Another dream from the Flensburg notebook.
My hand is injured. They operate, but leave it with a very thin bone for a wrist so it’s bound to snap at any time. The hand itself is also thin, but it works fine.
Weird. Could be a creepy short story. The notes were accompanied by a sketch, but it doesn’t add anything.
This is a good one from the dreambook.
There’s a red beetle. I think it’s a spider at first. I catch it in an old anorak’s zip pocket. Then I get home, and let it out. It limps because it was squashed in the pocket.
It wants to learn human knowledge, so I must think about topics for ages, while it sits on my hand and reads my mind.
Then one day it drowns for some reason. On its body is a small fungus thing, which is the real intelligence. The beetle was just its carrier, a la Aldiss’ Hothouse.
I was thinking of a Members Only. Not an anorak.
And now, more of the same!
I keep being caught and put in a Prisoner-style secret society of brainwashed people. The Leader is the guy who played Durand-Durand in Barbarella (Irish guy).
I’m running through the streets trying to organise an attack on the base (very fast).
Well this is just silly isn’t it. What “base”? You can tell what I’d been watching. The only problem is, does that make me Professor Ping, or Dildano?
Here we are again.
I bullshit my way into a band, saying I can play bass. I get away with it until our first gig. I’m putting my clothes on, but they say I must wear a dress.
When it comes to the gig. I use a ghettoblaster strung around my neck instead of a bass. They buy it.
And so it goes on. Classic imagery, along with a prescient idea about modern music performance. I think I’d try that if I were in a band now. If, if, if.
Another from the notebook.
I’m in hell. The Devil is Michael Hordern? He takes the piss out of my camera. The place I think is an airship gondola. One character is a tarty old woman.
It’s a good banquet, but all around are glass cages with weird animals doing nasty things to other weird animals. Henson-esque.
The Devil looks at me with a special telescope and says, “Aah, freight train”. He lets me look at him with it – he’s all numbers.
He shows me a book with all his conversational phrases in it.
Again, please explain what you think were the many many subtexts in the comments.
In early 1994 I traveled to Flensburg, Germany to study at the Fachhochschule for a semester. I took a notebook with me in which I wrote various scribbles, including a few dreams. When clearing out my Tooting flat for sale recently, I found the notebook, and I thought I’d stick them up here over the next few days.
I realize that telling people your dreams is pretty tedious and self-indulgent, but sinceÂ you’re reading this blog, you could say we’ve crossed that bridge already.
Here’s the first tale from the fabled Dreambook of Flensburg.
Me and some friends are sleeping in a VW camper. I wake to see strange lights. It turns out to be a load of meteorites. A few close calls. We are in Bedford Park Playground. One shoots from the direction of town over the van (v. close)
(The next day) Massive hole in the playing field over the hedge next to the school. I dig up the meteorite. It’s like a walnut, but with a brain in it.
A house nearby has a big gun in the front garden, with a pile of shells. A meteor narrowly misses them and hits the front door.
I didn’t embellish the text, so it’s as terse as it was when I scribbled it down. Feel free to add your analysis in the comments.
I’ve been in Chicago at the INCOSE Symposium, and before that I was in the UK visiting friends and family and selling my flat. I’ve got lots of ideas for work and for this blog, and much to catch up with when I return to the office on Monday.
In the meantime, my AT&T contract is up, so I’m going to get an Android phone from someone today.