Kwrearfkt

I am at a busy and bustling railway station and have taken it upon myself to guide a kindly old couple through the ticket gates to the platform. Both the elderly man and woman have very similar features – a jolly demeanour, round spectacles and wispy blond curls of hair. They each peer keenly into my face as I try to fathom their quite unusual looking tickets, oversized bits of paper, one travelling from Bradford to Faziwah(?)/Krawlik(?)/Prague(?). (Are they going to see the group Kraftwerk and I am in fact going to Bradford?) I can't really help them after all but attempt to show them how to put their odd tickets through the barrier machine. Is there a language difficulty too? Unfortunately the machine is out of order and my limited abilities mean I cannot even communicate this to them-

Zikum

I am looking through a(n old) Muzik magazine and am shocked when I come to a 2 page spread, the beginning of their in-magazine comic strip section (that I know usually spoofs the more mindless aspects of the clubbing scene). The strip is rendered in a flat style, making use of several grey tones (and black and white contrasts) and is essentially a series of highly contrasted photos which are then treated digitally to achieve this effect-

The first panel shows a location in some on-street beer garden, the usual, recognisable tubular metal chairs and surrounding, separating banner upstands resplendent with promotional advertising. In the centre there is no mistaking that it is me (in spite of the face having been reduced down to a white nothing, only the eyebrows retained)-

On the facing page things are even more obvious as it is a photo of me that has been treated/toned to some respect to make up the panel. The speech bubble sees me spouting some nonsense about, “we'll go on 'trans' then after one how about over to 'trans' for another then maybe 'trans'...”, presumably intended to mock the pre-club routine. It is the next panel that causes me much consternation – my face is again a flat white nothing, only crude skull features have been superimposed on top while I drone on about getting, “drugged up and f**ked up...”-

Rostosene

I am climbing up and over a huge organic sort of statue that has grown amidst a mighty sandstone columned construct. The statue's original form is a seated human body with a dog-like shaped head. Scaling this giant beast takes much time and care as it has grown (out from the original form?) a series of small branches and twigs, budding, yet to blossom. My timeous route takes me up and over by the head-

I am now at a The Stone Roses concert. I am in a small backstage-ish area formed of what seems to be an L-shaped tent. Ian Brown is puzzling patiently over a sort of squeeze-sack instrument that is lying on the ground. I understand it its melancholy sighing wheeze is crucial to the outro to a (presumably reworked version of the song) Fools Gold. The fact that Ian is unable to get much (amplified) noise from this bizarre instrument – it seems there's a tube out one end that you can put in your mouth – is quite apparent when I duck outside. Whatever crowd, sitting around in small groups on gentle, grassy hills, bathed in sunlight, there was is beginning to drift off, taking the lack of (audible) music as a sign the gig is over. However, back in the tent – which actually seems to be the stage? - Mani and Reni have taken to grooving out 'Rock The Casbah' by The Clash. They are both cavorting, posing with their guitars(?) in a circle, somehow playing immaculately while pulling off these exaggerated rockstar-pose theatrics-

Kinpum

I am with a young black and white cat and a humanoid with a pumpkin head, no skin, just the perfectly smooth flesh, the classic skeletal features gently carved into it. (Is my old University friend Gee Gee also there, for her aura and presence fades in and out of the surrounding dreamescape). Whatever adventures we've been through – there's every suggestion the pumpkinhead and myself are somewhat at odds to one another – we currently seem united(-ish) in the face of some crippling lethargy that has gripped us. I am desperately encouraging the cat to eat a (perfectly peeled) apple that it is chewing sluggishly, spitting out the globs of mashed pulp as it goes. The pumpkinhead fares even worse, his (normally orange) flesh drained of all colour so that it matches the washed-out apple.

Kcud

 Duck | Definition, Types, & Facts | Britannica

“Duck integration.”