Stohglleh

I am in a taxi driving through a cyberpunk-esque cityscape, a plethora of towering skyscrapers formed from great cubes twisted at all angles, cluttered and imposing. I am seated in the front (but am neither driving nor aware of a driver) and my old primary school acquaintance/crush Jay Eff (plus others?) sits in the back. Giant multi-armed monkey/chimp holograms loom overhead reaching in between the buildings as if to pluck cars from the passing traffic. Both these huge apparitions sport opaque aviator shades-cum-goggles. This strange scene seems to occur twice, as if seeing and experiencing a second time is believing, but still manages to chill and confuse – are these massive apes actually real?-

The taxi is now driving along right at the edge of some docklands, the water some 2-3 metres below. The taxi drops neatly – I see this from above – into the water, landing with a neat splash, drifting on the surface, yet to sink as if deciding what to do. I look across at my (now realised) passenger, a young black man in a trendy porkpie-esque hat. He seems relaxed, unconcerned, but his eyes betray him, widening with fear. Clambering out through the window of the cab I make my way on to a sort of concrete support, a massive buttress that seems to have slid out from under the pier to save us from sinking/drowning. I am happy to see that Jay Eff has already escaped, spotting her in the dimness climbing nimbly from support to structure-

Suddenly it is as if we are making a playlist of obscure Beck tracks and (re)mixes – the names float up into view, settling themselves, superimposing their basic graphics over a safety ladder that drops down to the water's edge from above. Beck himself(?) is impressed with the selection but not so taken with the graffiti tag that one of us has created to go along with it. He makes his own version over to the left, a sort of (amateurish and unimpressive) polythene circle/target pinned back to a support in the centre-

Three big b*llocks-

Gwozzt

Myself and Kay Emm are talking to a stern old lady with grey hair cut in a sharp 'bob' style. She is pressing us to return to a house/flat to complete some checks on an architectural survey we have done (even though the two properties are identical?)... It seems this will problematic due to the presence of a 12 year old girl(?), but the old lady stands firm-

The flat is on the top floor of a tenement-esque block and Kay Emm and I approach it from the left. The property has what looks like a large dormer construct that protrudes from both the front and back of the roof's peak, effectively forming a grand rectangular room. However the space has no roof of itself and is entirely open to the elements-

Kay Emm and I are now on the roof – in spite of my fear of heights passers-by seem to saunter along at (a reassuring) eye-level – and we look down into this (traditionally furnished) kitchen area. A man and (as predicted) his (innocuous) young daughter are there-

To the rear of the property, some distance away, an imposing (concrete) block of flats rises some ten storeys into the air. In the flash of a (silent) explosion and a puff of dust the building is quickly demolished, sending a sudden rush of crisp autumn leaves scudding in our direction. This is followed by a wave broken branches that fly dangerously past our rooftop vantage point. I manage to catch one of these pieces of timber debris and use it to successfully bat away any further bits that are flying toward our exposed position-

Arbrab

Red leather pepper lung-

A young, naked Barbra Streisand huddled under the bedsheets. “I can make you pick.”-

Tutbic

I am changing into swimming shorts behind a sort of timber canvas upright structure. There's some anxiety that the nearby waitresses(?) can see my p*nis (they can't) and I fret about my (not actually naked) nudity-

I am walking along a slender concrete lip at the seawater's edge. To my left the lip slopes sharply upwards to the pier/promenade about 2 metres above. I entertain myself by singing (with a sort of applied tuneful echo) my perceived lyrics to King Biscuit Time's “I walk the earth, get stuck in the middle, can't see your love, can't feel your love” refrain over and over, imagining I am thrilling the old couples who are passing by overhead-

I encounter a very old man a couple of times. He has a drawn, lined face with a porkpie hat jammed low on his head, hooding his aged eyes. His bronzed body is sagging and weathered and he wears a baggy pair of canvas swimming shorts – one of the elderly swimmers in JAWS comes to mind. What's most striking and fascinating about this character is that on each forearm he has a large basketball sized (or bigger) sack of skin that has a surface mottled like that of a giant orange-

King Biscuit Time - I Walk The Earth

Deetlo

ArchDaily | Broadcasting Architecture Worldwide

I am at (another dreamescape approximation of) my old Ferry Road flat.... only it's a sturdy angular house with Art Deco stylings set in a large overgrown plot. The windows are absolutely shot, the rubber seals are limp and hanging off and when you close them over you can shift the pane in its hinges so much so you can see outside around the edges. A (shifty) builder type reassures me he can repair all this for free (as he's doing decoration works for £500)-

The Lawrence Hall of Science – The public science center of the University of California, Berkeley.

I am trying to scoop a beetle up from the (rough, woodland) internal floor and out one of the failing windows. I see a much larger armoured beetle part buried in the soil and nudge it with my shoe to see if it is alive. It certainly is and it vibrates and shifts angrily. I beat a retreat and on my way back(?) to the house I see a tiny badger, the first I've ever seen in my life. I then see a huge shaggy golden bear standing up on its hind legs. Aware of two other (vague) predators converging on me I race away from the house, dodging between the animals and heading for a forest. I race towards a fence but doubt I can scale it. Off to my left there seems to be some sort of elevated concrete stairway (to a car park?) and I implore my old Secondary school friend Pee Dee to help me up through the yellow tubular metal railings. He does(n't) succeed and I am aware of a huge, roaring pressure on the sides of my head – his grip or the bear's?-

I am talking to a girl from my old Kelburn Primary School (Ell Ay Dee?) and it seems she and three others, including my early crush Jay Eff, all died in a hovercraft accident. We guess this means I am dead too. With nothing else for it I pair off with Jay, commencing my stilted chat up – I am now outside the scene watching the both of us – with, "it's very cold isn't it....”-

Nonnel

I am in some dreamescape underground walkway/tunnel. I am semi-stuck behind a delicate young woman who is dressed very chic with tremendously long streaky blonde hair. As she is on her phone (seemingly taking pointless selfies) she is meandering all over, making it awkward for me to squeeze past. When I see her – is she talking about 'some c*nt' - having finally passed I realise she is very pretty, with strong sharp features and the most beautiful eyes-

I am now in an underground chamber watching some show about (motion) comics on a widescreen television. It is presented by a comedian called Sean (who I do not normally like). He has curly hair, ruddy cheeks and circular John Lennon glasses and I am affected when he gets quite emotional with a James Cosmo-alike comic book artist. The James fellow, with a great bushy beard, beams a wide smile into the camera, his eyes filled with tears. (I imagine my artist friend Jay Dee is watching and similarly moved.) The end titles feature Batman (as drawn by the artist Scott Snyder) battling with a hoodlum in the back seat of a car-

https://alchetron.com

I go the wrong way along a tunnel, diverted by some maintenance works – do I see the comedian Frankie Boyle working away at a typewriter in an underground office, or do I just know that he does? I remember thinking I really should give him some Braw Books. I don't want to make two trips but have no books on me-

There is a weird elevated entrance down to some further network of tunnels. For some (unknown) reason I clamber up towards the ceiling, in part tangling and part suspending myself between service pipes and a chunky utility box. I am certainly on CCTV-

I am now outside at some sort of red metal dispenser box, scrolling slowly through the menu of items. There are four French teens, two boys and two girls, hovering impatiently at my back. One youth (who looks like Lazzaro) jumps ahead on the menu and selects a box of matches, also my choice. I call him "you French b*stard!" and clock him on the nose, knocking him on to the seat of his pants. I break into the dispenser box, quite sure a single box of matches remains. There's a bag inside the box and tearing it open I see that inside that looks to be a box of matches (only it is all covered in splashes of pure orange juice). It isn't matches after all but some long clear plastic box for lighting timbers(?). I then attempt to repair the box, trying to fit a new bag of items in beside a burst old rucksack-

Kilnk

Myself and Kay Emm. We are walking together in Glasgow, near the rear of the Kelvin Hall (in a dreamescape approximation) and she leaves me/vanishes to play the first level of a (Nintendo) Link-esque console game – she knows it well and will breeze through it, after which I'll take a turn. I can monitor her progress (on a wristwatch?) by means of a sun icon that sort of bleeds into a melted sunset as she plays through-

I get in a taxi with four heavy Glasgow guys and we drive off (in the wrong direction?). It's like a bus in that you press a 'stop' button to get out (and, of course, I am anxious to time it right, especially given I'm already conscious we're travelling in the opposite direction). I also have no money! Maybe I can get £10 from a cash machine? I stop the taxi and everyone gets out. I keep meaning to mention my financial situation/intentions but am too scared to do so. As it is the four guys turn off to the left and I walk on, no one acknowledging this at all. I wonder how I will ever catch/meet up with Kay Emm again if I don't know the game that well.... I notice my left foot – my slippers are, I'm sure, waiting for me somewhere on the way along Argyll Street – is quite fat and bloated, my third and fourth toes blending (for an instant) into one. I need to get to the doctor and so continue walking, the loose skin now sagging off the bottom of my foot as I 'schlep' along with each awkward step-