The Nest

I am after/coming back from a night out with my (on/off) friend Cee Cee. I seem to have a few sizeable objects that I am carting about with me, the most memorable of which is a metal s/steel 'clapper' stepladder, the ladder and support hinged at the top under the top plate. Am I attempting to offload and ditch this unwieldy baggage but Cee insists that I can manage okay, only offering to help me manhandle them all the way home. I am unusually resistant to this - the first of many tense, heightened responses I experience in this vast dreamescape - as I simply DO NOT want him to come to my house under any circumstances. I don't even want him to know where I live. Of course, in spite of this deep, fevered resistance I seem unable to capably or honestly express my sentiments and as such the situation becomes somewhat tense and I intentionally withdraw, my mood sullen, as we near my flat. I continue to stall and delay in the close-

Kay Emm and I seem to have moved to a modern high-rise flat. I am quite sure we are living on the 18th floor. There seem to be tall buildings surrounding us and, no matter the copious amount of glazing (edged, I notice, with neat modern metal trims with a grey finish) it is difficult to discern or even see the ground. (This is perhaps in part due to my creeping fear of heights and an unwillingness to go near the windows for fear of falling out – it often feels like there is no actual glazing at all, such is the vertiginous nature of the environment, the flat seemingly open to the elements.)-

We have neighbours below, a woman with (at least) two teenage sons. They all seem nice and even quite sophisticated, but as the jumble of events progresses she radiates hostility and the younger of the teenage sons tries at one point to beat up – more tension! - Jay Haitch, my seven year old nephew, in the stairwell, the boy's smart, lean appearance masking a hitherto hidden cold and uncaring personality-

And then there's the flat above us, known as 'The Nest', a completely debauched hang-out for youngsters, a sort of all-night party den for Trainspotting-ish indulgences? I visit this unnerving environment, shocked at the zonked out (barely in their) teens, all slumped heaps and vacant stares. In the dim, dingy light I am subjected to some sort of attempted sexual assault or drugging – more tension! - an aggressive (and amused) response to my evident disgust and unwillingness to participate. My attacker's leering face looms large as he openly mocks me, his body often formless and misshapen, his arms and torso constantly contorting and then bloating, at times reducing to grotesque muscular stumps, spotted and covered in rashes. All the while he tries to subject me to whatever sick purpose he so desires as another braying face laughs sinisterly in the background-

I am out the back of 'The Nest' in the cool night – from here it looks like any other 1950's Scottish suburban home, a muddle of extensions and exposed pipework and rainwater downpipes finished in a white render-

At one point (in the flat stairwell?) two lades with yellow high-visibility-esque jackets traipse pass. They're pleasant enough in a zoned out kind of way. It seems they run 'Sound Control' another (dub music-centric) party hub on the 11th floor. The thought of being sandwiched between two non-stop raves causes me great concern – weren't we supposed to have moved somewhere more civilized? This leads to a highly emotional scene where, completely distressed, I plead with my companions(?) as to whether we did move or not. “Where do I live?!”, I exclaim, “where?!”. Is this a dream? I want to go back (to my spacious basement apartment). Can I go back? Can we go back?!

I DO however, go back to 'The Nest'-

Back in our flat with Kay Emm (and two others?) I say that I visited the outdoor activities shop – the top floor of the green building visible to the right of our flat and up – when they were having their closing down sale. (You can see it is now sitting empty the windows dirty, a few discarded shoe boxes stacked in the corner, up against the floor to ceiling glazing.) Suddenly the entire roof lifts off the shop, caught up by the wind, tumbling through the sky to land (with a less than appropriate muted clonk) upside down on our very own. I am terrified and look to see this detached roof take off once more and fall towards the (unseen) ground. Do I even hear it land? I am now very worried about the possible damage to our roof but am unable to get any sort of vantage where I can see-

Back at 'The Nest'. This time an old professorial fellow, round specs and a mullet of wiry grey hair, seems to be setting up in order to play the cello. He is tucked away to one side on a dimly lit ad-hoc stage. A burly younger man in a baseball cap is just visible to the professor's right, twiddling knobs on some equipment that is presumably part of their musical set up. Across from them, seated around a pillar, two casually dressed – short sleeved shirts and pressed slacks – British Asian men, both with moustaches, are casually stringing (with what looks like rubbery shoelaces on top of more traditional nylon strings) two lute/guitar-esque instruments. Walking beyond them I pass a vacant youth lost in a drug-induced stupor. At the front door(?) is a girl with neat, short black hair and plenty of dark eyeshadow and makeup on her face and lashes. She also has, dotted on her chin, comic book-style dots of stubble. She is ranting in frustrated and emotionally fragile manner, recounting conversations with friends who “ought to know better” - on a Tuesday night she comes to 'The Nest' and NO exceptions!-

Back at our flat and I am standing, quite exposed, on a balcony (again finished in a grey metal). By shifting my feet it has a very unsettling tilt, just like a see-saw, out towards thin air and back. I gingerly do this a couple of times before realising this is the downstairs neighbour's flat. Her (hitherto unseen) husband is down on his knees, his upper body stretched out on the floor ahead of him as he meditates/worships. I sheepishly apologise to her – evidently a shifting surface is not the best when trying to maintain religious focus-

I am now at our flat again, sitting by a small-ish square of flat roof and holding my infant son. I drop him, quite suddenly, over the edge. I dropped him!!! However much I try I cannot bring myself, nor force the dreamescape, to alter my vantage point and as such I begin to doubt if I did drop him.... I cannot look to see and so I continue to deny the fact in my mind-