We are playing a friendly game of floorball, but we have no sticks so we use anything that looks useful. My club is a didgeridoo, large but light. I hope it won't be damaged in the game, because it looks like a good instrument and would be nice to keep.
It's not very easy to hit the ball with our makeshift sticks but our team is doing pretty well at first, with me scoring the first two goals! Soon the other team is starting to pick up, and we're losing advantage. Everybody's more or less an amateur here, but my teammates really suck at the game. Our team is disorganized and we keep losing the ball to the others. Some of our players don't even seem very interested in the game. I wonder, do they even know the rules? The other team has twice as many points as us now. They will surely win now, and even though I'm trying to get close to the ball, I can't.
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
"The Glass Hinge Is Broken"
There is a crisis in the kitchen! The door of the freezer has fallen off and I am in a semi-panic as it is well stocked with food that is starting to defrost.
Kneeling in front of it, I try and work out just what has happened. For a start, the door appears to have shrunk to roughly two-thirds it's proper size. I naturally assume that this is a result of washing it too vigourously, and is nothing a bit of duct tape can't put right.
Of more pressing concern is the hinge, which attaches it to the rest of the fridge freezer. It's made of glass you see and the current one seems to have shattered, causing the door to fall off. I have a replacement, but the tritium core that it comes with is too powerful for a freezer and might cause the motor to burn out.
Someone is questioning the safety of using tritium near a food storage device. I point out to them that it's the only thing that will hold the door on, so we don't really have much choice.
Kneeling in front of it, I try and work out just what has happened. For a start, the door appears to have shrunk to roughly two-thirds it's proper size. I naturally assume that this is a result of washing it too vigourously, and is nothing a bit of duct tape can't put right.
Of more pressing concern is the hinge, which attaches it to the rest of the fridge freezer. It's made of glass you see and the current one seems to have shattered, causing the door to fall off. I have a replacement, but the tritium core that it comes with is too powerful for a freezer and might cause the motor to burn out.
Someone is questioning the safety of using tritium near a food storage device. I point out to them that it's the only thing that will hold the door on, so we don't really have much choice.
New Egypt
Egypt has become a new superpower. It all started when they elected a pharaoh - the first divine being to walk the earth in centuries. Vast mineral resources were found under Giza, giving an instant boost to the nation's wealth and technological development. Under the new pharaoh's rule, the Egyptian kingdom expanded to encompass the entire African continent.
The Egyptian trains weren't a success. They looked amazing: sleek, white shapes resembling larva, moving along the tracks in an undulation motion. Unfortunately that same motion tended to throw the last train car onto the others, like a scorpion's tail. Many casualties resulted.
I'm sitting on a crumbling set of stairs in a market somewhere in Cairo. The nation may be blossoming, but the market hasn't changed. There's an old woman sitting next to me. She is wearing belly-dancer clothing, her sagging stomach hanging out over the sequined skirt.
"You need to go to the upper levels", she says to me. "There is a ghost there that cannot rest."
I follow her advice, going upstairs. There's a transparent girl sitting on a balcony. She speaks to me. She was born in Prussia in the early 1800s. She hasn't been allowed to die, because her last owner started a tattoo on her that was never finished. She shows me the tattoo. It looks like a badly drawn Band-Aid. I can't help her, I tell her. She sighs. She looks sort of like Madonna in the Who's That Girl-era.
The Egyptian trains weren't a success. They looked amazing: sleek, white shapes resembling larva, moving along the tracks in an undulation motion. Unfortunately that same motion tended to throw the last train car onto the others, like a scorpion's tail. Many casualties resulted.
I'm sitting on a crumbling set of stairs in a market somewhere in Cairo. The nation may be blossoming, but the market hasn't changed. There's an old woman sitting next to me. She is wearing belly-dancer clothing, her sagging stomach hanging out over the sequined skirt.
"You need to go to the upper levels", she says to me. "There is a ghost there that cannot rest."
I follow her advice, going upstairs. There's a transparent girl sitting on a balcony. She speaks to me. She was born in Prussia in the early 1800s. She hasn't been allowed to die, because her last owner started a tattoo on her that was never finished. She shows me the tattoo. It looks like a badly drawn Band-Aid. I can't help her, I tell her. She sighs. She looks sort of like Madonna in the Who's That Girl-era.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
The name of fire
Our country is being invaded by an enormous horde of goblin-like creatures. As they sweep in across the land, I discover the name of fire. I go into the midst of the enemy army, speaking the name of fire. It leaps out and devours the goblins and everything else. I find myself hiding in a barn until the fires are done raging outside. In the barn are a number of books lying on the floor. One of them has a bright cover with a clown on it. I know I mustn't open it, because it contains a different dream that will break through if I do - and I can't go on to the next until the goblins are all dead.
Salamander pipe
I'm standing at the edge of a swamp together with a traveling companion. We're somewhere in India. The jungle is verdant and steaming. My friend spots something in the water and wades out to pick it up. He holds it up.
"Look!" he says. "It's a salamander belly."
It's just like he says, the bottom half of a lizard made of dark green jade. A second later he picks up something else.
"Oh, look. Here's the top part."
He puts them together to form a salamander the length of his palm. Next, he bends down again.
"I found the mouthpiece!"
It's a thin tube that slides into the salamander's head.
"It's a pipe", he says. "There was a god here once, who made this pipe and got high while creating the swamp. Afterwards he or she must have just dropped it."
"I wonder what to fill the pipe with", I say.
"No idea", says my friend, sucking at the mouthpiece.
"Look!" he says. "It's a salamander belly."
It's just like he says, the bottom half of a lizard made of dark green jade. A second later he picks up something else.
"Oh, look. Here's the top part."
He puts them together to form a salamander the length of his palm. Next, he bends down again.
"I found the mouthpiece!"
It's a thin tube that slides into the salamander's head.
"It's a pipe", he says. "There was a god here once, who made this pipe and got high while creating the swamp. Afterwards he or she must have just dropped it."
"I wonder what to fill the pipe with", I say.
"No idea", says my friend, sucking at the mouthpiece.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Wise Guys
My dreams returned (in some style!) so thank you to whoever found them.
I'm on something of an urgent mission. Paulie (yes, the mob boss from 'Goodfellas') wants to watch a couple of shows on his new DVD player. Only trouble is no-one can find the particular ones he wants to see and what Paulie wants, Paulie gets or you're in trouble!
He's specifically after the episode about Saturn from the BBC series 'The Planets' but despite my best efforts most of the online retailers seem to have sold out. So it comes down to myself, Jimmy (Robert De Niro's character) and Tommy (Joe Pesci's famous psychopath) to find this episode of the show or face the consequences.
Our search is, however, fruitless and tempers begin to flare until I remember that I own this series on DVD. I gave it to my father to watch a few years back so, assuming he hasn't thrown it out or lost it, it should be there and all we need to do is go get it and everything will be good!
Sadly this solution doesn't seem enough for the agitated Tommy who pulls out his handgun and start blasting away whilst screaming to know if he amuses us! Luckily for me, I have a cricket bat to hand and am able to deflect the hail of bullets away. Or at least I am, until one bullet lodges into the face of my bat rendering it useless.
It's then the next one hits me in the neck and I topple to the floor feeling a bit silly. I lie there staring up at the clouds zipping past in the curiously coloured purple sky thinking that this is all a bit over the top for an episode of a TV show. Perhaps we should have just looked on iTunes from the start?
I'm on something of an urgent mission. Paulie (yes, the mob boss from 'Goodfellas') wants to watch a couple of shows on his new DVD player. Only trouble is no-one can find the particular ones he wants to see and what Paulie wants, Paulie gets or you're in trouble!
He's specifically after the episode about Saturn from the BBC series 'The Planets' but despite my best efforts most of the online retailers seem to have sold out. So it comes down to myself, Jimmy (Robert De Niro's character) and Tommy (Joe Pesci's famous psychopath) to find this episode of the show or face the consequences.
Our search is, however, fruitless and tempers begin to flare until I remember that I own this series on DVD. I gave it to my father to watch a few years back so, assuming he hasn't thrown it out or lost it, it should be there and all we need to do is go get it and everything will be good!
Sadly this solution doesn't seem enough for the agitated Tommy who pulls out his handgun and start blasting away whilst screaming to know if he amuses us! Luckily for me, I have a cricket bat to hand and am able to deflect the hail of bullets away. Or at least I am, until one bullet lodges into the face of my bat rendering it useless.
It's then the next one hits me in the neck and I topple to the floor feeling a bit silly. I lie there staring up at the clouds zipping past in the curiously coloured purple sky thinking that this is all a bit over the top for an episode of a TV show. Perhaps we should have just looked on iTunes from the start?
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Missing
Under the onslaught of new medication, my dreams appear to have gone walk about.
If anyone should happen upon them, perhaps hiding in a dark corner of the room, or down the back of the sofa, can you please send them back to me?
I miss them.
If anyone should happen upon them, perhaps hiding in a dark corner of the room, or down the back of the sofa, can you please send them back to me?
I miss them.
Saturday, January 9, 2010
A sudden feeling of being loved
Just a glimpse:
I am sitting in a room.
What am I doing? I am not sure. I think I am there with my friend whom I haven't seen for so long. We enjoy being in each other's company. We talk. A lot. And laugh. And sometimes we don't say anything, just smile, and let thoughts drift off into memories.
Suddenly, in one of these small silent pauses, I am aware of being watched. I don't know by who but I can feel their eyes on me. I don't even know how I know this – (telepathy or supernatural powers maybe?) but right now somewhere, somebody is looking at the back of my neck, the slight slope and curves of the shoulders above thin black cotton – the lights reflecting off the angles and planes – and they are realizing with sudden amazement that it is the most beautiful part of any person they have ever seen, perhaps ever will see.
There is no threat in this person's thoughts. No expectation, jealousy or desire to possess. There is only a sense of pure joy, well-wishing, love, and admiration from this secret someone. It is a very pleasant and warm feeling, and I smile to myself and enjoy the warmth that I can feel spreading through me. I am just being loved, by someone I don't know. That's all.
I am sitting in a room.
What am I doing? I am not sure. I think I am there with my friend whom I haven't seen for so long. We enjoy being in each other's company. We talk. A lot. And laugh. And sometimes we don't say anything, just smile, and let thoughts drift off into memories.
Suddenly, in one of these small silent pauses, I am aware of being watched. I don't know by who but I can feel their eyes on me. I don't even know how I know this – (telepathy or supernatural powers maybe?) but right now somewhere, somebody is looking at the back of my neck, the slight slope and curves of the shoulders above thin black cotton – the lights reflecting off the angles and planes – and they are realizing with sudden amazement that it is the most beautiful part of any person they have ever seen, perhaps ever will see.
There is no threat in this person's thoughts. No expectation, jealousy or desire to possess. There is only a sense of pure joy, well-wishing, love, and admiration from this secret someone. It is a very pleasant and warm feeling, and I smile to myself and enjoy the warmth that I can feel spreading through me. I am just being loved, by someone I don't know. That's all.
Friday, January 8, 2010
Creating
After a fairly sleepless night, I fell asleep shortly before my alarm clock went off. Prior to this, I was bouncing around an idea to make a little film about my medicines and that thought was bouncing in my brain as I slipped into this dream. It could have only lasted a minute or two, but in that way dreams do, it seemed to last an age.
A man with a floppy mop of brilliant white hair is sitting in front of myself and a small audience (no more than a dozen people), an electronic piano keyboard in front of him. He is dressed all in black and has what seems to be a very ancient cell phone strapped on his waist band.
He is playing the piano, eyes closed, and singing the most beautiful song. The room sits in revered silence whilst he plays. Once he finishes, everyone is too stunned to break into applause - it would be a crude racket following that beautiful music. Instead, a gentle murmur of appreciation bubbles around the room and the man looks up from his keyboard, opens his eyes and smiles at us. His eyes are piercing, brilliant blue.
He begins speaking, about himself and his music and why he does it. He holds up one of his CDs and laughs as he tosses it aside saying that isn't why he makes music. It's not for fame, or money. He does it for the simple act of creating. He has no interest in the material trappings that tag along with his life, just in the purity of creating.
Another hushed babble of whispers passes around the room and I lean forward slightly wishing to ask him questions, so many questions. He fixes me with those eyes, smiles and I go to speak but can't and with a wave of frustration (or perhaps panic?) I feel the folds of sleep falling away from me and my last vision before I wake is of him, smiling at me.
It was an interesting one this, and whilst I'm probably the least spiritual person on the planet, someone (most likely myself) was giving me a message in this. It was a message to get 'creating' just for the sake of doing it. It's a good thing to do!
Oh and if you want to know what his eyes looked like, I've been listening to a lot of Nirvana again coming over a bit sombre for poor Kurt Cobain. I spent most of my mid to late teens hung up on their music and sported Kurt's haircut for that time. In their Unplugged show, where he sings 'Where did you sleep last night?' -THAT- look... as he screams out the last line and in that moment, pauses and opens his beautiful blue eyes... those were the eyes the pianist had, only his eyes had hope and happiness in them. Kurt's didn't, and every time I hear that song, it makes me sad I'll never hear him sing it.
A man with a floppy mop of brilliant white hair is sitting in front of myself and a small audience (no more than a dozen people), an electronic piano keyboard in front of him. He is dressed all in black and has what seems to be a very ancient cell phone strapped on his waist band.
He is playing the piano, eyes closed, and singing the most beautiful song. The room sits in revered silence whilst he plays. Once he finishes, everyone is too stunned to break into applause - it would be a crude racket following that beautiful music. Instead, a gentle murmur of appreciation bubbles around the room and the man looks up from his keyboard, opens his eyes and smiles at us. His eyes are piercing, brilliant blue.
He begins speaking, about himself and his music and why he does it. He holds up one of his CDs and laughs as he tosses it aside saying that isn't why he makes music. It's not for fame, or money. He does it for the simple act of creating. He has no interest in the material trappings that tag along with his life, just in the purity of creating.
Another hushed babble of whispers passes around the room and I lean forward slightly wishing to ask him questions, so many questions. He fixes me with those eyes, smiles and I go to speak but can't and with a wave of frustration (or perhaps panic?) I feel the folds of sleep falling away from me and my last vision before I wake is of him, smiling at me.
It was an interesting one this, and whilst I'm probably the least spiritual person on the planet, someone (most likely myself) was giving me a message in this. It was a message to get 'creating' just for the sake of doing it. It's a good thing to do!
Oh and if you want to know what his eyes looked like, I've been listening to a lot of Nirvana again coming over a bit sombre for poor Kurt Cobain. I spent most of my mid to late teens hung up on their music and sported Kurt's haircut for that time. In their Unplugged show, where he sings 'Where did you sleep last night?' -THAT- look... as he screams out the last line and in that moment, pauses and opens his beautiful blue eyes... those were the eyes the pianist had, only his eyes had hope and happiness in them. Kurt's didn't, and every time I hear that song, it makes me sad I'll never hear him sing it.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Sleeping
I am in a gun metal grey room, with air pipes and ducts creeping around the walls in complicated patterns. There is an air of excitement buzzing around the place, the reason for which is not immediately apparent. There is a murmur of something that sounds like rain in the distance.
Suddenly, a familiar looking man with long blond hair and a platted beard hands me a bright red guitar and asks me if I'm ready? I have no idea what I should be ready for so I stand there, guitar in one hand looking slightly puzzled. Then it clicks and I recognize him as Marco Hietala, the bassist/singer from Nightwish and sure enough he has a bass guitar across his back.
He smiles at me and with a grin spread wide across his face says, 'For our entrance!' He then peels back one of the ducting pipes on the wall to my left, revealing a circular hole about one metre in diameter. With a slap of his hand on my shoulder, he gently nudges me forward saying 'You first, of course!' and I hastily strap the guitar on and start climbing into the hole.
Trying to navigate myself through a narrow space like this is quite entertaining, made even more so by the addition of the guitar, but it is only a short crawl before a brilliant white 'wall' appears before me, with a faint grey pattern spreading out from it's centre, becomes visible. I pause to look at it and can't help feeling that the pattern looks something like a tribal dragon tattoo, but before I can be sure, Marco calls from behind me and urges me to move forward.
I experimentally place a hand on the wall and push forward. It feels like rubber, or perhaps elastic, and it stretches and bends as I push against it. It soon becomes apparent that it's so stretchy, my hand can't break through it and I start scrabbling away at it like a cat, when a voice from behind me says, 'Use the guitar!' and with a flourish, I ram the headstock of the guitar into the elastic wall and it rips straight through, tearing it open so we can crawl on into the opening beyond.
I spill out of the hole, onto a dark black platform with very bright lights suspended some way above me and turning to watch Marco emerge from the hole too, it dawns on me that the hole is actually one of the bass drums of Jukka's drum kit. Scanning around, I see Tuomas stood behind his keyboards and Anette bouncing up and down with a microphone in hand, a little to his left.
I clamber awkwardly to my feet and turn to Marco and ask 'Where's Emppu?' to which he replies, 'He's sick today, so you're playing instead!' and I glance down to see that my guitar is Emppu's ESP model, which brings a smile to my face.
A few clicks of the drumsticks and we're into a song - Sleeping Sun to be precise, which seems to me to be a curious number to open a show with. The fact that there are no apparent people at this show probably means this will not be noted by the (missing) audience, so dutifully we play on with me desperately trying to not make too many mistakes. Clearly noticing the lack of audience, Anette and the other's decide to have fun and mix up the lyrics, style, music and just about everything that they can.
This goes on for a few minutes until people seem to get bored and down instruments and head to the right of stage towards a brightly lit doorway.
Walking through the doorway, I'm slightly confused to find we are now inside Janetta and Anna's kitchen, only all 'kitchen' things have been removed and the room crammed full of comfy looking red sofas into which the band, and various other friends have all sat themselves. A cosy fireplace burns brightly in the corner and across the full length of one of the sofas, my dog is lying with his paws clutching a chewy bone on which he is busily gnawing. I snicker quietly to myself as I spy the fox trap hung from the kitchen ceiling.
There is no space left on any of the sofas so I sit down on the floor resting my back against the sofa and listening to the general babble in the room, overlaid with the crack and pop of wood on the fire. I feel my eyelids getting heavy and, seeking somewhere to rest my head, the only convenient place seems to be against the legs of the person in the chair - in this case Janetta. Without so much as a word, I shuffle sideways, prop my head against her kneecap and slowly drift off to sleep.
Apologies to Janetta, but your kneecap was quite comfy and I didn't want to make my dog get off the sofa! :)
Suddenly, a familiar looking man with long blond hair and a platted beard hands me a bright red guitar and asks me if I'm ready? I have no idea what I should be ready for so I stand there, guitar in one hand looking slightly puzzled. Then it clicks and I recognize him as Marco Hietala, the bassist/singer from Nightwish and sure enough he has a bass guitar across his back.
He smiles at me and with a grin spread wide across his face says, 'For our entrance!' He then peels back one of the ducting pipes on the wall to my left, revealing a circular hole about one metre in diameter. With a slap of his hand on my shoulder, he gently nudges me forward saying 'You first, of course!' and I hastily strap the guitar on and start climbing into the hole.
Trying to navigate myself through a narrow space like this is quite entertaining, made even more so by the addition of the guitar, but it is only a short crawl before a brilliant white 'wall' appears before me, with a faint grey pattern spreading out from it's centre, becomes visible. I pause to look at it and can't help feeling that the pattern looks something like a tribal dragon tattoo, but before I can be sure, Marco calls from behind me and urges me to move forward.
I experimentally place a hand on the wall and push forward. It feels like rubber, or perhaps elastic, and it stretches and bends as I push against it. It soon becomes apparent that it's so stretchy, my hand can't break through it and I start scrabbling away at it like a cat, when a voice from behind me says, 'Use the guitar!' and with a flourish, I ram the headstock of the guitar into the elastic wall and it rips straight through, tearing it open so we can crawl on into the opening beyond.
I spill out of the hole, onto a dark black platform with very bright lights suspended some way above me and turning to watch Marco emerge from the hole too, it dawns on me that the hole is actually one of the bass drums of Jukka's drum kit. Scanning around, I see Tuomas stood behind his keyboards and Anette bouncing up and down with a microphone in hand, a little to his left.
I clamber awkwardly to my feet and turn to Marco and ask 'Where's Emppu?' to which he replies, 'He's sick today, so you're playing instead!' and I glance down to see that my guitar is Emppu's ESP model, which brings a smile to my face.
A few clicks of the drumsticks and we're into a song - Sleeping Sun to be precise, which seems to me to be a curious number to open a show with. The fact that there are no apparent people at this show probably means this will not be noted by the (missing) audience, so dutifully we play on with me desperately trying to not make too many mistakes. Clearly noticing the lack of audience, Anette and the other's decide to have fun and mix up the lyrics, style, music and just about everything that they can.
This goes on for a few minutes until people seem to get bored and down instruments and head to the right of stage towards a brightly lit doorway.
Walking through the doorway, I'm slightly confused to find we are now inside Janetta and Anna's kitchen, only all 'kitchen' things have been removed and the room crammed full of comfy looking red sofas into which the band, and various other friends have all sat themselves. A cosy fireplace burns brightly in the corner and across the full length of one of the sofas, my dog is lying with his paws clutching a chewy bone on which he is busily gnawing. I snicker quietly to myself as I spy the fox trap hung from the kitchen ceiling.
There is no space left on any of the sofas so I sit down on the floor resting my back against the sofa and listening to the general babble in the room, overlaid with the crack and pop of wood on the fire. I feel my eyelids getting heavy and, seeking somewhere to rest my head, the only convenient place seems to be against the legs of the person in the chair - in this case Janetta. Without so much as a word, I shuffle sideways, prop my head against her kneecap and slowly drift off to sleep.
Apologies to Janetta, but your kneecap was quite comfy and I didn't want to make my dog get off the sofa! :)
Sunday, January 3, 2010
Clearing Out
It's a new year so I'm on a mission to clear out some old things to generally freshen up my home.
There are a few bags lying around the place belonging to someone else, which surprises me as I thought I'd stored them all away. There's a lot of dust and cobwebs lurking behind them too so I start to sweep them away.
Some of the clothes drawers seem a bit over-flowing too, which is again surprising as I don't have that much stuff in the way of clothes. A gaggle of ten-sided dice seem to be spilling out of the top drawer. I'm trying to open it up, but the black metal fold-down desk that is hinged to the wall above it is in the way and doesn't seem to want to shift.
Curiously, I don't ever remember having a black metal fold-down desk. I have no idea what happened to my ten-sided dice either, so I'm both puzzled and happy that they are spilling out of a drawer.
I suddenly notice too, that my bed has shrunk. A big double bed is now a smallish single bed pushed up against a wall. Quite when this happened, I have no clue, but I'm wondering what happened to my nice big bed.
Then I realise that this is, in fact, a dream and I chuckle to myself before wandering around the room, poking and prodding various things, and bouncing up and down on the edge of the bed.
I then wake up, and blink sleepily at my surroundings, wondering what happened to the small bed, the suitcases and the black-metal fold down desk. It's all very confusing and there's sadly no sign of the ten-sided dice.
There are a few bags lying around the place belonging to someone else, which surprises me as I thought I'd stored them all away. There's a lot of dust and cobwebs lurking behind them too so I start to sweep them away.
Some of the clothes drawers seem a bit over-flowing too, which is again surprising as I don't have that much stuff in the way of clothes. A gaggle of ten-sided dice seem to be spilling out of the top drawer. I'm trying to open it up, but the black metal fold-down desk that is hinged to the wall above it is in the way and doesn't seem to want to shift.
Curiously, I don't ever remember having a black metal fold-down desk. I have no idea what happened to my ten-sided dice either, so I'm both puzzled and happy that they are spilling out of a drawer.
I suddenly notice too, that my bed has shrunk. A big double bed is now a smallish single bed pushed up against a wall. Quite when this happened, I have no clue, but I'm wondering what happened to my nice big bed.
Then I realise that this is, in fact, a dream and I chuckle to myself before wandering around the room, poking and prodding various things, and bouncing up and down on the edge of the bed.
I then wake up, and blink sleepily at my surroundings, wondering what happened to the small bed, the suitcases and the black-metal fold down desk. It's all very confusing and there's sadly no sign of the ten-sided dice.
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