Entering Sleep Mode....

The Velvet Underground - Venus In Furs

I am tired, I am weary

I could sleep for a thousand years

And so it is time for Eclectic Dreamzzz to take a well earned rest, with the year ahead being devoted to completing the 3 upcoming John Miller books. Sadly there's no time for Agent Rob to grab forty winks as he cracks the whip on 350+ pages of prized Miller Masterworks. Something just had to give, a jack of all blogs and a master of none, as they say....

Luis Bunuel said that if he were told he had twenty years to live and was asked how he wanted to live them, his reply would be: "Give me two hours a day of activity, and I'll take the other twenty-two in dreams - provided I can remember them."

Anyway, here's a grab bag top ten of the most popular blogs to keep you all dreamescaping....

Kasabian

Post Office

Clint Eastwood

June Sarpong

David Beckham

Barber shop

Demi Moore

Shaun Ryder

Largs

Kurt Cobain

Still, there ought to be some activity on the infamous Braw Blog here,

>> Braw Books

(The UndergRound Ups of the Year are here.... or there....)

Other than that, how about indulging in some of the brilliant Buckfast Lane here,

>> Life in the Buckfast Lane

A thousand dreams that would awake me

Different colors made of tears

Zodroyth

I am with an ill-defined a.n.other on a dark and dusty plain, the sky all brooding clouds, a chill wind blowing. All we can hear is the pained mewling of a cat, a horrible sound that makes one's blood run cold. Ahead of us, slowly emerging from the gloom, seems to be the hull of a boat supported on huge great timber stilts that are set into the sand(?) along either side - it sits up off the ground and has a flat bottom of sorts. It seems this pained screeching is coming from under the boat – it's taken us some time to home in on the source, a task that has caused us much anxiety. There in the darkness appears to be a cat, hunched down and near-invisible in the half light. Soon enough it emerges, a horrible one-eyed creature, its hair dirty and matted, and practically trundles (like K-9) along on its haunches, terrorising us-

I am at the (grand) home of Dee, one of the front-of-house security guards at my current work. I am in a large purple hued (living) room and using a fat Sharpie marker I am drawing sweeping curves on his sofa, trying to follow the line of the folds and creases in the blue patterned fabric. Quite what has possessed me to do this I do not know – Dee has a fearsome temper – and I simply stare at and examine the material, unsure if my act of (well-intentioned?) vandalism will remain undetected for long-

I meet Dee's (dreamescape) wife Penelope as she emerges from their (old fashioned, traditional) kitchen. She is very petite and mild mannered, her dark hair drawn back in a ponytail. She wears a very pretty light purple evening dress that plumps out from her hips down (a la Dorothy from Oz)-

Kellmdam

I am out for lunch with my old work colleague Gee Ess – indeed, this is if if we are still in our previous employ – and 2 a.n.others (of which one is yet to arrive). We are taking them to the Village Curry House in Tradeston, Glasgow and are to be seated outside at the rear of the restaurant (a dreamescape invention). This area is made from red monoblock paving that is square-ish in shape and curved at the furthest corners, a small raised section forming a boundary with the neighbouring residential property, their outdoor space being an exact mirror of the Village's. It is around 3pm and as expected the restaurant is quiet but the outdoor seating is messy and disorganised. Our table is right at the boundary and seats six, two each side and one at each end/head. Gee sits on the left with his back to the house and the other attendee – the fourth has still not arrived – sits diagonally across to the right, facing the neighbour's. It seems to be up to me to tidy up – although a mustachioed Indian man (the manager?) shuffles furniture around – and I use a long spoon-shaped carpet sweeper to suck up crumbs, made all the more difficult by the appliance's tiny brush tip (and my spending some time trying to figure out to access it to empty the contents)-

Our starter arrives, a large plate heaped with fat spicy sausages. Around this time several people emerge from the house across the back, chatting loudly and having a few drinks. Whether it's down to our proximity to the boundary or the alcohol being consumed (or not) an argument breaks out. One of the party people is the Danish actor Mads Mikkelsen, who sports long, near-shoulder length hair, swept back, and large aviator-style glasses – I remember thinking 'he's short sighted just like me'. He is accompanied by a dumpy lady with a black bob haircut. I say to Mads, “I'm sorry we didn't mean to upset the Swedish”, and admit to Gee shortly thereafter – following Mads kicking off – that I was simply trolling him-

Later Mads is up angry in my face, frustrated that I keep responding with “Yow” and “Nay”, and asking me, “what is that?!” (being my attempt at an Icelandic 'yes' and 'no'-

Gretanto

I seem to be undertaking pub quizzes – I'm looking for the third establishment on my list, having already won £25. Consulting my newspaper clipping I eventually locate the place and, after a bit of searching, the quiz (master). It's £10 entry and there's only ten questions. I do okay, my answers mostly overheard from the surrounding participants, two nearby older ladies in particular, the ninth question's answer is (the singer) Bjork, and the tenth being, “What happens (right) here on the thirtieth of August?” (which somehow, by a process of oblique mental filtering, I know)-

I win £9.01(?) and am quite happy if confused by the fact. The film actor Taron Egerton and his pal are not so pleased. They seat themselves at my table and endlessly labour their point, not satisfied that an “outsider” won (something). Taron softens his approach as I calmly make my point, but his friend on my right is harder to convince. Am I hoping to make the train with my former work colleague Ayy Gee or will she arrive and assist me in my argument?-

Anvlisa

I am sitting to the left of Ayy Cee, a lady co-co-worker. We're not in the same team, just on a 'hello' basis, and we are joking together. I have to check back on the previous year's registered cases. She talks about how hard I/we work and tells me that shares(?) in the company have gone up from 30 (somethings) to 80 (somethings), alluding to the fact we'll never see any benefit ourselves in spite of our toil – so why toil? The record book of the previous year is long and rectangular and, having taken off the clear plastic shrink-wrap, seems to consist of three lengthy biscuits separated by two intermediate layers of thick white cream. I peel off the first biscuit to open the book(?) and examine the figures-

Roprovd

I am at the house of my old primary and secondary school friend Arr Pee. In the dreamescape his family live in a huge isolated farmhouse-style home. At the time of my visit – am I nervous due to our teen falling-out? - it is the depths of winter and I keep getting recurring mental snapshots of the snow covered house, sitting cosy in the chilly landscape. Together with Arr's younger brother Gee we look at four new Christmas cushions they have bought, plump and square with a cut out of an animal in the fabric in the centre (or thereabouts) that allows you to see the fluffy internal stuffing – the cushion I am handling is of a deer or reindeer. This is quite unique and perplexing. Arr's father – again I am nervous of his opinion of me – is (to my surprise) most welcoming, inviting me out to join him/them while they walk their red setter dog. I politely decline, sensing absolutely no animosity towards me by this response-

Varjolta

I am in a large square garden space (in Partick?). There are lots of tall plants and it feels walled, if not oddly internal. The colours are drab and gloomy and in the centre of the shrubbery sits a long rectangular structure divided into eight equal squares. There are eight of these on each side of the object (hamster?). I know that this is some sort of graveyard and that these large squares are individual screens that serve as video playback for the deceased. The bottom left screen flicks into static life as I press a button to resurrect John Travolta. ('Is he actually dead?', is a constant thought from here on.) John's huge face fills the screen – he looks much as he does now, a round smiling face with a (dyed) goatee beard. He says something and the picture shifts to two (seeming) C-list English celebrities hugging jubilantly. I discern this footage is from some late (post-)career edition of Celebrity Big Brother. John almost seems to be addressing me directly-

Racovis

I am visiting my (vague, ill-defined) GP over concerns at my sudden outbreak of varicose veins. These have broken out on my legs - “How!?”, I wail – poking out in ruddy pulsating knots, especially on my thighs and calves. In particular I have a bloated, fatty sack hanging on my right thigh, connected by a thinner, twisted string of skin. It culminates in what I realise are silvery semi-reflective leaves. I ask my doctor if I can put this (presuming it will fall off) in my domestic food waste bin...?-

Holempersa

I am watching/immersed in the 'dreamescape' version of the 1970's television adaptation of Salem's Lot. This version stars David Soul and Dennis Hopper and starts with them being confronted by a primitive ape man of sorts. This intelligent looking fellow has a long aquiline nose, not unlike the proboscis monkey, and a fan shape of streaked sandy hair that is styled regularly on the top of his head and the sides of his face. Using some sort of spear/tool he sends both David and Dennis spilling over the edge of an incline in a cloud of dust (thus trapping and condemning them in the land of the vampires)-

Later on I recall a scene set in broad daylight, events unfolding on green meadows around a typical American timber farmhouse. In spite of my anticipation I am not scared of the vampires at all, in this case their leader, a sharp-suited fellow in his 60's with handsome features and grey hair. Someone spears him with a sword and, after an initial suggestion he is hurt, the old fellow bounces back, amused-

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-

Raquan

I am in some sort of cafe/bar environment. I am in a quandary over what to buy for my lunch. There is a lady with a baby sitting nearby. I end up with an uninspired ham and lettuce open sandwich. My old neighbour Gee EmmCeeEmm offers me half of her unfinished sandwich. I just know it's tuna (on her breath?) and refuse-

I am waiting in line to pay. For some reason the lady with the baby (though without it now) is reclining behind the counter. She is dark and somehow sultry, dressed in black with a firm figure and strong features. Whatever she is doing her black suit jacket is open enough to expose her shadowy cleavage, her lemon shaped breasts – I can spy a nipple! - hanging loose in an ill-fitting top/shift. Is she about to feed the absent child? I try (not) to look yet study in fascination as I pay £20 for my lunch. The lady sits with her legs spread showing black tights up to deep blue panties that are stretched, to my disbelief, wide. I pay, puzzled at the price, and hunt for a bathroom-

I am holding my huge disembodied p*nis, ruddy as if of clay, in my right hand. I hold it against my smooth groin and check that it is as long as my left forearm-

Hyontuh

I am out walking with my older brother and my American brother-in-law. My son and my brother-in-law's sons are very much in mind – I'm conscious of their presence – if not in body. We are strolling (in Reno?) somewhere and I need to leave them to get something? -

I next find myself at the house of my old Largs Primary/Secondary school friend Enn Tee in John Street(?). The home has been extended in every direction to form a 'Community Library' with a very warm, rustic and casual coffee shop feel inside, the books tucked into timber shelves around the perimeter, the airy central space rising three storeys up to a vaulted(?) ceiling complete with roof lights. Enn sits just within the entrance and, to my surprise, is wearing a nun's habit. After some random, muddled browsing we acknowledge one another and start chatting (a little awkwardly). When she takes down her habit's hood she has short blonde wiry afro hair that is, oddly, growing over her temples. Some other old school friends – Ess? + two other males and a woman – sit chatting to our left. They are all much older but their faces are still identifiable. By contrast (and thankfully) none of them recognise me -

I am walking back to join our family party when my shoes get stuck in mud. At this point (now shoeless?) I am scared as a large alsatian dog – in a near-rerun of a frightening childhood experience – darts out some nearby bushes and leaps and bounds around me. I immediately put up my hands in surrender, hoping the owner is correct in that the dog “just wants my stick”, again a direct callback to the my younger self's incident  -

I am now explaining, with the help of a Google Maps-esque 3D map, how Enn is presently a nun and has converted her old house to create a library -

Wogert

I am with (a young version) of the musician Roger Waters and a vague ill-defined woman. Roger's mantra seems to be “f*ck it!”, and a loud exclamation of this prompts many rash actions, including sliding and skidding carefree down a steep sandy slope on our bottoms to a beach. I draw the line at the next, smaller, slope as it's more akin to rubble, and not the sort of surface you'd giddily slide down. I'm aware we need to be at my parents' house for dinner – I can see the uncooked fillets of fish, isolated in my mind's eye, awaiting us – but have no means of contacting them, although I keep referring to my mobile for the time. It's 5:05 – did I doze off? -

Yeooz

I am at (or after) the dentists and need to make another appointment. The receptionist girl at the front desk is Ay Dubya (formerly of Kelvingrove Dental Care). Although she is visually morphing within the dreamescape I know it is her and go along with her fluctuating appearance as matters progress. She advises me not to book my next appointment here as this could lead to confusion and/or a double booking, and she'll show me where to go. At this point she is unrecognisable, with a strong profile and long curly hair, a complete transformation from her actual gently pretty Zooey Deschanel-esque looks -

Cut to a sudden close-up of her (changed) face and the freckles around her cheeks and nose radiate and illuminate with genuine warmth and affection as she fixes me with a loving gaze. This then cuts to an isolated cartoon/manga-style face that floats in the air, hearts popping at the side, the eyes wide and near-bulging -

I enter a large square lift, dimly lit and semi-industrial. A few other patients linger as I work out from the notice on one side that the floor for dentistry is 'Saturday'(?). It turns out it's not a lift, the whole space suddenly pulling out into the light as part of a bus, revealing the glazing and grab handles. “Hold on!”, exclaims the chunky young woman to my right as I stagger to keep my footing and clutch at a nearby upright to steady myself while the bus races across the rainy roof(?) of this huge and amorphous hospital. I cannot help but think of the sheer weight of the vehicle as I stand and look out through the front windscreen in disbelief -

Orehrew

I am in a strange (comedic) situation with my friend Ay Arr, his daughter and his mother(-in-law?) and possibly my work colleague Cee EmmCeeGee. The initial confusion/amusement is that the mother lives in the basement and that I assume, until she corrects me, there is no street (or house?) access and very little by way of home comforts. The next assumption is that I have superpowers and am able, as she desires it, to transport the mother back in time by two whole days (why?). My immediate concern is that I cannot even lift the mother under any pretence of heroism and when the daughter/Cee suggests she wishes to come along too then I am completely stumped. (Only Cee(?) has/knows of powers and ought to be able, by the will of her mind, to assist in this strange request) -

Gollft

Myself, my old secondary school friend Ay EmmCeeHaitch and my old work colleague Gee Haitch are at an old fashioned tearoom together. We're inside the entrance porch-cum-lobby, looking in at the premises through a glazed door, formed of small panels of glass supported by finished timber uprights and verticals. There's a fake clock on the wall with blue plastic hands and it's set to 3:50 (evidently when they shut) -

Ay suggests using a trick off my friend Enn Bee and asks me for a piece of paper. I hand him a post-it note (with some work related pencil sketches and notes on it). He slips this under the door and works at the lock – it is for some reason locked from the inside, the delicate key still in situ – and manages to drop the key onto the paper and successfully draw it under the gap below the door. As we gain entry Gee sets the clock to 5:50, the actual time. We immediately tell him to set it back as otherwise folk will know we've been there! I feel okay as we set about inside – we keep the lights off as it's likely every employee is at home making dinner. Ay quickly cooks up three small, plain open burgers for us. Gee is suddenly sick in a bin and Ay scolds him, clean that up and use the toilet!, making sure that we leave no trace. He also remarks that Gee ate a lot of crap food (mainly sweets) earlier -

Just then three men enter, saying that they came by earlier but we were shut. One remarks that we must have opened at 3:50(!).... The middle of the three is a (sort of) Native American with long straggly hair, sleepy eyes and sallow, horse-y features, complete with a noticeable gap between his top front teeth. The men flanking him are white, on the heavy side and smartly dressed. The man on the left has an open burger of his own, only this one is garnished (and looks very tasty). The Native American wishes to use the toilet and Gee dashes off to give it another clean (on his/their return?). I suggest that maybe chef (Ay) can rustle up some more burgers -

Rungkhin

I am looking down at a panorama of (the dreamescape) Hong Kong, all tall, pale buildings with countless wee windows packed into a tight street plan. This seems to be on a promontory(?) and through the gaps in this tight-knit cityscape I can see smaller islands dotted about, each populated with oversized red triangular tents and Russian soldiers – they have occupied HK with China's consent. My POV pans along this scene to the left. At one point I (just about) witness a soldier throw a Molotov cocktail into a huge looming tent, only the result is lost as the scene steadily vanishes 'out of shot' -

At the end of this promontory three men, two of whom are garbed in yellow waterproofs, the other in a white jacket and black trousers waterproof combo, are fishing on a low square pier/wharf about 1m above the sea level. I instantly think 'he's gone' as a wave surges up and engulfs their standpoint, washing the furthermost man out into the (now) rough waters. The two other men dive in to his rescue, one grasping his legs, the other his head and shoulders. There seems no hope now as another mighty swell pushes the doomed trio further out into the churning ocean -

Dovci

I am on a train (quite conscious that I am wearing my Covid-19 mask at this point, my vision somewhat obscured) and am standing and waiting/looking for a seat. It feels like I finally walk through to the next carriage where a burly builder lad sprawls across two seats, lounging in one, his muddy 'workie' boots perched on the other. He wears a dark blue boiler suit and the two seats (and seat backs) are covered in some sort of blue waterproof sheeting with a black elasticated lining – there is caked mud on this from his boots. I ask if I can sit and do so, taking care to perch my bottom on the edge, mindful of the dried dirt -

He's quite amenable and we chat away. At one point he asks where I live. I hesitate but eventually say B-, immediately apologising for how it's “quite posh”. From there I mention I need some (building) work done to my house and we talk the job through while he makes notes in pencil on the back of a business card. It gets quite intense – I'm aware of A. N. Other observing intently and that we are now standing huddled around the scribblings -

I suddenly tune into the automated train announcement - “This is Paisley. The next stop will be Johnston” - and panic. This is my stop! I immediately rush out the closing doors on to the platform then realise I have left my phone and bag! I jam my right foot in the doors to prevent them closing and holler about my phone and bag, all the while sweeping my hands over my head in an attempt to catch the train driver's attention. He finally pops his head out the cab opens the doors. The builder lad (with a knowing look) only passes me his business card and, kind of stunned into incomprehension, I watch as the train drives off -

Sovvid

 

I am on a film studio lot, standing looking towards two doors, each leading to a (different) internal film set. Studios 15 and 16? The veteran horror film director John Carpenter is standing at the door of Studio 15 and will not allow (me?) access. He is quite defensive and our (mostly one way) argument continues for some time. I just know, and am somewhat puzzled as to why he is filming a movie for the James Bond franchise -

Swell Reptiles - The UK's biggest online reptile specialist

I am now witness to a tortoise that has become separated from its shell cartoon-style, the animal slick, pained and bloody and the shell a solid object (with holes for the head and legs and no other visible crack or damage). I think the tortoise will be okay just as a car slows and scrunches over the top of its sorry shape (which holds up remarkably well, the vehicle's tyres bumping up and over no problem) -