Flizzm

I am examining ceiling tiles in some (office-esque) environment that I know is both owned and under construction by the Disney Corporation. The tiles are quite unusual and seem to consist of three tiles fixed together to form one element – this 'sandwich' effect is visible when one looks at the edge. I look at the black trim/supporting framework and am left with no doubt as it says 'manufactured by Disney' in imprinted letters-

I am then in some sort of wider lobby area (with Kay Emm?). Whoever it is accompanying me is looking at a colourful abstract painting on the wall – a 'Van Doonan'(?) no less! - and, in spite of my spotting his signature, she/they nearly tip it up and off the wall in trying to turn it around to verify. Only my quick reactions save the painting (and day)-

Zarple

I am with my good comic artist friends John Miller and Ay Ess. They have both produced wonderful (and wonderfully different) new comic strips. John is working in a strange but beautiful stripped-back pencil style, fluid and rounded. I am puzzled by how unlike his usual work it is. On the other hand Ay has produced a slick, realistic piece – I'm looking at a lovely three quarters splash (page) of a woman with such delicate linework and lovely, sympathetic feathering inks that give it/her superb shape and depth. I'm so happy, if a little jealous (and crushed) that they've both upped their respective games-

On closer inspection John's work becomes almost like a slide, an immersive, layered experience that I am almost inside, a strange, fuzzy, black and white film-esque image that gently shifts as I explore it, looking around within it with my eyes-

Hyikt

“The City of the Killer Wasp” An animation made I quite a hectic style. It takes me a while to work out the title as I am baffled by the Megaman/Astroboy hybrid of the titular character (and further confused by the rapid and blurry cutting-

It seems the titular Killer Wasp is vanquishing some (Despicable Me-esque) baddie from his domain – a sort of mountainous city HQ – by sticking him in a barrel and sending him tumbling down the cityside. The barrel, upon reaching a sort of docks/waterside area splits apart and dumps this unfortunate villain in the water. The Killer Wasp converses with his sidekick – and I am sort of involved – as it seems the baddie has suddenly vanished. Did they successfully get him or not?-

Brilluce

mytalk1071.com

I am in quite a tight (but tall) unfurnished room. The walls are smooth and painted a deep blue colour. The underground comic writer Cee Cee is present and, recognising me, he and I chat. I am then amazed to see the underground comic artist Kay Ess there and I bundle myself up under a duvet (behind some sort of basic timber stud construct?) and (sort of) surprise him when he eventually uncovers me-

There's a moment of tension when Kay Ess, standing over to the right of the room, narrowly (though he does not notice) avoids being struck by a piece of MDF structure that falls (sluggishly, silently) from the ceiling. It seems that Cee Cee (inadvertently) triggered this near accident. There are two of these drawer-like MDF pieces semi-fixed to the underside of the floor above and they form the bottom of some sort of gaming chair/install. The second piece, potentially the middle, has two short, light blue coloured furry legs that dangle down and, as I fit the fallen piece into place, I marvel at the effort that has gone into (making) it-

I am then exploring the rest of this flat, a giant room in an (almost) half teardrop shape with a high ceiling – enough space to accommodate a speedway track (in my dreamescape opinion). The walls are painted deep purple and are covered with rather primitive graffiti, mostly rendered in a silver spray paint – a lot of the art is similar to the PWEI or Jesus Jones motifs. We – there are other people present, viewing the flat – all speculate on what happened to the (previous) occupant (who I assume to be a male 'metalhead'). Has he been quite suddenly evicted, and why? Or has he passed away? Of course, my 'metalhead' theory is somewhat confounded by the elaborate centerpiece of this great room – a huge display-cum-open wardrobe. There are hundreds of neatly ironed shirts hanging in well organised rows and many pairs of shoes stored in tidy open drawers for ease of access-

I am at the home of the actor Bruce Willis, an impressive, slender sandstone building with neat white window frames and two smaller corresponding buildings, one for each of his daughters(?). Taken together the three buildings form a private inner courtyard of sorts. The building belonging to his youngest daughter (15 or so years old, the elder 21-ish) is very slim and accessed by external curved stone steps. She is some sort of sculptor/jewellery maker and Bruce is rightly proud of her talents-

I am huddled somewhat by a bunch of people, one of whom in our unavoidable proximity I recognise to be Claire (? a complete, yet familiar, creation of the dreamescape). She has pleasant, plain features with large, slightly sad eyes and sleepy, hooded lids. Her hair is cut short in a boy-ish style. (Is she like an actress from the film The Commitments?).

We are delighted to see each other and even more so when she tells me she has a baby boy. ...the only thing is her child is tiny! He's not only minute but he's (not far off from being) the exact double of the cartoon Mickey Mouse (right down to wearing the same clothes). He sits in the palm of Claire's hand and stares upward, mouthing/gesticulating happily – there is a long lingering 'shot' of him doing just this. I say that I guess he must be bottle fed as his tiny mouth would never be able to accommodate a nipple. Suddenly the wee boy/mouse is off and running and I am terrified he will be accidentally squashed in our efforts to catch him as he dashes in and about the skirting board-

Kruzzle

I have just moved into my new home (alone, it would seem, although a young woman with long blonde hair seems to be on the peripheral of the dreamescape and a few times I seek her out to ask her some quick-answer questions about the place, though she makes little further impression on me). There is a large sloping Velux window (that feels like it should be a roof/attic access but it looks to be just above ground level). Also located in its vicinity is a a perspex dome – instinct tells me the previous owner installed this. Two soft toys, one of which is the cartoon character Krtek (Mole) are perched on the rim of the supporting structural framework within which the dome is fitted- 

The basement is a vast, dark cavern and twice, when looking towards the stair/entrance, I can almost discern a menacing monster taking shape to the right. It seems to merge and emerge from its surroundings – part of my fear stems from my inability to asses its shape, to judge the actual threat – and is slow and ill-defined, its mouth yawning like some great, warped Jim Henson creation (complete with closed glove puppet throat). Both times I escape just as the creature begins to consolidate in form and activity- 

From the Velux window I watch several (what are best described as) futuristic dropships – white, compact jets with stubby engines that rotate as required for flight and landings – fly in over the house and and touch down in a nearby yard. (It's as if the Velux window moves around with me to follow the flow of the action, as I always sense that I am looking through it as events unfold. Similarly, I often talk to someone unseen in order to voice my thoughts/concerns, the dreamescape by turns crowded and solitary.) At this point I remark to someone that something big is going down as, duh!, look at all the activity. Shortly, looking away from this landing site, with its blunt, functional military-esque buildings, it's as if I suddenly realise a section of a great towering building is crashing to the ground. I commentate on the scene as it unfolds and as my minds puts it into focus – or is it in fact one of the dropships taking an unexpected tumble? I rush and open the front door(?) of the house and am confronted by a scene of apocalyptic devastation – shell-shocked civilians stumbling aimlessly amidst ruins and debris, the air thick with dust, draining the scene of colour, giving the entire scene a grey, washed-out look. I stand and gesticulate, keen that the dazed survivors come indoors to (relative) safety. I distinctly recall a young-ish woman with long curly ginger hair ambling by blankly, her eyes wide and uncomprehending- 

The sloping Velux window (now) has a brown sheet over the bottom half, pinned (by the previous owner) in place at each corner. I try to take the sheet down, quite a tricky operation that puts me at an awkward stretch as I reach out for it. The sheet is almost like parchment paper and comes away easily in my hand, perishing as it does so- 

I am gripped and hugged suddenly, the dreamescape now populated by jolly couples congratulating me, talking of how they popped by for a surprise (to me!) housewarming party. One chap in particular, a smiling, heavy-set fellow with curly hair and a pencil moustache, lingers in the mind, having hugged me (too) enthusiastically. I am uncomfortable with this large uninvited throng and hope to usher them out the door- 

Again I experience the same tense event twice. It seems everyone is crowding onto the stairs (down, near the Velux?) and tempers are slowly fraying. At the furthest point from me – I am looking down onto the scene, the stairs going away from me down to a landing then turning and continuing down – on the far corner of the landing an argument or fight seems to be breaking out. A sharp featured youth, freckled with blond curls, is lashing out at a young girl who is squashed in near to him. The whole group react to this outbreak, by turns protesting and squealing- 

(In the midst of this) a young, thin British Asian guy, with a long, finely featured face and a shock of inky dark curly hair is working on the house electrics. There are miscellaneous wires hanging from the wall at about head height and he is turning a screw to adjust something (held in place by pieces of yellow plastic). Have I (also) witnessed this before or am I watching closely to learn how to do these repairs myself? He remarks on the quality of the electrical install – we both agree it is poor- 

To access the house there is a long cobble lane – about 3 metres wide – with tall grey painted hoardings on each side. The cobbles are damp and wet, and the scene disappears in a straight line into the misty distance. As I am walking up the lane an Indian woman in her mid 50's, wearing a colourful sari/trouser outfit, is coming towards me. She is the tarot/fortune teller who works/lives here – there are two gates in the hoarding to my right which have some such worded signage on them (as well as the word 'GOD' spray painted in red). As she sashays towards me she says, in passing, “God” and I reply something about not saying that as I've had a weird weekend and it freaks me out. She is quite amused by this proclamation and continues her leisurely, and slightly sensual, stroll- 

I am talking to a man who has approached me in the lane and am angered when he asks me if I would allow for it to be narrowed. He owns a glass company and it would be to his benefit as it would make his storage yard, currently jam packed with great slabs of glass, stored upright in protective timber frames, much larger. I take umbrage at this suggestion as I feel the only reason he is being polite to me is because of this very reason, and I make sure that he registers my annoyance/disappointment-

Zatzyl

I am with my friend Aye Dubya. The environment is unclear, but it is bright and fresh, I guess a family living room - I am conscious of his father sitting in a comfy armchair to our left - but no other details spring to mind, the dream being quite focussed. Aye's mother, looking as she did many years ago, comes to join us. She is dressed in a red billowy top, tied at the waist, that hangs down to above her knees. She wears light grey, slightly loose trousers under this. She sits cross-legged on the floor directly in front of Aye's father. She is chatty and amused, wondering how we missed the news, brandishing her phone to show us something- 

It is Denzl Washington. He is standing with an acoustic guitar slung over his shoulder, wearing nothing but tight Speedos, his hair long-ish and unkempt, a great wild bushy beard sprouting from his chin. He seems to be quite stoned, unaware of his (domestic) surroundings, gently ambling on the spot, his mind evidently otherwise occupied. There seems to be someone lying on the floor of the room he's in. Aye's mother mentions Prins (?), a female who is also part of this (sexual) scandal. It seems two other people were also involved. Aye and myself (to our own amusement), practically as one voice comment on how Denzl seems to be going through the motions, that he has no idea what's going on and that he just happens to be there. There's an additional flash of the Denzl scene, one where there are several more musicians sporting guitars gathered in the same room- 

There follows a very brief clip of the cartoon character Taz who seems to be restrained in a chair in a large laboratory. Suddenly a large, suggestive sausage shape bulges out from under his chin, curving down over his belly. That is all there is of the clip and Aye Dubya and I discuss how and why it was banned. Taz then, as we are treated to the whole scene, seems to shit a large acorn, beginning with the cupule - which is a gentle, Starburst purple colour - followed by the shell (and plenty of cartoony splashes and drips) which matches the colour of his creamy shirtfront- 

The main boy from 13 Reasons Why is living in a top floor space, accessed via a steep staircase. He is wearing glasses and seems to be knocking people senseless and killing them. The atmosphere is very tense and I seem frightened into silence by events, struggling to articulate. 4 guys turn up with polythene bags of photos, and they seem to be discussing how they had a deal that he'd make some books up from these as agreed- 

https://www.orbmag.com

I am talking to someone - who admittedly looks a little like Thomas Fehlmann - as we listen to The Orb's 'No Sounds Are Out Of Bounds' album. He wonders who the music is by, remarking that it really is very good. I am particularly enthused, and begin praising the final 3 tracks, noting how they almost form a piece, both of us agreeing how they seem to recall a particular period/style of Berlin techno-