark nights I practice setting fires,

So I can leave a legacy for every seed every sired.

If I was reincarnated, I wouldn’t be a child,

I’d be a freak of nature with the senses of the wild.

A throwback to the essence of man and reconciled with the firmament.

Hunting perpetrators of hate and burning, murdering.

I’ll hurt them in the name of my rage and make it permanent pain,

This is shit you couldn’t learn from a page,

My verses surging when I’m purging my brain,

Of my dirty, profane words, the words that are keeping me sane.

And I don’t give a fuck what the people will say,

I’m just a speaker, a sage, I’m ever seeking the day,

I find my peace releasing hatred on a beat and a bass line.

I waste time fighting but my life is fraught.

My microphone’s a portal to the nights I stalk,

Consuming mortals like they’re morsels on my knife and fork.

My thoughts span the ether, though my sight is short.

I’m still trying to find the truth but it’s the liars who talk.

I’ve been practising for ever and a day,

Painting pictures in your brain, like my name was John Everett Millais

And it ain’t a revelation that I’m never getting paid,

But my colours, opaque, will never fade, ’cause I’m hung in the shade.

I stay sub terrain, never feening for fame,

My canvas is plain, I’ll never trade it for a platinum frame,

The rap in my veins, stains the pallor of my palette

With my rapture and pain.

There is a second verse but I only do the first one. Then I get to the front of the queue and I’m handed a navy blue cap with a three digit number on it. There are lots of people in the road and the crowd is getting bigger. I can’t even get to the door of the venue so I stand in the crowd watching.

The MC’s battling on stage get more and more heated until they just drop the microphones and start fighting. The fighting spills into the crowd and the whole place kicks off. I often dream about fighting, I am usually beating someone who won’t bleed or die no matter how hard I try. I just beat them and beat them and they don’t respond, and I get increasingly angry until I wake up sweating and shaking with rage.

But this dream is different. I just look at the fighting with a sad resignation and say “I don’t want to fight any more.” Then I throw my cap down and go home.

I woke up then. My girlfriend was at Glastonbury so I was in bed on my own. I missed her a lot at that moment. I normally have violent dreams and wake up to her and she makes me feel calm again, even though she’s asleep. This time I just felt sad.

Dream #5: Doughnut Baby

I haven’t posted a new dream for a while, not because I haven’t had any lucid enough to write up, but because this is the first one that wasn’t too sick and disturbing to repeat in writing. I had this dream last night and it is still really clear in my head, there are so many striking and symbolic images in it I woke up wondering what it all means. Needless to say, I have no idea.

I was in a big house with my mum and a man. I don’t know who the man was but he was a middle-aged bloke and was just sitting down quietly. Outside a storm was raging. Rain came down in sheets, it hammered on the windows, rattling the frames and threatening to break the glass. The wind howled.

The man had two children, both boys. One was about four years old. The other was a chubby baby, not yet crawling properly. They were playing with four or five other young children.

The chubby baby boy had a hole through his middle the size of my fist, and I could see his shiny, colourful innards, though the boy was oblivious and just giggled while the other children poked and prodded at his internal organs. I was a bit concerned about this, and I told the man I could see his son’s guts and I didn’t like the way other kids were playing in them. He wasn’t bothered at all. I felt decidedly uneasy.

The next thing I know one of the kids has actually squeezed himself into the baby’s cavity, and the baby continued to giggle as the other kid squelched about inside him.

“They’re playing in his guts!” I shouted at the man, but he didn’t care. I was furious but he wouldn’t do anything about it.

The next thing I know we are all somewhere in the middle east – me, my mum, this bloke and his two children. We were in a dusty ruined street in a war zone, there were a lot of people there, all facing the same direction down the street, like in a news report from a street battle. Some were hiding behind crumbling walls. There was a bloke on a chair over the road with a massive machine gun on a tripod and he was firing it in the direction everyone was facing. I could hear a lot of gun fire and there were a lot of men with AK47’s running about.

I turned away from the battle and faced a patch of waste ground.

The “doughnut baby” was old enough to run around now, and he chased his older brother, the wind blew dust into his exposed innards. I wondered why his dad didn’t at least put a top on him to cover the hole, it was getting filthy. I followed the children, worried about what harm might come to them in this hostile place.

As I followed them I saw more friendly faces and there was a more community feel. Locals played a game of 5-a-side, I asked if I could join in. They were friendly but said they already had ten players and smiled apologetically. I continued to follow the children as they ran further into the neighbourhood.

The doughnut baby and his brother ran towards a huge crater filled with filthy water.

“Don’t go in that water!” I shouted at them, I didn’t want doughnut baby to get poisonous water in his hole. But the little bastards ignored me and jumped in. Then I realised there was a crane about to cover the hole over with a huge slab of concrete. I ran shouting and waving my arms.

“Get out of the water, you’ll drown!” I screamed at the boys, who were splashing about having loads of fun, oblivious of their impending doom. To my relief the crane operator stopped, and the two boys climbed out of the water.
At this point I decided to assert some authority and grabbed hold of doughnut baby’s hand. I marched him back the way we had come. His guts were all grimy and caked in dirt. As I walked back past the 5-a-side game, one the guys watching walked with me. He was friendly and kept me talking while his friend came up behind me and picked my pocket.

I knew he was doing it, even though I couldn’t feel his fingers taking my wallet. But he didn’t steel anything, he just started re-arranging my pockets without me feeling a thing. My wallet would disappear from my trouser pocket and suddenly appear in my breast pocket, then it was gone again, only to appear in my back pocket or my inside pocket. His slight of hand was impressive. We all laughed when my mobile phone suddenly appeared on top of my head.

Then I said goodbye and took doughnut baby back to his dad. As I walked away I checked my wallet. All my money was still in there, it was some foreign currency and reminded of Egyptian pounds (the only currency I’ve seen from that part of the world). The guy whose friend had re-arranged my pockets smiled and assured me they had stolen and nothing and just to prove he meant no harm he gave me a five pound note. I frowned at him and asked where he got a five pound note from when we were thousands of miles from England. It looked out of place in my wallet.

Then I woke up.

Dream #4 – Gangster’s Menagerie

I had this dream last night. I kept waking up sweating and every time I went back to sleep I was back in the same dream. It seemed to carry on all night.

It started with my and my two brothers going to see my cousin. In the dream, he was some sort of gangster who lived in a massive house on the coast. He had a huge swimming pool with an elephant swimming round and round. The elephant swam like a killer whale at a Sea World. It kept leaping up in the air and doing somersaults and splashing back into the pool. Every time it leapt in the air it would hang there for a moment and look over at us with suspicious eyes before diving back down again. A tiger lounged by the pool watching idly while the four of us had a drink in the son.

Beyond the pool was a forest which held my cousin’s menagerie. Countless strange and exotic animals wandered around in there. His huge, luxurious house was behind us.

After a while my cousin said he had to go out. He went off and left me and my two brothers there. A fence separated us from the elephant and tiger. As soon as he was gone the elephant got out of the pool and came up to the fence and was staring at us. The tiger joined him and snarled at us. They were trying to get at us.

Then suddenly a load of armed men burst in out of nowhere and started shouting and saying they’ll feed us to the tiger and the elephant was threatening to kick my head in! The men were my cousin’s gangster rivals and the elephant and tiger were obviously turncoats. Then they started killing all the animals in his menagerie. That really pissed me off so me and my brothers made a break for it and ran into the house’s garage.

When we got inside the garage it turned out to be a massive boxing gym. There were three boxers in there, all sparring at the same time, which is an odd thing to see, even in a dream. We told them what was happening and the six of us set fire to the building. It went up in flames pretty quickly and there was black smoke everywhere. Me, my brothers and the three boxers ran out of the burning house to kick off with the armed men and the tiger and that fucking elephant. There was chaos.

All the animals broke out the menagerie and fled. Monkeys, giraffes, tapirs, you name it, all over the place. Eventually our enemies fled and we ended up running up the road to the town hall. We ran in and shut the door. There were vets in there and I was saying we ought to try and catch my cousin’s animals and treat them for smoke inhalation or whatever. Then I looked out of a high window and saw a hippo running up the road carrying her baby in her mouth. That’s when I though, “shit, what are we doing? What about the hippos?”

I started shouting, “get the hippo in! Get the hippo in!” Then as it came closer it suddenly looked like a six foot kangaroo rat and I said, “hang on, that’s not a hippo.”

Then my alarm went off. Bastard, I was enjoying that.

Dream #1

I’ve always had really vivid dreams. At least once a week I’ll have a dream which I remember so clearly I can’t stop thinking about it. I don’t know why I have such lucid dreams when most other people seem to have only a vague recollection of their’s or forget them altogether.

My dreams often have an influence on my writing. Sometimes I’ll wake up with an idea fully formed in my mind or I’ll simply have had a dream which I’ll write down. Often my dreams are funny and I wake up laughing, like the dream which was Tits Up, the 900 Club short story – I barely had to fill in any gaps in that story, virtually the whole thing was my dream. I laughed so hard when I had that dream I very nearly pissed the bed. Most times though, it’ll be an idea from a dream rather than the whole thing.

So I’ve decided to describe my dreams on this blog each time I have a particularly memorable one, I will just number them as I’m not sure they make enough sense to think of titles.

Last night something new happened, my dream had song lyrics in it. Sadly I can only remember one line, there was a chorus as well but, frustratingly, it has faded from memory. I still had the tune in my head this morning – guitars and a synth – but they have also sunk into the murky depths.

This dream was straight out of an Iain M Banks novel. I was a Culture agent working undercover in a giant, evil corporation. I had a desk and a computer. My computer was odd looking though, it looked more like a microfiche reader. At the beginning of the dream my computer locks me out of the company’s system and I know I’ve been found out. I have to move quickly to avoid being killed and I escape.

The next thing I know I am with other Culture agents in an environment designed by ourselves. There is no visible floor or ceiling or sky, we are just floating alongside tree trunks which disappear into darkness beneath and above us. We are talking and laughing. Then one of the Culture agents I am talking to disappears downwards into the dark and when his corpse floats back up to our level again his head has been incinerated. Somehow we know that our enemy has found us – I don’t know how  you know these things in dreams without anything happening to tell you, you just know. The enemy is a man all in black with no facial expression, just wide, angry eyes. Instead of feet, he has a little jet engine. He seems to have used this to roast my friend’s head.

Once again the dream skips to the next scene. This seems to be a recurring thing in my dreams – they tend to miss bits out as if I only need to see the most important bits. The next scene is the one which stuck in my head the most. I am flying very fast over a sort of tundra. The landscape is passing beneath me at high speed. I am with the other agents and we are being chased by the man with the jet engine instead of feet. This is where it gets weird.

David Bowie starts singing. I hear the guitars and a the synth and all the lyrics but, as I said, I can only just about remember one line now, this is what he sings:

“We know the sun will make it through,

But God only knows how we do.”

There was a chorus as well but I can’t remember it, which is a shame because it went well with the synth. As soon as Bowie’s voice starts up I see things hovering in the air. The first thing is a big toilet made of chocolate sponge cake, and when he sings “We know the sun will make it through” the seat closes. When he sings the chorus, the toilet disappears and a giant, pink sponge cake bunny running through custard appears.

Well, that’s it. That’s dream number one. Any ideas what all that was about?