"That's a nice pen!"

We're sitting on the floor in front of a fire place that is covered in beige coloured ceramic tiles. There's no fire burning as it's summer time. In front of the fireplace is a red rug, but there is no other carpet in the room with whomsoever's house this is preferring to go for a varnished wood floor.

Janetta is flicking through a book of drawings she has made which she is turning into a comic book. She is busy explaining the story to me as she leafs through the pages of drawings before she pulls a bright red pen from her bag. She pops the cap off revealing it to be a fountain pen, with a bright, shiny gold nib, with which she begins to ink in the pencil drawings.

"That's a nice pen!" I comment, but Janetta shakes her head, unscrewing the back of the pen to show me the ink cartridge tucked inside. She shakes it gently and splats of ink fly out of it, falling onto the wooden floor boards.

"It's an awful pen," she says. "It leaks far too much!"

Suddenly someone calls my name from behind us and I turn to see that we're not in fact in a room, but instead are inside an office 'cubicle' and a work colleague is leaning over the grey dividing wall to ask me a question.

We chat for a while until he leaves and I turn back to see Janetta has stuck some drawings up around the fire place. They show the protagonist of her comic book in a key scene where he is trying to go on a date with a girl he likes. They are at a dance and the two characters are holding each other as if preparing to waltz around a ballroom.

Sadly for our protagonist though, he has a very awkward expression plastered upon his face and Janetta explains that not only has he never been to a dance, but he's never been on a date before either.

I chuckle at the poor characters situation then pick up a short, blunt pencil that is lying on the rug and begin trying to shade in a box that one of us drew.

--

It was a very fun dream with some fantabulous drawings! I wonder if the gold tipped fountain pen is meant to be the troublesome brush pen?

Magnetic Music

A band is playing in a dark room, surrounded on all sides by walls build of strangely coloured bricks. The bricks seem to pulse and shift colours as the singer howls out his tune.

There is only myself and a young woman watching the band and both of us are uneasy at being here. She takes my hand and leads me towards a doorway in the strange brick walls. It opens easily and we step through into what appears to be an utterly derelict bathroom. Floor to ceiling, everything is covered with dirt and mould and what were once white tiles like smashed and shattered about the floor.

There is a sink here and the woman turns on a tap which belches out a sickly looking black liquid before running clear with what seems to be water. I ask her why is it like this? Why is it so run down?

'Magnets!' she replies, 'There are no magnets in these walls!'

I have no idea what she is talking about and look blankly back at her. She takes my hand again and we return to the dark room.

'The walls! The bricks are super magnets!' she shouts, pointing up at the pulsating bricks. 'They keep the alien sound waves contained. Outside this room, they have no effect so the corruption can creep in.'

I ask her what she means by 'alien sound waves' and she turns and points towards the singer. 'He is not what he appears to be,' she says. 'Go closer to them and you'll see his true form!'

I begin to walk towards the band until about 10 metres from them, it's as if a sheet of glass has shattered in front of me. Their forms melt and dissolve into freakish looking blue creatures, with a multitude of limbs and mouths all wailing away in an un-earthly song.

I stagger backwards and the woman clasps my shoulders and smiles at me telling me we're safe inside here with our alien song. The corruption of the world can't get to us whilst the band keeps playing.

Surf's Up!

There are green costumes with yellow piping down the side. There's a lot of running around. There are a lot of explosions and in places the ground has been blown apart forming almighty craters of pale brown earth.

Some girl with long red hair, wearing a green jumpsuit, is dragging me across this ruined field as we hunt our prey. We're on the look out for the one who has caused all this chaos.

Apparently it's the Silver Surfer.

Or possibly someone with a very good costume pretending to be him. We're not entirely sure and with everyone in costumes, no-one really knows who is who anymore.

Chop!

"You must chop the heads off before they solidify into real heads."
A-ha. So that was the mystery of the threefold dictator. He refused to die, instead splitting off into three different bodies. We forgot to decapitate them. Now that we have, there's a buffet waiting. I was expecting most of the food to be artificial, but it turned out that it's all real. There's about ten different varieties of strudel. And cheese. Brie, mostly.

Don't operate on me, L. Ron!

I'm lying on an operating table. L. Ron Hubbard is standing over me. He's dressed in a surgical smock and wielding an enormous hacksaw.
"I'm going to operate on you now", he says.
"No, L. Ron! Don't operate on me!" I scream.
"Don't worry", he says, "I'll numb your senses with petroleum jelly."
He tosses lumps of a clear, jelly-like substance at me. It smells strongly of gasoline. I start to get dizzy. Everything fades out.

I wake up feeling upset and hurt that L. Ron Hubbard is operating on me, and nobody came to stop him.