Celestial Flight

My dream leads me along a sunny country lane. I sense that my point of view is 6 inches higher than normal - am I floating? I take the liberty of turning my body horizontal and find I am able to partially control the dream. I glide up spiralling granite steps which morph into the carved feathers of an angel and here I sit singing with a boy's unbroken voice - a tiny insect held by the warm air pressure flying high high snug in those safe wings.

The rest of the night was filled with nightmares dominated by a giant Keanu Reeves slicing his arms open.

Yellow Dress

I get invited to this Roman toga party and end up wearing a lemon yellow nylon nightie and a blonde wig. Too much yellow I think - not very flattering - and the wig changes to black but is inside out.  I am  younger and more muscular than usual. 

Am I safe? I wonder as I clamber through a burrow into the town's library. 

I get the odd look but no-one is really aggressive and the overall feeling is one of liberation.

Quackery Smackery

Following his eviction from Big Brother we watch clips of Robert Kilroy Silk performing conjuring tricks where he removes people's intelligence.  The audience is transfixed. He used this device to attract voters but his shallow campaign has been exposed and now, even within his own crazy party, he is reduced to a laughing stock.

Back To Basics

A statue of Lenin high in the mountains is illuminated by artificial flames. I am finishing a week's drawing course here and I am the only student to have achieved nothing.  As dusk falls I set out with inadequate materials.  I wear a necklace I have found hoping this will give me inspiration but I am not optimistic. I decide all I can do is to make a series of small noctural landscapes- anything to get me going again.

Overwhelming Mass Of Disaffected

This was no normal demo of environmentalists and ramblers - this was an expanding rabble in search of rest and sustenance. We knew they were due to arrive but little had prepared us for the large numbers gathering below our glass room.  

"Dont give them one inch," says our friend, "we have to be tough otherwise the next generation will swamp and destroy us." 

Assault On Kid Gloves

Hanging in the sky are Mum's many pairs of kid gloves, which a rabble of street children are fighting over.  

She is unfairly accused by the law and loses her licence temporarily. The moral to all potential jurors is the police sometimes lie in order to attain their required monthly record of convictions.

Buried Wood

There are three short lengths of 3" X 2" half buried in a hole in the ground. 

Did I put them there or have I just uncovered them? 

Should I dig them deeper into the soil and hope they will break down or might they take root and grow into tall pine trees?

Light Touch

There are four of us presenting our work. 

I show a laborious sequence of images first. 

A woman paints everything royal blue including a local factory chimney. Its big and showy stuff but touches no-one.  

But it is the last that is the simplest and has most impact. A man directs us to concentrate on our breath and all of a sudden I am transformed and have stopped worrying about the poverty of my own contribution.

Lizard Man

I glimpse a man with the head of a lizard walking past an empty room.

Underground Performance Artist

At the end of the show a performance artist clambers down from the stage into a hole below the trapdoor. There he slips into a coffin his actions unseen. The audience is entralled but even more so when it is revealed that his sister has been patiently lying in a neighbouring chamber throughout the whole evening, checking that everything is in place.

Although the performance has officially finished the cast from Coronation Street troop in to watch.

Meat Beat

I have heard about this art installation where participants are encouraged to paint with raw meat. At the entrance of a dark labyrinthine warehouse you buy a big slab of meat and then whack it against the walls of the building. Some have a much more delicate approach but everyone is covered in blood. I didn't really want to get dirty but now I find myself slamming the meat against the wall leaving red and yellow marks- its revolting but sort of pretty.

A New Home

I have wandered out of a big party and am now somewhere in North London near Dalston Junction. How am I going to get back? I am shown pictures of a building with a central tower which is being offered to me for £35000. I can afford that - I am keen to buy it.

Unexpected Visitor

I am in a flat with a friend and my old dog Dilwyn waiting for someone to return. I am anxious.

Who or what are we expecting?

We see a figure at the front door window- is this my childhood home? It's Mum , but it's late, and why is she here? 

She hasn't knocked. She is on the mobile (she doesn't have a mobile). Her face is heavily made up, with bright red lips. she looks younger, different. glamorous somehow. She has been out somewhere mysterious. 

I rush to clear up because the place is in a mess.

A Lifeline

I have learnt to draw a lifetime using one line.

J has just died- her husband sinks into a state of depression.

How can I demonstrate that unravelling the life that has departed will draw in a lifeline, hauling her out of a slump?

The Invisible Meal

The restaurant is in grey twilight. There is no real food but a waitress convincingly goes through the motions of serving up a meal. She suggests smells and tastes so precisely that some customers actually believe they are eating.

I go along with this game and make to pay her. It occurs to me that I am possibly being ripped off but I don't seem to mind too much as I enjoy the conversation with her where I describe the dish as tasting lighter than air.

"Did you fold it in on itself so that there were layers?" she asks me, "Because then it is quite crispy."

I admit that I did not and question whether I have in fact missed a genuine experience here.

The Important Message

I have organised a party and in Polish tradition we are each to name a cause for us all to toast. The hall grows to accommodate perhaps 250 people. Music plays and one by one each person offers their particular blessing into the mike. 

I have a short text in my notebook that I want to read.  It is the reason I assembled everyone in the first place, so I am desperate and excited for my turn to arrive. 

I ask for the deafening William Tell overture to be turned down. The audience continues chattering loudly.

"PLEASE...LISTEN," I beg them, "this is such an important message." 

And I turn to my book to find the passage, but of course the page is missing. 

Deadly Silence

Pauline Fowler is fronting a  Family Values Campaign with other stars from Eastenders and Coronation Street. The downfall of the nuclear family signals the breakdown of society, she proclaims.

She sits on stage and is confronted by an onslaught of challenges: "Isn't it true you believe homosexuality should be outlawed?"

Her head bowed piously she answers nothing . Her silence says it all. 

Death Bed

Kev has come back to life again.  He has been pleasure seeking around the world and now has a new partner and wants to return home. He looks just as he did when I first met him twenty or so years ago. I am filled with a sense of dread.

Later an image of a death bed - cold and single.

A Fine Scooter But How Does It Start?

B has a neat little scooter parked on a steep hill in Chelsea. She can't get it to start or the brakes won't work. We set off and she crashes into an expensive car crushing it. 

Further downhill nothing is working properly. A young lad on another scooter stops to help - you are wearing the wrong kind of shoes, he advises.

The two of them start to caress each other - I tell him to move on which he does rolling sensuously over a youth and his girlfriend.

Pink Lips and Dead Mice

I am stopped in the street by three straight lads, "Come to our party, come on, I'll kiss you on the lips, " one says jokingly.  

"OK," I challenge him and he does and his lips are pink and wet and lovely.

We step over piles of dead mice. So many mice everywhere.

Shirt Sermon

I deliver an improvised speech/sermon on my eating habits and collection of shirts telling anecdotes about each one. I have no trouble entertaining the small crowd until M comes in late hurling abuse at me.  She upsets herself more than anyone else and gets little sympathy.

Angel At The Window

On my first night at the Friary I meet one of the other artists in residence - a tall man who tells me he is going to spend the two weeks recreating a Brueghel painting. I am about to say I understand where he is coming from but it will not leave him free to experiment or let things happen. As I speak I look out of the window and see a colourful figure- is it Brueghel's Icarus?- flying through the air. Then an angel- "I don't believe it," I say,  but there are no wires. To my left a Victorian winter scene appears with a coach and horses - the coachman (Howard from Take That) is wearing shades and laughs as the whole image falls apart.

Corpse In the Boot

We are on the run- this woman and I. A corpse is concealed in the boot of our car- not that we did anything wrong but it could all be so badly misconstrued. 

Our adventures take us from Surrey into Berlin, where the cops pull us over. We lose them in a noisy procession racing past orgiastic scenes from Hieronymous Bosch - it all looks very appealing but we have no time. Someone offers us a hiding place in South America. 

Life is exciting.

Stool Shame

I am sitting on a high stool at an art gallery opening and find myself taking a shit surreptitiously through the hole in the seat. Suddenly I become aware of what I am doing and am mortified. I stand up thinking maybe nobody has noticed but the stench is terrible and it is getting everywhere. Everybody is talking about it. I am very apologetic explaining how this has never happened to me before.

Whose Script Is This Anyway?

I'm in the wings about to go onstage. My part is insignificant yet if I forget it the whole play falls apart. I frantically check my one line.

"I don't think I ever believe something I can't see," I am supposed to say.

The line makes no sense to me yet I am putting so much effort into quoting it correctly.

Invasion Of Privacy

The ice creams at the New York stall are big and heavy and expensive. The androgynous saleswoman asks to see my cell phone and scrolls through my internet contacts and visits. Her eyebrows raise at a couple of them- "There are some surprises here," she says, " the best place for you is the old art cinema in Berlin - the Berlinerkino." 

Mother Fist

I am woken by someone gently knocking at the door.  A woman in her late 50's enters with a one year old boy.  I climb out of bed and the child grasps my hands. Except this child is so deformed that his whole body is in the form of one big hand. And what a grip he has on me! He holds so tightly! I try to hide my revulsion. 

"You will have problems with that grip as he gets older," I say to the woman, "he is only One and already he is unmanageable."  Heavy medication will be the inevitable solution, I think to myself.

A Lost Cause

Charlie, a young male student and I are visiting a huge college.  The student is considering applying to study here. Although he has no appointment, he wants to speak directly to the Head, so we follow the arrows to his office. The corridors become more complex, stairs leading up one moment and down the next. Now there are no more clear directions but the naive student marches on regardless.  I find myself lagging behind doubting the whole exercise.

A Moral Choice

From my window I can see a young man driving a digger through awkward country tracks. An accident happens. I signal that I will bring down my first aid kit but by the time I arrive his hand is bandaged.

The digger is a right off.  What should he do?

I think for a moment and say, if you do a runner you will always worry that you will get caught. He decides to stay.

Eventually his boss turns up in a tiny tractor- a friendly old boy who acknowledges how difficult it is to manoever around these lanes. 

Stupid Game

I have come to meet Penny who is down on the beach. The Prime Minister, Gordon Brown, is playing golf high up on the cliff edge.  He looks very in shape - strong freckled back and tight shorts over rugby player thighs.  I want to avoid him, but inevitably the ball gets hit over the ridge.

"Can you throw us the ball back, Penny?" he shouts down. I'm impressed he knows her name. She tosses it badly so that it lands by my feet. I notice it is old and cracked. I can't go on hiding now- he's bound to see me. I step out to chuck it back although I hate throwing balls because I am so crap at it.  

"If you don't mind my saying, Prime Minister," I comment, "playing golf on the edge of a cliff seems a little bit stupid."

Water Carriers

A narrow street. A man walks towards me carrying a glass box of water on his shoulder.  Another man carries more water in the opposite direction.

The Head And The Hand

A mundane scene. In the far corner of a classroom N is sitting at a desk. His face is completely covered by a canvas mask. On his right hand is a canvas puppet. Silent and spooky. It is impossible to focus on both the head and the hand at the same time.  Even though I know exactly how it is operated, it is the handpuppet whose message intrigues me.

A Homosexual's Self Confidence

I have let myself into N's flat and am luxuriating in a hot bath. I hear him at the front door. Do I have to get out to let him in? No he has his own set of keys. 

I knew I would not have to move, that I was in the right and the world would bend to fit around me. 

I have an image of layers of true stories I have told throughout my life - these are a real part of me and cannot be denied by any bonkers religion.

BACK AGAIN

SORRY I haven't posted anything for a long while.  The dreamdiary in Ireland came to a close and I needed a break and thereafter was preoccupied working on Duckie's GAYSHAME. 

Read some quote from TS Lawrence about not living your life in the dusty recesses of your nightly dreams but acting out your dreams in your daily life. Sometimes I wonder whether I am hiding away from life by getting so absorbed in my dreamlife but it seems to come out into the light of day quite enough and a blog is as good as any to get that process started.

Got a few ideas for a fresh start here - it will take a while to get things organised and meanwhile I think I might just start reposting dreams as a gentle way back into this peculiar world.

TV Liberty

A stamp on the 10th of January in my diary. All the extras in Coronation Street gather in an aerial shot of the street singing the US national anthem. The telly is really pushing home this liberty/land of the free theme at the moment.

No Dream Recalled

Nothing recalled.

Fragment Of Song

A French boy tries to recall a very sweet song- something like- "Je ne reste..." (...I am not staying...or I can't rest/stay)

Psychedelic Trip

We are divided into groups for our sex training programme. The seats are arranged like an IMAX cinema. The lights go off and we feel like we are moving. People scream but I am familiar with this so am not alarmed. Our seats turn upside down- it's fantastically realistic to the point where I start to feel a little on edge. Out of the darkness a full moon appears. As it gets brighter it turns into an image from one of my drawings - how have they done that I wonder? The picture is like a willow pattern but blown up large. Then this turns 3D sprouting white geometric paper shoots until my whole area of vision is filled. The effect is amazing- almost scarey but I am not afraid.

We Miss The Bus In Malta

I am in -it could be - Malta with a young male friend who is vaguely familiar. We have missed our bus and so are taking a different route on the 38. There are no buses from this small village. The friend pops into a little Italian cafe. Is he asking for transport advice I wonder but no he is speaking in fluent Italian asking for Dorritos (of course he is half Italian himself). I can't quite remember what they are but end up asking for them as well.

Hectoring Professor

I am with a group of about 10 people involved in something similar to Desert Island Discs. If there were only 5 foods left in the world which would we each choose to survive on? Similarly which 5 books would we keep? A bearded professor chooses 5 unfamiliar spices from the Middle East. He thought he should be experimental. His books are all chosen from non-Western sources. He challenges one student (a smug devout Christian from my college days) on all his choices. I am slightly suspicious of this professor as he seems to be goading the others to alter their decisions. I am excluded from his hectoring due to my safe (and cowardly) choice to include the Qur'an in my otherwise Western selection.

Slave Shits Gold

A boy has been captured and a gold collar placed round his neck impossible to remove. He has become a slave to someone reminiscent of Putin. Now when he shits it turns to gold - the slave owner is rich.

Andy Warhol For London President

Andy Warhol has expressed an interest in standing as the new London President. The Labour leader has said she would immediately put him in position if she were in power and the Liberal Democrats have also agreed. It's such an exciting thought. I look back over reels of footage showing Andy's amazing imagination at work. I wonder if maybe people would come to love him, but in my heart I know that his effeminacy would enrage too many and he would never last.

Gloomy Ice Restaurant

Kat and I walk into an ice restaurant. The interior is disappointing. A couple of people sit dejectedly at side tables. Bare chipboard walls are exposed by gaps in between the sparse patches of ice.

Monster In My Pond

In my garden pond I notice what looks like a giant toad about 2 foot wide. It can hardly move- the pond just about accommodates its size. As I look closer I see there is an even bigger monster opposite it - a huge slimey octopus with three extra extensions on each of its eight tentacles. It rises up and lurches towards the toad. The most horrific battle ensues. What am I going to do with this thing??? I can hardly fish it out. Euurghhh! I feel sick...

Happy new year gentle reader!