Why do I know my psychiatrist would have a field day with this?
It's a bright, sunny day and I am standing in a large, green field. The field is surrounded on three sides by a raised bank giving it an amphitheatre like feel. There is a single tree growing in the field and people are beginning to gather by it. They are all dressed in their finest outfits; the men in smart suits, the women in a mix of long dresses.
I realise that they are dressed for a wedding. They are also all couples, standing together, arms linked, all looking very happy. In their other hands, everyone of them is carrying a plastic carrier bag, such as one gets from a grocery store and indeed this is where they have come from. There are various brand logos displayed on the sides of their bags and all of them appear to contain something dark and heavy (judging by the apparent strain on the handles) but I have no idea what is in them. I have a bag myself, but as with those carried by the couples, I'm not sure what is in it.
At some unseen sign, the couples slowly begin walking up to the tree and each of them sets their bags down before walking out into the field, presumably to take their marriage vows. Pretty soon they are all gone, leaving just me and my bag alone by the tree. I feel sad that I can't go with them, but I am alone and so wouldn't 'fit' there.
I stand by the tree and wonder what to do with myself and my bag? I suppose I should wait here to make sure nothing happens to their bags whilst they are away. So I do that, sitting myself down on the ground beneath the shade of the tree amongst the plastic bags. I sit and wonder when, or perhaps if, anyone will come back.
Monday, February 22, 2010
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Paisley sails
I'm a lone sailor, swooping over the seas in a small and fast-going ship. It has paisley sails in pale gold and green. One day my little ship is boarded by pirates. I'm knocked unconscious. When I wake up, I find myself in a dreary little boat together with a young woman in an apron. She's the cook from another ship that the pirates boarded. They've dropped us off in this little dinghy in the middle of the ocean.
We plod on, paddling with a skillet and surviving on fish and seagulls. Eventually we land at a floating port. I spot a paper tacked to a post in the docks. It's an announcement signed by S.R., who says they now lawfully own my legendary ship with the paisley sails. The bastards! And here they come. I can see the sails on the horizon. The setting sun lights up the sails from behind, turning them to molten gold. I'm going to get my ship back.
We plod on, paddling with a skillet and surviving on fish and seagulls. Eventually we land at a floating port. I spot a paper tacked to a post in the docks. It's an announcement signed by S.R., who says they now lawfully own my legendary ship with the paisley sails. The bastards! And here they come. I can see the sails on the horizon. The setting sun lights up the sails from behind, turning them to molten gold. I'm going to get my ship back.
Lake by Kettle
We are in a woodland, standing in a small car park surrounded by trees and overlooking a dusty area of dried earth. About 50 metres away, there is a small road. A number of people, some of whom are recognisable from TV shows, are enthralled in murmured conversation staring out onto the area of dried earth.
It seems they are here for a very specific reason and without any sign or signal, the all produce from their overcoats, shiny silver metal kettles, which are steaming away quite happily as they boil. The fact they aren't plugged into any discernible source of power, and yet are still boiling, is a little confusing, but this is largely ignored as, kettles in hand, they hop down through the trees into the open area.
Once down there, they disperse out and begin up-ending their kettles letting the boiling water pour out onto the ground. They then begin to repeat this process, hoping up and down from the car park, up-ending their kettles as they boil.
It becomes apparent that the water is starting to pool into the low lying regions and in a fit of clarity, the open area is in fact a lake bed; a lake bed that is now being refilled by kettles. This is a necessary act as for some unknown reason, the lake has mysteriously emptied and no-one is quite sure why. They are also not sure if this will happen again, but it is hoped the gestures of TV celebrities will help fend off the lake's own private drought.
Suddenly the lake is full and large, brown fish can be seen swimming below its surface. I am walking around the car park throwing handfuls of biscuits into the water for the fish to feed on. I'm intending to go fishing for them, but can't remember how to tie on a fishing hook. Instead, I just throw in some more biscuits and sit and watch them.
It seems they are here for a very specific reason and without any sign or signal, the all produce from their overcoats, shiny silver metal kettles, which are steaming away quite happily as they boil. The fact they aren't plugged into any discernible source of power, and yet are still boiling, is a little confusing, but this is largely ignored as, kettles in hand, they hop down through the trees into the open area.
Once down there, they disperse out and begin up-ending their kettles letting the boiling water pour out onto the ground. They then begin to repeat this process, hoping up and down from the car park, up-ending their kettles as they boil.
It becomes apparent that the water is starting to pool into the low lying regions and in a fit of clarity, the open area is in fact a lake bed; a lake bed that is now being refilled by kettles. This is a necessary act as for some unknown reason, the lake has mysteriously emptied and no-one is quite sure why. They are also not sure if this will happen again, but it is hoped the gestures of TV celebrities will help fend off the lake's own private drought.
Suddenly the lake is full and large, brown fish can be seen swimming below its surface. I am walking around the car park throwing handfuls of biscuits into the water for the fish to feed on. I'm intending to go fishing for them, but can't remember how to tie on a fishing hook. Instead, I just throw in some more biscuits and sit and watch them.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Eight
Dark and sinister things are afoot. People are disappearing, crops are failing and the cows are looking bored - nothing seems to happen to them.
The village is in general confusion as to what is the cause of this, until an inquisitive old lady opens the bottom drawer of the dresser in my room. It is stuffed full of cardboard cut outs of varying things.
There are a large number of octagons, some stacked together to form a small tower. There are also a large number of 'stick figures' - cardboard cut outs, glued onto little balsa wood figures so as they can stand upright. All of them are of a tentacled monstrosity with one or two bearing the label 'Cthulhu' on the cut out.
It seems I am to blame for all the evil going on. Or rather, my Cthulhu stick figures are. In the words of the lady, they 'reek' of evil, even in cardboard form.
The village is in general confusion as to what is the cause of this, until an inquisitive old lady opens the bottom drawer of the dresser in my room. It is stuffed full of cardboard cut outs of varying things.
There are a large number of octagons, some stacked together to form a small tower. There are also a large number of 'stick figures' - cardboard cut outs, glued onto little balsa wood figures so as they can stand upright. All of them are of a tentacled monstrosity with one or two bearing the label 'Cthulhu' on the cut out.
It seems I am to blame for all the evil going on. Or rather, my Cthulhu stick figures are. In the words of the lady, they 'reek' of evil, even in cardboard form.
I lost my canoe
An underground city, with canals winding between the houses. Everywhere are people in little canoes. It's the preferred mode of transport. I'm new to the city, and have no canoe of my own, so I rent one. I paddle around along the waterways, marveling at the architecture. Then my vehicle tips and I end up in the water. Fortunately, it isn't cold, but I can't see the canoe everywhere. I spend many hours trying to find it. I find a multitude of little boats, dinghys, kayaks and canoes, but none of them are mine. And I know that if I return without the canoe, it'll cost me 4.000 kronor.
I wake up very concerned.
I wake up very concerned.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Visiting Grandma's house
A couple of nights ago, I walked, alone, through my grandparents' house up on the hill. (The house itself is no longer there. It burned down some fifteen years ago when grandma had already sold it and moved, and the rebuilt house is a different one.)
I could smell the wood paneling and the linoleum floor. The damp in the cramped, pale yellow, too old bathroom. The slightly dusty smell of paper and wood and chalk in grandpa's upstairs study. I curled up in that stuffed chair at his desk that is a little too hard and angular to be really comfortable to sit in for very long, but still nice and roomy.
The stairs creaked just like they always have. I could feel the smooth wood of the staircase railing and the little damaged notch at the end, barely visible but definitely noticeable when you grab the rail to swing around the last tiny turn of the stairs in a large jump.
Which, of course, no sensible person would descend the stairs without doing.
(but the windows, there's something wrong with them and I can't put my finger on what)
The christmas tree was shining in the dark living room like a glittering pyramid of lights and tinsel. Casting shadows of angels on the wall.
The russian easter hens in the sun on the window sill in the dining room.
I sat for a long time on the staircase, looking at the tree.
Thinking. Not thinking.
I could smell the wood paneling and the linoleum floor. The damp in the cramped, pale yellow, too old bathroom. The slightly dusty smell of paper and wood and chalk in grandpa's upstairs study. I curled up in that stuffed chair at his desk that is a little too hard and angular to be really comfortable to sit in for very long, but still nice and roomy.
The stairs creaked just like they always have. I could feel the smooth wood of the staircase railing and the little damaged notch at the end, barely visible but definitely noticeable when you grab the rail to swing around the last tiny turn of the stairs in a large jump.
Which, of course, no sensible person would descend the stairs without doing.
(but the windows, there's something wrong with them and I can't put my finger on what)
The christmas tree was shining in the dark living room like a glittering pyramid of lights and tinsel. Casting shadows of angels on the wall.
The russian easter hens in the sun on the window sill in the dining room.
I sat for a long time on the staircase, looking at the tree.
Thinking. Not thinking.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Pharmacy Phantom
I am in what appears to be a hotel complex, when I bump into a Swedish friend. We're quite surprised to see each other and decide that we should go get lunch together and catch up.
This is easier said than done, as the hotel is very crowded and getting something to eat is quite difficult. We do eventually manage to get some sandwiches and head for a table near a window to sit down, eat and chat away. The 'eating' part proves somewhat difficult as the sandwiches are somehow escaping from our plates; you look away for a moment and they're gone!
Deciding not to worry about that too much we chatter on. She is very interested in aeroplanes and wants to know if I can fly? I say I can't but my Dad owns a glider and we should be able to go for a few flights at his flying club. We also decide that it would be very nice to go to a museum and have a look at some vintage planes too. There should be an airshow of them coming up soon, so we decide we will go and see that.
Our conversation then comes to an abrupt end as we are consumed by a crowd anxious to peer out of the window at the house owned by the parents of a very rich girl. It is a large, complicated, rust coloured monstrosity that, whilst certainly roomy and expensive, hardly looks very homely. Getting sick of the crowds, we decide to leave.
We head to a supermarket as I have something of a cough developing and want to get some medicine for it. We head to the back of the store where the pharmacy is only to find the pharmacist lady sat behind a small, school desk in the aisle and not behind the counter. I ask her why this is and she replies, 'Something doesn't want me in there!'
Naturally perplexed as to what is happening, she explains that they have had strange occurances for a while in the pharmacy, most noticably a rain of fish (small neon-tetras) and disturbances to the plastic bags. I explain that I would like some cough medicine and she points it out on the shelf to the left hand side of the counter, but tells me she won't set foot in there and I have to go and get it myself.
Somewhat apprehensively, I walk behind the counter to collect my medicine. I can hear someone, or something, grumbling at me, but I return without incident to pay the lady still sat behind her small, school desk. I ask her what she intends to do and she tells me she is waiting for management to arrange an exorcist to come and cleanse the counter. It is apparently taking a while as there are a number of tedious forms to fill out, before the exorcist can be booked.
This is easier said than done, as the hotel is very crowded and getting something to eat is quite difficult. We do eventually manage to get some sandwiches and head for a table near a window to sit down, eat and chat away. The 'eating' part proves somewhat difficult as the sandwiches are somehow escaping from our plates; you look away for a moment and they're gone!
Deciding not to worry about that too much we chatter on. She is very interested in aeroplanes and wants to know if I can fly? I say I can't but my Dad owns a glider and we should be able to go for a few flights at his flying club. We also decide that it would be very nice to go to a museum and have a look at some vintage planes too. There should be an airshow of them coming up soon, so we decide we will go and see that.
Our conversation then comes to an abrupt end as we are consumed by a crowd anxious to peer out of the window at the house owned by the parents of a very rich girl. It is a large, complicated, rust coloured monstrosity that, whilst certainly roomy and expensive, hardly looks very homely. Getting sick of the crowds, we decide to leave.
We head to a supermarket as I have something of a cough developing and want to get some medicine for it. We head to the back of the store where the pharmacy is only to find the pharmacist lady sat behind a small, school desk in the aisle and not behind the counter. I ask her why this is and she replies, 'Something doesn't want me in there!'
Naturally perplexed as to what is happening, she explains that they have had strange occurances for a while in the pharmacy, most noticably a rain of fish (small neon-tetras) and disturbances to the plastic bags. I explain that I would like some cough medicine and she points it out on the shelf to the left hand side of the counter, but tells me she won't set foot in there and I have to go and get it myself.
Somewhat apprehensively, I walk behind the counter to collect my medicine. I can hear someone, or something, grumbling at me, but I return without incident to pay the lady still sat behind her small, school desk. I ask her what she intends to do and she tells me she is waiting for management to arrange an exorcist to come and cleanse the counter. It is apparently taking a while as there are a number of tedious forms to fill out, before the exorcist can be booked.
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