Qurfantyl

I am in some sort of stylish conference space, several people seated at the semi-inset, high black topped round tables (for discussions) up a few steps, themselves black risers. I am most interested in a group of six (lesser) comic artists, chaired by a Larry(?), who will be interviewing Frank Quietly. I remember thinking, “who is this Larry to be quizzing such a phenomenal talent?”-

When I finally catch up with Frank he is with his youngest son who lies on the floor, a red tub over his head, toying with his mobile phone-

On leaving (the centre?) we meet up with his eldest son, all smiles and life-affirmed enthusiasm. At this point I lie on my back on the ground while the Quitelys trail a length of chocolate icing – somehow fashioned from multiple muffins – into my mouth. They/we somehow manage to extract this just as I am about to choke. As soon as I am able I quip, “well... that's how it is on the street!”, to much group hilarity-

Jeekroth

I am witness to some strange event taking place between an elderly man and a Joker-esque home invader. The invader is less theatrical than The Joker but has a cold, restrained manner about him, albeit violence seems to lurk just under his surface. There is some matter of the old man wishing to protect a timber tabletop from damage-

After some discussion it is agreed that the old man has five minutes in which to sit/live, as he and his (absent) wife love to do so, in a patch of warm sunlight that is beaming on to their carpet. The old fellow calmly pulls up a chair while the invader busies himself elsewhere. After some time the man's wife enters the room (presumably back home from wherever she has been). It seems the invader has since made himself scarce and I can only surmise that he has decided, given how peacefully and contentedly the old man has sat, to let him live-

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-

Kluhcin

My old Studio colleague Dee Arr and the (Animal Kingdom) actor Luke Ford are attempting to revive a rangy dreamescape version of The Incredible Hulk, his arms covered in tattoos, moptop hair perched on a gnarled, goggle-eyed face complete with hook nose and a mean, downturned mouth – very sombre and unsettling looking.

Eee EmmCeeVee (from my work) is quizzing me over a kettle – do I show him I've poured out the boiling water? - as Dee and his cohort succeed in inducing the Hulk to raise his arm-

Caampetraiicna

The Hollywood actor Chris Evans is dressed as Captain America (the stubbly non-helmet wearing version). We are in my house together with my parents and older brother. For some reason things are taking far too long so my brother, myself and our son(?) don't have time to go and visit our gran. We eat a meal of frustratingly bony fish-

Chris is going to play golf (“incognito!?” I jest). He and I stand face-to-face. He doesn't seem that tall, being about my height, but he is super fit, build almost like a slender action figure with obligatory exaggerated (but somehow still proportional) musculature. I ask him if he is still undertaking a training program – indeed, the whole dreamescape is almost like an interview in a sense. I think, but don't actually ask, about the complex technical versus physical process of actually making a MARVEL movie-

On a train we consider Skyping my gran only she has no internet-

I am now driving a car and we pass my friend Jay Dee. He is casually reclining against the wall of a takeaway while his partner wheels their baby daughter in a pram. Jay looks slick, styled and goes into the takeaway as we pass-

Julamm

I am in some sort of Forbidden Planet-esque store(room, all black, angular metal shelving stretching from floor to ceiling. There is some deal whereby, after much investigation on my part, it seems you can get a giant plastic (Original Star Wars trilogy) Stormtrooper for £1.00 on top of a purchase (the comic 2000AD?) of £1.75. The Stormtrooper is a kit of sorts, comprised of somewhat abstract components – parts of the limbs and torso are open/hollow and the helmet has oversized, almost 'googly' round eyes-

I an then out and about somewhere, a pub/bar I suppose, and see my old school friends Gee Pee and Ess Bee sitting together at a round table with two young women. After much swithering I go over to Gee – his older brother Arr, with whom I used to be very good friends until our mid-teens, passed away a few years ago – approaching him with much trepidation. Gee, a "cheeky-faced wee boy" as my mother would say, has grown into a darkly handsome man with deep and slightly menacing eyes, just a hint of inner threat. Thankfully he's pleased to see me and hold no apparent grudge over his brother and I falling out. He thanks me for my wee Facebook tribute to Arr and he and I hang around, going back to his house later-

His home is a lovely and spacious, immaculately furnished and kept ground floor tenement-esque flat. The front door opens into a vast living room. I still feel slightly on edge and surreptitiously peek at the many picture frames dotted about the place, trying to see a picture of his parents and/or Arr. Do I leave my wallet out (steal it?), Gee finding it, remarking on the rolled up wads of cash jammed in it – "It's a night out after all", he remarks. Is it not his house after all, but some place with an unpronounceable triple-barrelled name that Gee has booked, indeed he had to book it with no option otherwise, for the night?-

Flobbiq

I am in a vast, cavernous vessel, acutely aware that where I am standing is under the waterline. Great tunnels (for want of a better word) intersect, the walls all finished with tiles – they are a mix of white and another primary colour to help identify the route. Suddenly water is spilling into my environment and I rush around frantically in the hope of escaping the onrushing flood. I cannot however, and I stop dead (in every sense), preparing to be sandwiched between the twin deluges-

Under the water and struggling for breath I step outside of the dreamescape and watch James Bond (as played by Daniel Craig) and Valkyrie (from Thor as played by Tessa Thompson) swim up and then away. They are naked, their bodies entwined in a curiously coy but sexual manner, attempting to shield each other's genitals and yet subtly exposing themselves at the same time-

I am then sitting at a long table immediately facing the comedian Frankie Boyle, the comic artist Frank Quitely (and a baby?). I start to tell Frankie that I had a dream about him and he seems to be quite interested. I am suddenly interrupted by a rousing chant of "Stuart! Stuart!" I'm not really clued in to what is going on and neither am I that interested, being more concerned about what the neighbours will think of all the noise and whether they'll be disturbed. I turn to see a row of giant individual eyes inset into a brown wall, with people sitting in silhouette approximately in the space between each one. Are these great eyes the so-called Stuart? Does the crying baby punch a huge eye?-

Emblimmon

The male actor Taron Egerton (from Kingsman) is starring in some (Mark Millar-esque) bad taste-ish film. He has separated from the main gaggle of actors and has seated himself about half way up a run of stone steps. At times (to my confusion) he addresses a younger version of himself – who is definitely also played by him. He is reeling off some (supposed) joke about 'dolphin balls' replete with a graphic image (that he clasps somewhat clumsily in his left hand, his four fingers clamped between the two spherical 'ball' illustrations). His expression is knowing throughout and (to my surprise) he often breaks the fourth wall to address me directly-

Embtolm

https://bookpalace.com/acatalog/Illustrators-Quarterly.html

I am at an exhibition. A small, neat man with glasses travels from left to right, crossing the room, passing several freestanding square display cases. He looks at me over the top of his glasses and remarks, “Ron Embleton, oh yes!” I am thinking Ron is 84(?) and that I have just cut his pages from my 1954 BEANO annual (with Dennis and Gnasher on the cover)-

aquariva.co.uk/

I am with my friend Tee Cee, two young British Asian boys (aged 8-ish) and two teenage boys (who I know are drummers). We are taking a Virgin branded helicopter down to Birmingham, a 2 hour trip, to visit Ron Embleton. The helicopter takes off along the street. I am belted in as it is my first time ever riding in a helicopter. The POV is from behind the pilot looking straight ahead. I am surprised how low we are flying, that the rotor blades are not clipping the trees to the side or snagging telephone wires and so on. It makes for a tense journey. The helicopter is very spacious inside and there is a polite hostess, who is very much like Kenny Everett's sidekick Cleo Rocos. It's very much like an old fashioned, classic hotel with ornately (and somewhat garish) carpets and stylish timber furniture. Is fellow cartoonist Kay Ess here too? The hostess lies (clothed!) on a large bed. All of us sit around and chat-

We arrive and land in Birmingham and walk to Ron's house. The two drummers, after some deliberation, decide to come along as there's enough time before their rehearsal/gig. (The dreamescape) Ron is old and balding (and quite stoned!). He takes something of a shine to me and often addresses me direct (with something of a knowing tone). At one point he says to me, in mock confidentiality, that Tee has never met a drug addict before... before quickly quipping that it's just the neighbours-

https://www.garnelenhaus.com

Everything Ron says is quite funny and good-natured but also something of an in-joke with his (present) daughter. At one point he tumbles about on the couch, rolling onto the floor, having bags of fun. Kay Ess starts to doze and – oh no! - there's a giant Allan Key suspended above his head! The living room we are in ajoins the kitchen and the rest of Ron's family, who all seem to be sleepy blondes with dazed, slightly amused expressions sit there. Wife? My phone clock displays '13:30' but it's actually '16:30'... but it's actually '18:00' on the dot! Time to go home. Ron gives Tee Cee a painting before we leave-

Bwiquillet

www.urbanrealm.com

I am back at University – the feeling is of the place although the environment is a pure invention by the dreamescape on top. So, while we have plaster and polished concrete walls and high ceilings (often all in a white paint finish), the overall building shapes and structure are quite different, being much more expressive. My old work boss, Gee Haitch, is leading some sort of triumphant toast my honour and presently makes a speech referring to an incident in the past whereupon I (am supposed to have) made a faux pas when conversing with Pee Kay, an old tutor of mine. I try and deny this claim but it transpires Gee has (somehow!) a recording of the exchange. (However) It is played back – I recall thinking they really should have used the building's PA system – it is mostly drowned out by the excited babble of those gathered. Searching (desperately!) back in my mind I try and recall the conversation with Pee Kay. I have a sense that I accidentally (and unwittingly) compared his architecture style to rice cakes(?). As the assembled throng begins to disperse I want to state that the recording was lost much in the same manner as when The Stone Roses played Glastonbury – no! The Isle of Wight, because the wind blew the sound all over the place. (I am reaching, of course, for Spike Island)-

I am dismayed that my own (comic?) books have been relegated to the bottom of a revolving wire display rack (especially as there's a few empty rows between them and those placed further up towards the top). I enter into a library, noticing a sign stating that it is the '- -? Building Reading Room' and pass on through to access another floor up. There I gaze up at the high vaulted ceiling (of yet another library). This space seems to be for children's books and there's a(nother) rack of familiar comics ('Kimble' by the writer/artist 'Jason'?) that have been scaled and modified for printing as small, 3x3” sturdy card books-

Moorlin

"Which one is served as the lady in the bong?" 

Giggles consume the operating theatre as the staff try to work out which of the shifting, shapeless bumps under the sheets is the woman and which is the monkey- 

I am with Alan Moore, trailing him as he guides me through some back streets, exploring small, fusty shops. We finish in a tiny comic shop - though it looks more like a bedroom, complete with bed! - with stacks of vintage comics everywhere. The owner is a young guy with glasses and swept back ginger hair - though I remember trying to work out if Alan lived (or at least slept) here. There's a strange comic with a Jim Starlin cover, an alien in blue outline, suspended above a desert surface. The cover is split, with 2 images? I think Moebius has contributed to it too-

Drixhen

At the artist studio of Jimi Hendrix. He's working in a space very similar to those at my old University building, all exposed concrete structure and cold finishes. He's at the top of the stairs, the front of his unit space screened in part by a huge structural wall, and over to the right there are temporary partitions between his and the neighbouring unit. The ceiling is high and the large windows give plenty of (ideal North) light. Adding to this there is an upright collection (of something, canvasses?) covered in a grey, paint splattered sheet that provides him with further privacy. Hendrix, louche and hatted, works intently in behind all these screens. The studio, like others I have worked in, is rammed with random materials and half-finished/in progress works of art. Immediately to your left on entering, butting against the wall, is a metal storage cabinet covered in paintbrushes, stacks of cds and assorted art peripherals. Over to the right, between the upright canvasses and the partitions is a desk of some sort, also buried under a clutter of art materials. You have to squeeze past these two obstacles to see Jimi properly and enter the cramped workspace - there are small paintbrushes here, stored horizontally (presumably to dry out) and I am conscious that every time I squeeze past I am brushing against them with the back of my jacket, worried they'll fall (and potentially also start an avalanche of junk). He is listening to a cd and asks me to put on Bob Dylan-

He either asks for the specific track 'Unbreakable' or is the cd called 'The Unbreakable Bob Dylan'? I again make my way from the working space and check in the two stacks on top of the metal cabinet. There doesn't seem to be any Bob Dylan cds at all. I note that it is a (manageable) collection of his psychedelic contemporaries, that definitely includes Country Joe And The Fish. Some of the spines have 60's-ish psychedelic writing and patterns on them, too elaborate for me to read (though I kind of assume they are by Grateful Dead). Digging in deeper behind I am cheered to see a few dance/techno cd singles buried in under discarded sanding blocks or somesuch. I think I eventually take him back something and he changes the cd to whatever it is, some sort of chugging acoustic guitar music (we both know and like). Jimi talks about the piece he is working on and asks me to bring over the Rhino horn he has moulded to complete it – think in composition it's supposed to be crashing up through the floor of his painting/diorama. (There is also a painting of this horn, what looks at first like two (red) arms rising and clasping, but seems to take on a horn shape on second inspection.) I take the Rhino horn, stored as it is in a thick, semi-opaque polythene sheeting, over to him. There is a part of me that wonders if Jimi is on heroin (yet)? He tells me to take the mould and to show it to the comic artist Frank Quitely, saying something (jokingly) like, “go show that old … how he's leading me astray.” I agree to do so, edging my way carefully out of the unit and into the corridor-

As it is hollow I am wearing the Rhino horn mould on my left arm, brandishing it in the air like some strange alien limb. Worth noting it has a sort of unnatural claw-like protrusion about half way down and, as opposed to the material grey finish as it appeared in Jimi's studio, it is now covered in a brightly coloured camo-esque pattern. Being able to inspect it up close I also notice the finish looks more like Rhino skin, rough and mottled-

I am walking towards Frank Quitely and he is coming towards me. We seem to be in the same building, but in more of a cafeteria area, populated by small round tables with metal legs and a beech veneer finish. Before I am able to say a word he asks me "if I want to draw Doctor Who?" He explains something about how the comic rights are up for sale. I sit with him and our mutual artist friend Tee Cee (and one other?) at one of the tables. Frank then says something about looking at the art in the latest issue of Doctor Who as it is terrible. We talk about how we really shouldn't laugh at another artist's work and I am expecting the issue Tee Cee takes from his polythene bag to be just awful. It's actually, pretty good, a nice inky brush finish to the bold art over crisp flat colours. During this encounter I am aware of a woman and her teenage daughter at the table to our left – I recall having seen them seated earlier (somehow) and realise that they were negotiating to buy the comic rights (for 1 issue?) of Doctor Who too. I can't work out if the daughter has drawn an issue yet, nor if it is the one we are holding-

Walsharm

On a bus travelling at night. It doesn't seem that busy, or that there are many seats. I can really only picture myself seated and space around me. Obviously the driver is seated ahead of me (both of us on the left of the vehicle). 'Germs' by Acetone begins to play over the sound system. I am quite startled, and happily so, to hear this. It doesn't sound exactly like the recorded version, maybe a bit slower and without vocals? This is followed by 'Final Say', which again I recognise even if it does not sound quite like the studio recording. This is exciting for me, and I want to be sure to talk to the driver about the band-

We are back at the hotel(?) and I make a point of talking to the young driver in the bar. The environment here is not hugely different from the bus. It's quite dark and doesn't seem that busy. I don't recall the bar itself, but I think I have a pint of beer. The driver sits at a table and opens a small grey laptop. I stand to his back, to his right. After our initial talk he then introduces me to a girl he's talking to on Skype. Even though they are talking she only appears on the laptop screen in profile. He then chats more to her about things, including me. Is there something about a podcast and how that would be proof of...?-

I am with (the comic character) Marshal Law and we are infiltrating/have infiltrated some sort of criminal base or stronghold. I'm aware I have no weapon at all. We seem to be trapped (or hiding out) in a tight stairwell. The building is very plain, simple blockwork and plaster walls. Our pursuers wear sort of army green tight fitting gimp costumes (like S&M Norts from Rogue Trooper via Marshal Law's world). It is very tense as the troops close in on where we are hiding. I have to judge where they are coming from, listening intently and watching carefully for any shadows on the opposing wall that might betray their approach. The first comes from my right and I whip away his legs - the stair is sufficienty steep that I am practically at that height - dragging him down to Marshal Law who then dispenses him with a single shot. The next I slightly misjudge and he arrives from the left. Unfortunately his gun jams and, unable to fire shots, I quickly drag him down too. The third approaches from the right again and we dispose of him with ease-

I have a recollection of places being called K**tsville and Thaerum Thaelitz/Thaeritz(?)-

I have joined a crowd of gig goers - did they flood the stairwell and I have followed them out into the night streets? - and am walking with them. They are all sort of indie-emo types, dyed hair and dark, alternative clothing. I am wondering where Kay Emm is. I'm sure she'll let me know she's alright though neither of us has a phone. Am I walking up Bath Street in Glasgow, a bus stopped at the lights, but also aware the road is closed? The bus is also heading into town, against the natural flow of traffic-

Doffty

Myself, my big brother, my friends Pee Dee and Eee EmmCeeCee in my room over at the window. Pee Dee offered my big brother a joint. He refused. I took it and Pee Dee and I puffed away on one each. I thought it was funny because Pee Dee and I didn't smoke. Meant to ask him. Didn't feel it was affecting me the way it was Pee Dee. Had to smoke quick because we were all about to head up to Cee Bee's house. Scared my brother would tell on me- 

Myself and Enn Bee in a giant comic shop. At first there was no but ourselves and the owner. It soon got very busy. Hoards of stuff. Some painted MARVEL, spine back newsstand edition that only ran for 11 issues. The first giant issue had a bear on the front. It cost about ￡12. There was a toy of this bear character also. Some Avengers stuff. One issue cost ￡11.50. Shocking. So much brilliant stuff but bought nothing as usual-

Zulpa

At my Grandpa's. Hundreds of MARVEL hero toys. All related to the Secret Wars comic. The toy of Thing was really badly painted, all over orange. Painted straight over the moving joints and so on. The paint on the face of the toy was almost like a rubber film. I peeled it back to reveal a huge staring eye. When I left I had Hulk and Thing in my pocket. I managed to get Thor too-

Dezzavet

A Thursday. Mt friend Enn Bee and myself are in Forbidden Planet, London, putting up posters, featuring V For Vendetta, for a David Lloyd signing. Much confusion. The signing itself is eventually undertaken by FP's bespectacled general manager, leaving me perplexed. Even then, there are 4 of us now postering, 2 for each floor, and it is the day of the event (now, to my additional consternation, suddenly the Friday). Enn and I make slow progress, the shop walls are more like teaching spaces, covered in giant maps, class timetables and related information. Neil prefers to apply the blu-tac to the wall first, relying on his judgement, then to hang the poster thereafter, slowing things up considerably-

Now up high in the rear stand of a typical stadium structure, attempting to put the posters on a stretched honeycomb style concrete construct. To the sound of resounding screams we see the centre of the pitch begin to slowly sink into itself. I immediately run off, shouting to Enn – stock still, busy texting his wife on his phone? - to follow. Sense I am cycling, or rather out-cycling the disaster, which is happening at my back. This scene becomes more and more abstract, I withdraw from part of the action to an almost computer game vantage point and control-

Monday the fifth of April. I'm there, suddenly on the bus, aware that I have jumped back in time. I overhear someone comment that the world is supposed to end on Thursday. Just as it did. My attention turns to my recently completed comic, a comic that is vivid in my mind, having created it, but lost in my backwards travelling. I check my folders of work, hoping it is there, clinging onto the memories of the piece as I do so - 2 A4 pages, drawn landscape to create an A3 overall. 4 large panels to each (akin to a strip I drew). The priority now is to recreate this work in the time remaining-

I'm then at Hope Street Studios, sitting in the main room with fellow artists Cee Ess and Tee Cee. The furniture has the sense of being huddled together, the room feels smaller, and the layout is puzzling, the atmosphere mildly unsettling. We are talking about who we expect to turn up that evening. I mention it is Tuesday. Cee Ess frowns. “Isn't it Wednesday?” 

Everything blinks black, save a tiny yellow rectangle of light towards the bottom l/h corner of my blanked vision – a mind power cut-

“Oh, I get it. I'm dying. The world is ending.”

I then know my mind is creating the best comfort construct it can, building a jumbled approximation of reality. This small, imperfect means of reassurance in my last moments. “That's right”, Cee Ess replies, explaining there's been some sort of seismic collapse. Tee Cee confirms this in his usual dry manner-

Another short of my mind-

I am staring into the hall of the Studio, conveniently orientated to be straight ahead. A tear, of which I am so acutely aware, sits below my left eye, perfectly formed. Cee Ess is matter-of-factly announcing that nothing will survive. Not Bute. Not Arran. I am aware that no one close is with me and feel abandoned. I shout in desperation for Kay Emm. I shout for my friend Jay Emm, knowing in my mind it's a year since he passed away, but does that matter? I consider shouting for Cee Cee-

Oodoa

In some superstore. White polythene bags full of comics for sale. I bought a full bag of MARVEL Comics with titles like Iron Man and so on. The other was a bag of 2000AD Monthlies (like 'ABC Trading?') rather than I had previously thought- 

Chased down an utterly massive staircase by a gang- 

About 4 or 5 of us. I was so scared I was leaping over the balustrade to jump great sections of the stairs. Scared due to the steep stairs that I might break an ankle in a fall and get caught- 

I would jump just before a landing to skip it. At the bottom of the stairs I went to the right first. I left my comic bags by mistake. It was totally risky to go to the left to get them before the gang caught up. I just made it. The gang went to the right- 

The leader looked like a fat-faced Tim Booth from the band James. Our side full of trash, all boarded up. They were out at it. Couldn't get through. They talked to us through the giant blue (school-like) railings-

Grizzin

On a Scotrail 1990s train. I am with my mother. We are sitting side by side on the set of seats facing the pair of doors at the rear of a carriage. We are facing against the direction of travel. Across the carriage on my left sits Ayy Arr and a girl. He looks quite youthful. From my point of view only he is really visible and his body hides her - he's sitting a little forward in his seat too. They are facing the direction of travel. He is talking incessantly about drawing for VIZ comic. All I keep hearing is, "Viz... Viz... Viz..." and I am really hoping my mother cannot (over)hear as I am a failed cartoonist. This annoying (mostly) monologue continues for some time before, to my further embarrassment, he switches it up and starts mention his time drawing for The Dandy as well-

My mother takes out a match from her handbag and lights it. She quickly shakes it out as the guard approaches. (The guard appears to be, for some reason, the same Ayy Arr.) My mum puts the extinguished match in the small lip of the carriage window, in plain sight. I can vividly remember a close up of the match, noting that it has the withered shape of a burnt match but that the wood is all crisp and new. Of course the smell of the 'strike' lingers in the air and Ayy Arr asks if we can smell something burning. There is some sort of discussion about a train carriage being on fire? We then take another match and light it, holding it against a sort of plated upstand that is in the middle of the floor. It looks like an armoured armrest, consisting of mostly metal plates but with some fabric (and wiring?) visible. Having held the lit match somewhere near the top of this there follows a debate as to whether it has indeed caught fire or not. I am convinced I can see flickers of flame here and there and that we are in trouble. Ayy Arr evidently agrees as he grabs a fire extinguisher - he takes this from some sort of similar floor bracket/upstand - and proceeds to spray the slowly armoured burning upstand with some sort of gassy substance. As he is doing so it looks like the train has stopped and lots of people are getting on while we are worried there's a fire and they should be getting off? I think I am stuck trying to walk against this oncoming crowd-

Some strange old house. Thin timber floors with holes in them. I remember being in a long, dimly lit room with my little brother. There is a stick of incense with a slight bend before the top and we are worried about leaving it overnight to let it burn down. We decide it will be okay to leave it. I leave the room and narrowly miss falling through a hole in the floor to my left-

Chuntinnet

https://northernreaction.wordpress.com

Grant Morrison thumps a crooked tool on the steel plate lid, the child to be revived and reborn stirs in the confines of the half wine barrel below. Grant intimates success and the warped snuffles suggest that it is so-

Mawwfel

http://www.sickchirpse.com

Uncomfortably calm piano music plays as the aircraft takes off forever, Alan Moore's sedate yet unsettling drawl making for a creepy pilot-