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.

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.

Tennis Everyone?

I am playing tennis, in what appears to be a doubles match. It's quite fun to knock the ball back and forth although I have no clue if I'm winning or not.

For some reason, the other player on my side decides to come and stand next to me when I'm about to serve the ball. This is somewhat off putting and I keep missing my serve. After a few fluffed serves, he decides to stand in front of me meaning that if I do actually make the serve, the follow through will smash him on the back of the head with the racket.

I become increasingly frustrated about this and end up trying to shove him out the way before taking my serve. It's then I realise that he isn't in fact my playing partner, but one of the opposing players. It seems this is the new rule we are playing too - the opponents are allowed onto your side of the net to put you off your game.

I decide that I can probably still manage with one of them trying to put me off and line up for a serve again. It's then that all the officials, the umpire and the ball-boys/ball-girls decide they want to join in as well and I'm suddenly lost in a mini-mosh pit of tennis folk all bumping and jostling each other as I try to make the serve.

A. B. C.

I'm walking along a ridge over what looks like an old railway track. There is a rough gravel path surrounded by tall trees and thick, thorny looking bushes on either side of the path.

After a short while, I see a route down onto the track. Some crude steps have been cut into the bank leading down to it, but even with this, it's still a vertical drop down there. There are two blue ropes pinned into the earth either side of the drop, presumably put there to act as a hand hold on your way up and down.

I decide to go down and walk along the path. It's a bit scary scrabbling down the vertical drop, but I make it onto the path and carry on walking.

Suddenly something catches my eye in the bushes. A large, black form can be seen lurking in the undergrowth just up ahead of me, on the right. I stop and stare at it for a moment and it begins to move. I see the shape of a shoulder blade rise and fall in the slick, black form and my brain registers what is making that movement - a cat. A very, very large cat.

Somewhat alarmed, I turn and head back down the path to the steps cut into the side that I came down. I look back, but the black form has vanished, so I pause looking to see where it has gone.

Suddenly, about fifty metres or so down the path, two large black cats burst out of the hedgerow on the left and bounce around each other in the middle of the path. There is no doubt about it, they're big! Very big! My brain squeaks and tells me they're panthers and that leaving would be a good idea.

I begin to scramble back up the slope, to get away from these things just in case they decide to take an interest in me. My heart is racing with excitement and my brain is telling me that I've just seen an 'Alien Big Cat'.

Green Thumb

The plant on my desk is getting out of control. It seems to have gone on a mad growth spurt over the last few days and is spilling out of its pot in all directions. Leafy tendrils are making their way across my desk and threatening to envelop my monitor.

That isn't the real issue though. The real issue is that I'm apparently growing a particularly strong strain of cannabis on my desk. The little buds are sprouting out all over and there is a familiar, herb scent emanating from the thing.

This is naturally an unfortunate place to grow such a plant, even if it does seem to be doing rather well. I decide that I must hide it away so as to not incriminate myself so I scoop up its pot and make my way outside to stash it in the boot of my car till I can find a more suitable place for it.

Quite how I came to be growing this thing, I have no idea and even as I'm walking out with it, I have no clue how it got there. I don't remember planting any seeds or getting given a plant from someone.

But still, I have it and so, assuming it makes it home safely and continues to flourish, I might as well enjoy it. I return to my desk with the idea of installing a growing lamp in the boot of my car rattling around in my head. No-one would ever think to look there... would they?

I think this one stems from a plant growing in the office. It's apparently a Dorset Naga chili plant and that is rumoured to be the strongest chili in the world. Everyone is slightly frightened of it.

Festival

This one is very likely the result of me ordering a ticket to the Sonisphere festival last night. Something tells me that might be a little bit more 'rock and roll' than this dream, but Rammstein are headlining there. Sadly no clue who Cindy is however.

I'm wandering amongst the crowd at a music festival. The curious thing is that it seems to be indoors, inside a large auditorium. Despite there being quite a crowd, everyone is quiet and polite as they stand waiting for a band to appear on stage.

Some people who apparently know me, call me over to where they are stood and I make my way through the crowd towards them. Standing with them is a tall girl with bright blond hair, dyed pink at the ends. She is wearing a lime green jacket, cut-off jeans and black baseball boots. She looks a little bored and the people who called are shuffling sideways away from her as I arrive.

As I approach, they tell me they have to go somewhere else, but this girl, who is called Cindy, is totally into the band just like I am so we should hang out. With that, they turn and are consumed by the crowd leaving the two of us standing looking at each other.

After a moment or two, I suggest we should go move towards the front as we'd can still get up close to the stage. She nods, smiling and takes my hand leading me through the crowd towards the stage. We're able to walk right up to the stage - there are no barriers and no 'scrum' of people close by. We stand right at the front, resting our elbows on the stage.

There are people mulling about on stage, setting up microphone stands and plugging in instruments. I watch them for a bit, thinking they look vaguely familiar and then I recognise them as the band members of Rammstein. Somewhat starstruck, I'm lost for words, but Cindy calls out to them and they troop over to us for a quick chat before they play their show. They are very polite and tell us they've reserved us some seats right at the front so we can get the best view.

We thank them and turn to see row upon row of seats have appeared and people are gradually filling them up. In the middle, right at the front are two gigantic purple chairs, a bit like cinema seats (and indeed they have drinks and snacks stuffed into the arms!) and they are lit by strings of purple fairy lights all around them.

Cindy tugs on my arm towards the chairs but first insists that, because it's a festival and inevitably mucky, we should leave our shoes at the barriers so as not to muck up the chairs. Slightly baffled by this, I nod and agree and now shoeless, we scamper across to the chairs and bounce up into them and begin munching popcorn waiting for the show to start.

Destruction

Waves of brilliant orange and yellow flame roll across the land, obliterating everything in their path. It's as if the sea turned to fire and flooded the land.

I am in a car and the road before me rips and shatters, as if it were made of glass, the fragments exploding upwards in a fountain of colour. Cars and their passengers are tossed aside and pounded to nothingness in the wreckage. The land all around is ripped to pieces, buildings disintegrating and people screaming and dying at the chaos.

I drive on through it, quite, calm, happy. I knew this was coming and I knew this was right. It brings me peace. I am content in all the destruction.

(Folsom) prison blues

I'm in prison. I've been sentenced to four months for aggravated assault. What happened was that I was myself assaulted by a man, but I beat him up so badly that it wasn't considered self-defense anymore.

I'm doing alright in prison. I'm writing a new book, and working out. There's an annoying lack of internet. But I get to eat what I want.

Angry Cosplay

I'm walking through a crowd with a friend who is in costume. It's a costume I helped them make and it consists mostly of paint.

They are meant to be an alien and they are sporting a deep red colour scheme, merging with brilliant white on their chest and stomach. There are a multitude of shades blended into the red on their arms, legs and back, and it is dappled with pale grey spots. Upon their head they are wearing a very elaborate 'domed' hat that is also suitably blended with their colour scheme.

Having seen my work, another friend wants the same outfit making for them only they want their colours to be cream and pale purple.

Suddenly the crowds are gone and I'm walking alone along the road. Two men are walking in the opposite direction and one of them - a short, angry fellow in a green bomber jacket - bumps into me. He becomes angry at this and starts shouting and threatening me whilst his companion tries to calm him down. I do my best to ignore him and walk through the door of the hotel I'm staying at hoping he'll take the hint and stop harassing me.

He doesn't, and as I climb the stair case he runs after me, but this hotel isn't like any other hotel in the world. There are endless doorways that lead to endless rooms and unless you know how it works, you'll be lost forever. As he runs up the stairs after me, I nip through a small doorway on my left and I chuckle to myself that if he's stupid enough to follow, he'll be wandering in here forever.

The door I took opens to my apartment in the hotel where various friends are gathered, all enjoying polite conversation. The only problem with this is that there's a queue formed for the bathroom and ignoring the conversation, I sit and fidget, waiting my turn for the bathroom.

Wedding Bags

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.

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.

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.