It’s midnight. Full moon, and the air all around me is liquid, like when you see it shimmering on hot roads in the desert sun… Everything is in slow motion:
I’m riding my bmx bike along the top ridge of a live volcano, blood orange lava bubbling below in it’s heart. I see other mountain peaks, but I am on the highest one. I look to the horizon on the right, where the sun is halfway past the curved line of our sphere, when it has turned into an exploding supernova - hundreds and thousands of times expanded in size!!! - spitting fireballs the size of small planets and islands… Pweeeuww!! Pweeeeeww! Pweeeeuw!!! Shhhhwweeeeeuuwwww!!! Zzzsh!!! A glowing, sinking supernova, burning it’s last fuel, saving the best for last.
There is no distance between me and the universe, the liquid midnight sky is all around me, it absorbs me, as I watch our sun explode in slow motion - giant fireballs shoot past me and pierce the liquid air, leaving colourful pretty streams behind them, like ducks in a rainbow pond… I want to catch them with my bare hands..!!
Excited and in awe of all this beauty, I feel like I am witnessing the universe evolve.
It’s pretty
fucking
awesome.
* * *
Somewhere half way through a rather convoluted dream, I come across a pride of very unusual lions who live deep down in a cave. What’s unusual about them, is they are highly intelligent to the point that they are able to communicate with you, albeit it without speaking but by means of highly responsive body language.
I’m so in awe of them, that I want to remember them even after I’ve woken up from my otherwise messed up dream (lots of people rushing about in a big hangar sized film studio, trying to get things done, zig zag, here there, everywhere…) - they represent a powerful inner calm amidst all the other chaos. So I pull out my make-shift polaroid camera, in the form of a soft toy lion (yah, no idea where that came from!). Point, press the button, wait for the polaroid, done. And when I wake up, I’ll have some evidence neatly tucked under my pillow. That’s the plan.
Anyway, so when I hold up my camera, the lions know what I’m up to, and immediately gather around a throne like chair in the middle of the cave, to pose for me! Casually confident, statuesque and elegantly, they pose just for me, so that once I wake up to reality, I can show people these special lions I saw in my dream.
Needless to say, the polaroids didn’t quite make it to under my pillow. But I’m grateful the lions revealed themselves to me. And so once more I feel strong again.
*
Ps - the make-shift polaroid camera actually takes instant illustrations, not photographs. So maybe it should be called an “illoroid” or so. It also had a button for turning anything you film into instant animation clips. How about that for a new fun gadget?!
* * *
Hi there, my apologies for the super delayed reply..!
Thank you, that’s very kind of you. I had no idea it would even interest anybody when I started it. So funny. Anyway, I thought you might like this:
Best,
The Anonymous Dreamer :-)
I woke up in a hotel room last night
It was full of floating neon tube lights in the shape of hearts. Big ones small ones, all floating there and glowing bright!
Neon yellow and pink and red.
I am special
Or is it just cheap love?
* * *
I’m at a dinner party I don’t want to be at (I got talked into it) and people are sucking up to me, but I am not impressed. There was a brown snake at the dinner table, dead cute little thing. It kept sneezing and saying “blessyou!” to itself in a cute snakey little voice. Why am I surrounded by all these people I don’t like? How do I get out of this? All I know is I just don’t want to be at this fake dinner party…
But while I’m trying to figure a way out of it all, someone shows me an oil painting of a woman (portrait of a late 18th century beautiful looking woman with her hair up on black background - very Marie Antoinette). Only if you take a good close look at it in detail (in macro), do you notice that it is actually a moving image, of hundreds and hundreds of scrapheap cars - in space - slowly floating through space in exquisitely beautiful and mesmerizing slow motion…!
Who would have thought?! All this is happening in the palm of your hands, as you view the painting at such proximity, that for a moment you forget you are not floating in the universe yourself! The abandoned chunks of cars glide across and through space then twist and hit the landscape of the moon, whereby the dust of the impact wells up and curls into shapes that become the chalk powdered hair of the woman in the portrait.
And that’s when I woke up. I think I surprised myself a bit there?!
* * *
This morning I woke up with quite an interesting one, which I thought you might like to hear about. I was dreaming I was reliving a Chinese myth of a legend. Thousands of years ago, there had been a golden warrior, clad entirely in a yellow/golden suit of armour made of golden thread (it was one of a kind, no one else had ever seen a golden suit of armour quite like this before - or ever since). No one had ever seen the warrior or was sure of his existence, for only one piece of the original armour survived from that time.
I dreamt that a bunch of politicians and a bunch of comedians were playing Scrapheap Challenge in a jumbo sale supermarket. They had to build a government and the cheapest one would win.
* * *
I am sitting on a modern grey sofa, in a modern grey living room. To my left is a coffee table with a vase of tall sculptural flowers. I think they are yellow, but not all of them.
Through the open window in flies a large bumblebee,
Buzzz buzzz buzzz…
straight to the flowers. It buzzes from one flower to the next, and I notice as it does so it becomes larger and larger, so large it’s own wings can no longer carry him - he has become too heavy to fly!
So the buzzy bumblebee, tired of buzzing and flying about, finds his favourite flower, puts his arms around it and falls asleep..! He snores quite loudly and looks like a mini black ninja-dragon with a yellow powdered nose.
Crystal clear water overflows in the kitchen.
* * *
I live in a quiet, upper middle-class American suburb. I’m riding my bike through the clean and tidy neighbourhood streets, where everyone is successful and living a comfortable life. It’s all so very neat and the sky is clear.
And as I ride past my brand new modern bungalow house with double garage and perfect front lawn, I look up into the trees where I spot two fully grown mini elephants, walking along the treetops in the colourful autumn leaves.
* * *
I am on my way, on a road, from somewhere to somewhere. I’m riding a bike. Someone points out to me that I have dropped something, I look back, and so I have. I get off my bike, go back and pick it up. It’s a cardboard rooftop of a house with a chimney, kinda 40 x 50cm in size. Then I see another one nearby which I must have dropped, and another, and another! Loads of them. And they all slot into each other like stacks of chairs do.
I follow the trail of the cardboard rooftops back and it leads to a sandpit. A huge one…
I am trying to teach someone, on a persian rug, how to jump piggyback, whilst another person watches from the corner of the rug. I take a run, and I show him how to jump. The person I am teaching however, just doesn’t get it right. So eventually, after showing it to him over and over again I yell “What is it with you, are you thick or what?!”
I say it in a way to make sure the third person hears it. This person - and I have no idea what relevance this may be of - has a pet chinchilla. It goes by the name of Abdullah Rodán Fabuleh Brugé [pron. fabülé brügé].
I know.
Don’t ask.
* * *
I’m in some shabby café. An old man waves me over to his table, he encourages me to sit down with him, so I do. He’s quite enigmatic, an interesting character.
In an almost secretive manner, he leans forward and pulls out this small wooden box, from under the table. Quietly, he places it on the edge of the table in front of me, and still leaning in, begins to explain to me what it is, making sure no one else is listening in on us…
It is, so he says, an antique little box containing genuine babies’ skin, that has been marinating in a special oil mixture for years, literally decades it’s been sat on a shelf somewhere, undiscovered until now. Real special stuff this. - I’m slightly shocked, marinated babies’ skin??! What?! Eeww!!
“No no no,” says the old man ” wait till you see what this stuff can do, you’ll soon have no qualms about it whatsoever.”
He opens the box. In the little wooden dish, there it is, this antique babies’ skin. Over the years it has molten to what almost resembles a bar of soap. One needs to rub a little piece of dark green linen against it for it to lather in the oil, and then take a dip and smudge it on your face. I put one smudge on my left cheek, and one on my right. The skin has almost become liquid, it feels like a thick paste. Hmm, very strange indeed.
The old man says he’ll sell it to me for two pounds. “A bargain. You can’t go wrong. Two pounds and it’s all yours.” Ah well. Two pounds. What the heck, I think, so I hand him the two quid.
The next thing I know, I’m on the floor with Kelly Brook all over me, pressing herself up against me and snogging me!! She can’t keep her hands off me!
Ah well, I think to myself, I didn’t quite expect this, but I don’t really mind either…!
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