100 Acre Graveyard

I am in some sort of building with lots of people all milling around in suits carrying boxes and looking very miserable. I then realised that the boxes were actually children's coffins and they were carrying hundreds of dead children to their graves. This didn't bother me in the least, but what did was a family whose pet dog had died and they were burying him. I was actually barging the bereaved parents out the way to make room for them.

Then for some reason I was watching a horse race, only the horses were rather fat and comical like in a Disney cartoon. They were all racing around a track and jumping over a fence only one of them didn't quite make it. It got airborne, cleared the fence and then sort of forgot to put its legs down and landed in a heap, rolling over to squash the jockey. Everyone was naturally horrified and scared for him, but again, I didn't give a stuff about him and ran over to see how the horse was.

Then I was in a creepy, dusty, cobweb ridden cottage in a dark wood with a horribly ugly old man in a white lab coat. He was pouring over an ancient looking book whose writing was all grey and faded. It contained lots of calculations and scribblings and he was trying to solve a puzzle. You see the owner of 100 acre wood had left it to be preserved for the animals. Apparently the dead ones as people were burying them there. Only thing was, someone had marked out a perimeter for it, put up a fence and got it in the wrong place as the actual area covered was only 99 acres. The ugly old man had gotten his sums wrong and I was showing how to make sure 100 acre wood (cemetery) actually was 100 acres.

Then I was watching a YouTube clip of soldiers in Afghanistan. This clip was of US Marines attacking a hill that had been painted. They were running up a magnolia coloured rock slope. The awful thing was, the clip showed one of the Marines finding a small puppy on his way up there and when he got to the top, he kicked it about, picked it up and threw it off the cliff. It's presumed owner was mortified by this! He was a large chap who looked quite a lot like the Rock, although had a stupid 'stripe' goatee beard down his chin. He was protesting over what the marines had done to his 'fur' which was apparently what he called the puppy. This upset me greatly and I vowed to shoot the marine who had done this. Or possibly throw him of an emulsioned cliff should I happen to find one.

Then I was in a corridor at the place I used to work. I met with Vic Reeves (a British comedian) in the corridor who was apparently playing the part of a mad scientist and I had to go and make sure he was working correctly. We went in, with Vic ranting and frothing which scared all the scientists working in there. We began experiments but I've no idea what they were. For some reason though, there was a giant black spider sitting on my kitchen scales which were on the bench. I think the intent was to dissect it and I wasn't very happy about this and was plotting to help it make a break for freedom out the window.

Then I woke up.

Lunch anyone?

I am standing on a road with a bridge in front of me. It appears to cross a river. On the right hand side of the road, there is a thin footpath, with yellow lines painted down the side of the road.

Curiously, there is a desk squashed onto this thin path and a lady in smart office attire sits there working at a computer. There are filing trays to her left hand side, presumably because some brambles from the hedges next to the path are poking onto the right hand side of the desk.

As I approach, she turns towards me and smiling at me asks, 'What do you want me to order for lunch today?'

I am about to answer when to my left, from the other side of the bridge, a huge reptilian head appears, attached to a long snake-like neck. It appears to be smiling at us.

I recognize it immediately as being 'Nessie' or, if you are being more formal, the Loch Ness Monster.

It suddenly starts to speak and in a deep, rich, baritone voice says, 'I'd like, oooooh... half a tonne of red plankton and krill on a rice cake please,' popping a wink at the lady as it finishes.

Strange Days

This was actually all a little disturbing, in a fun sort of way, and probably has quite a lot to do with a documentary about mental asylums I watched the other day.

Or it could be I should be in one!

--
Inside a classroom, I have a case open on my desk. My hand is hidden behind the open lid, fingers coiled around the handle of a knife. The blade is almost white in the sunlight leeching through the window. I stare across the room at the man in the white lab coat as he shouts at the people around him. I watch the little flecks of spit spray out from his mouth as he stabs his fingers into the girl's shoulder as he snarls his anger at her.

Sideways into his ribs is where I plan to stick the knife, perhaps with a little twist for that extra flourish.

Then perhaps downwards to gut the fucker.

He turns towards me, striding across the classroom knocking over desks and chairs as he bears down on me. He looms over me and I can smell his breath, count the hairs in his nostrils and see the veins bulging in his neck.

I don't hear what he says, I just smile as my hand moves, meeting only the slightest resistance as his eyes balloon open, a look of horror spreading across his face.

Gunshots from the other room.

The classroom is gone and I stand in a dark hallway. Through a doorway I can see people standing around a table, all dressed in black. One of them stands head and shoulders above the others, a giant of man, the flickering light from the failing neon tube reflecting off his dark skin. He is grinning and the air around him shivers.

I walk to the doorway and into the room. A number of people are scattered about the place, scrabbling for places to hide. Some are trying to push past me out of the room, some slither beneath the table for protection. At the far end, two figures stand pointing machine-pistols at everyone. One has a look of utter terror on his face.

The other raises his gun towards me and fires, his eyes wide with fear. People scream, but for me it's easy. I wave a hand and the air around me shimmers and the bullets deflect away, peppering the ceiling and the floor either side of me.

'That's impossible,' wails the man as his gun clicks empty.

'Not for me,' I reply. 'Or them,' I add nodding to the giant man. 'I taught them'

'Them?' he replies and then quite silently he drops to his knees and falls to his face and a short figure also dressed in black, wearing darken glasses steps from the shadows behind me. As he does so, the large man clubs the other shooter around his face and in an instant he vanishes.

The short man and the tall man step up either side of me and nod slowly. They are The Angel and The Clown. They are my enforcers, bringing my will to the world which I control. Together the Universe fears us.

And so it should.

Homeland security and the murder of fat people

Part 1:
I've murdered a pair of grotesquely fat people in their home. They were bad people and needed to die. However they need to be hidden. I find a vat of radioactive goo that will destroy their bodies. Before I have time to dump them in there, someone shows up: a family about to buy the house. I have to show them around the house, pretending that there aren't bloody handprints and spatters everywhere. I carry a rag with me that I discreetly try to wipe the blood off the walls with. Eventually the family leaves.

Part 2:
I've been apprehended by Homeland Security on unknown grounds (it's not murder, but possibly a political crime of some sort). They've strapped me down into a chair and applied electrodes to my face, so they can read my thoughts. As I sit in the chair, I find that I'm able to reverse-engineer the electrodes: my consciousness jumps from my brain into the electrodes and down into Homeland Security's database. It's visualized as a motel at night, with trees outside. I walk around in the different rooms, opening doors, wreaking as much havoc as I can. After a while I'm suddenly back in my own head: Homeland Security has decided to let me go. They've had a massive crash in their database and no longer have the information needed to keep me there. I'm wheeled out and released.

Part 3:
I'm back in the house from the first dream. I'm sitting in the tub of radioactive goo, eventually getting out because the flesh on my legs is burning away. I get out of the tub and watch as my flesh knits itself back together.

Frog Voyeur

The sun is shining and the flowers are blooming. All about the garden there is emerging greenery, creeping upwards towards the springtime skies.

Curiously, there is also a sofas arranged, at a right angle to each other, about a small pond - a rather overgrown affair with ferns and reeds growing out of it and a range of lilly pads floating on the surface. The sofas are a deep red colour, with big, squishy cushions into which I and my friends are all slumped, chatting happily in the sunshine.

Suddenly our attention switches to the pond as we see two frogs emerge onto one of the lilly pads. It becomes evident that the 'spirit' of spring is with them too, and quite quickly, they begin to energetically express their froggy love for each other, setting the lilly pad a'rocking!

We watch on, snickering quietly to each other as the little frogs go at it with a furious energy. We are however slightly surprised to see the pond transform into a beanbag, which begins to wriggle, twist and writhe with the frogs throws of passion. The net result is we dissolve into laughter as our frog couple reach the climax of their antics, and the quivering of the beanbag slows, gently twitching from time to time in their post orgasmic chill.

For those interested, I have a pond in my garden and I recently repaired the garden bench which sits next to it. As for the frogs, the water was quite literally frothing with their passion in recent times and there's a fairly epic number of tadpoles scooting about in there now!

Curiously, the froggy parents have cleared off out of the main pond into the small top pool.

I guess they're avoiding the kids.

"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.