Raeki

I am in a shop. It is large and spacious inside, dimly lit with a dusty and slightly musty feel. There are large (covered?) windows to the street, the suggestion of sunlight creeping through, to give a quiet church-like feel. A long simple timber counter faces these and runs, with a break in the centre for access, across the width of the premises. The floor is exposed timber floorboards, again dry and dusty. Some junkie guy is trying to sell the owner (someone I know?) a small green plastic dinosaur. The owner offers him £51 for it. I get to examine the piece – it certainly looks very old and its sinister sculpted head sports a malicious grin – while the seller protests about the price. I gently push the dinosaur back into its (unusual, avocado skin-like) slipcase as the seller says something about it having a chipped tooth. He then, evidently dissatisfied, goes off to get his “mate". I go over and stand in the gap in the counter, explaining to the owner that should the pair of them try any 'strong-arm tactics' to achieve a better price then I'll be sure to back him up. (Has there been another sale/transaction before for exactly £51?) The “mate” is as I expected, a shambling, unkempt individual, moving as if underwater. He is totally washed out, his entire person faded to a khaki monotone. He has a wide, battered face topped with a thatch of unruly hair. Someone says he has a heart condition. From the very off his manner switches between put upon and confrontational. Indeed, at one point, things get physical between us and as we warily circle one another I take aim to nudge him in the chest (quite aware of his 'diagnosis'?) while he lamely brandishes a slender piece of timber trim-

(The altercation over/unresolved) I notice wide white shelving (that has just appeared in the dreamescape) over to the right of the shop. Of the huge, fat books on the left shelf I can just about discern 'The Stainless Steel Rat's Guide To Film', working back from the stylish ink drawing on the wide green spine. To the right on the middle shelf (of 3) I realise I am looking at some huge collection of AKIRA. Housed in three large, Scalextric set-esque boxes the books are split into volumes 1, 2 & 3, volumes 4, 5 & 6 (though I also read this as '6, 6, 6')and volumes 7, 8 & 9. I am sure the first and third volumes also contain accompanying VHS video cassettes. There's a circular orange tag taped to the shelf above that states the entire collection is reduced to £30 (by either £20 or 20p, I'm unsure). I say I was never told they had this in their stock and the owner comes over to explain that a guy from Pink(?) Street sold it to them so it's likely to be damp/damaged. He then dips his hand into one of the boxes and when he removes it it is dripping wet. He laments the fact that he didn't check it more thoroughly at the time. Last I recall is some accompanying magazine lying open on a (also just appeared) table in the centre of the space - alongside the text on the right hand page there is a two-thirds figure ink drawing of Kaneda, in his classic standing gun pose, the paper all wrinkled and warped from the damp-

Hooltfur

I (know I) am in a large cinema complex. I am negotiating the warmly lit access corridors, being very theatrical, with sweeping stairways and ornate, golden features on the walls. Do I work here? I am carrying a large clear plastic bag with 3 fancy dress costumes in it, two dark suits to either side of an astroturf green catsuit with glittery gold lapels and extravagant white pom poms to finish. I am stopped by a member of the cinema staff – I seem to know them all, but cannot exactly define my (working) relationship to them. I am angry and frustrated at this small, stocky fellow who intercepts me. He has a large ball head, shaved close, a loop earring in his right ear and thick, round spectacles over his small, narrow eyes. I protest that he ought to know that the costumes I am carrying were purchased somewhere else and that I am not trying to steal them from the premises. The costumes are then (somehow) taken from my bag – and in the process they seem to multiply to more than three, including a rather garish, pantomime-esque Robin Hood onesie – and the gathered staff, mocking me, put them on and quickly disperse. I am furious-

I am walking across a stone bridge over a body of shallow water. Looking over I can clearly see the bottom, the largest stones breaking the surface. I am in pursuit of an ill-defined individual, hoping to get one of my costumes back (as well as mete out some justice) when I catch up with him on the far bank. Swimming in this water are several small fleshy creatures. They have bodies shaped much like a human, only more fluid and flexible, twisting and turning this way and that in the flow of the water. There's a suggestion of a skin-like film or web that stretches from each wrist back to under the ribcage. At the top of the neck, and it is a long, similarly flexible, limb there is no head as such, ending as it does in a four fingered hand (although the hand is smooth, the digits round and cartoonlike). I watch these strange creatures weave here and there-

I have caught up with a woman with a pudding bowl haircut and a long, tired looking face. She is soaking wet, her dark blue suit, complete with large, fabric covered buttons, is damp and saturated. I remonstrate with her for taking my costume and, in a moment of absolute frustration – I have spied the suit trousers lying in a sodden heap on the ground - I slap her face. She looks at me with much the same expression as I fixate on the sight of the sodden trousers-

Qwuggell

I am standing looking down on the entrance to a zoo enclosure. It is in an approximate angular 'Y' shape, a single corridor taking a left and right turn before returning straight, each subsequent corridor leading to a sliding 'guillotine' gate into the enclosure. A beautiful white tiger is prowling herein. I am vexed as it is set upon by two rabbits. These animals have very long front teeth and they sink them into the tiger's neck, latching on and gripping it tightly. The tiger struggles as much as possible but the rabbits hold fast. It's as if they are draining the tiger's life force – its fur becomes lank and matted and it visibly begins to thin, the bones coming to the surface through the weakened muscle, the initial effort to shake them off dying away. Fortunately it survives-

https://stkittsvet.co.uk

I watch as a small shoebox, containing what I think to be two guinea pigs, sits at the bottom of the (now empty) enclosure. I see them shuffling around inside and try to work out exactly what type of animal they are. They emerge from the box and crawl up the vertical wall towards me. Over the course of this 2 metre journey they transform and when the arrive at the summit they seem to be nothing more than beetle-esque shaped blue and white plasticine blobs-

Wumf

“You couldn't make it up... ...but that did actually happen!”

Tonstlipp

I take a single, small headphone speaker and put it in my mouth and, in spite of the expectation of crunching on lots of electronic components, I find eating it to be much the same as munching on a Skittle-

I am rehearsing (out loud) Monty Python's 'Dead Parrot Sketch', lingering over the opening lines, a variation (incorrect, of course) on John Cleese beginning with “Good afternoon” and Michael Palin countering with an amiable “Good morning”, the comedy (somehow) taking off from there. I have a landscape format poster showing a black ink reproduction of a photograph on a deep blue background, the names “Cleese” and “Palin” in the top corners, left and right respectively, a thick black band running across the bottom. I am practically rehearsing into this artifact. I seem to be in a sort of glazed shopfront and I watch a lady walk past on the other side of the road quickly followed by a young Michael Palin who scuttles after her (his wife?) in the semi-darkness. I am disappointed to see him pass by as I continue with my theatrical run-through, wishing he had noticed/heard me. I am delighted when he does indeed come over only a few moments later, adopting an impoverished pose outside the shop, the poster propped at his back. He is soon joined by Eric Idle – does the poster change to “Cleese” and “Idle”? - and the pair of them sit dejected, hunched there on the pavement. I make some joke about “will perform the Parrot Sketch for food” which we all find very amusing-

I have decided I must take a photo of the poster (complete with an overlay of white writing) to send to my friend Ayy Ess – I have to attest to the fact that I am with Palin and Idle. Unfortunately I cannot get sufficient light to do this and I adopt a strange, knock-kneed, zombie-esque shamble as I walk over to the tall rear window. I manage to avoid the numerous empty plastic bottles, each with a baby bottle (sterilising?) inside, but cannot help but bump into two tall, hollow, metal canisters, sending them clattering to the floor. Michael Palin suddenly beats me to the far wall and draws up the roller blind at the large window, flooding the space with light-

Hwanzahh

 

I am visiting one of my old workplaces, HaitchPee, to ask about the possibility of being reemployed. The office environment is much changed – where I expected a bright, spacious front room populated by staff I find it has been completely vacated and the opening blocked off by a clumsily erected cardboard construct, taped into place. I explore and make my way up a wide curving staircase. My old boss, Gee Emm, sits at a desk to the left at the top of this stair, and Kay Ess, another company director, sits across from him, over to my right. I am still standing on the stairs and conduct my conversation with Gee from there, (awkwardly) talking to him over the rail. I make a pun, taking a statement of his and quoting it back at him, changing one word to “birth” for comic effect – my newborn son is imminent and although the tone is jocular my situation is quite desperate. With a sly wink Gee says he has heard as much, and knows that I am soon to be a father-

Gee calls a sudden staff meeting and everyone assembles around a large oval desk. Once everyone has shuffled into place - there seems to be a single empty chair which I assume is for me – Gee quickly (and jokingly) quickly dispells this notion with an aside to the assembled staff. And so I watch from my position on the stairs, Gee's chummy orating slowly drowned out by hip-hop-esque beats. My view is then interrupted as someone dressed as a great purple phoenix stands in front of the table, slowly flapping their outstretched feathered arms and further distracting me from what is going on-

Mothman

"All you know.... has just slipped away...."

Indeed it has, leaving our resident 'dreamescapist' Rob incapacitated (to say the least!)... As such all headventures beyond the dreamescape transmissions are currently on hold until such a time as he recovers - he's found his feet but he ain't too steady, Eddie....

Still, there's plenty here to be going on with and even more action at the (similarly unanticipated painful contact with the ground to a halt) Braw Books blog....

Acetone - All You Know