smokingboot: (Default)
This summer I've been making a real effort to go to free festivals in London. There are loads, and they're charming. The Lambeth Country Show was no exception, except that it had the most wonderful herb stalls of the lot. I wanted to buy things like mullein, skullcap and woad, stuff you don't see anymore, but I bottled out after buying some favourites of mine, Thyme and Vipers Bugloss for the bees, Catnip for kitties, Fennel and Dill for food and feathery loveliness, Roman Chamomile because it's irresistible. I should have bought southernwood and pennyroyal too. I should have just buried myself in a forest of herbs for the rest of the day...

And of course, always good to meet friends; the bro joined us, and all was great. The next day was about rest and catching up with someone who wanted to tell me some private stuff. Both nights I had terrible dreams.

Saturday night I dreamed I asked my father for some help with a hurt robin. One of its wings had been sheered right off, as though it had never had a wing there at all. It just hopped around while I tried to keep cats away. I wondered if the merciful thing was to kill it, then I looked down and saw on the ground one little dead bird, on top of which was another, smaller, dead bird, respectfully placed. Was I just collecting dead birds out of pointless cherishing?

Last night I dreamed I was having an interview with an old lecturer of mine: He was a small gentle man in real life; here he was berating me about my bad behaviour in the past, a paper of mine he had marked 17 and a half out of something. The paper was about fairies, but he said it wasn't pointed enough, and he had written awful comments about me. One was something about raging/flaming/some adjective describing overwhelming depression and there was something about psychopathy, which, in the dream, made me wonder if I was my father. Having realised that I wasn't, I took the lecturer to task, asking him how he thought these comments would help me at all. I reminded him of the room I had stayed in, where there were problems with ghosts. He laughed. 'Well, you would have trouble in that room,' he said, but agreed his words had not been helpful. I tore a strip off him. We were travelling with a group somewhere. I didn't care, not about the group, not about him.

Maybe this had to do with me having a PTSD episode last night, my first in a long time, triggered by something on TV. I don't know. But I feel very uncomfortable today and once again feel a kind of coldness around me.

God I need some decent sleep.
smokingboot: (dreams)
Much running around to be done.

Two dreams of my mother, one forgotten, one vivid. We were headed towards that place in my dreams with the yellow castle,and the sinking cathedral. I had inherited a big modern house near there, with a dark garden full of beasts including a huge snake (I know, I know!). Saw it a moment, then it was gone as we tried to visit the sights of the city or wherever we were; Mum and I were going down a tunnel, Bro wouldn't join us as it made him feel claustrophobic. Mum and I went together, and found ourselves in a place full of light.

It's about Rome, it's about endless repeats of that Jungle Book clip with Scarlet Johannsen as Kaa, it's about many things.

Back later.
smokingboot: (dreams)
cures a lot of problems.

My dreams were strange,my mother riding on a beautiful white horse to which she was occasionally cruel. She told me she had googled how to train it by hitting it with rocks. A friend explaining about another friend in words I couldn't understand. Picking out a dress that was a lovely shape though slightly wrong colour,only to realise at the last minute that it wasn't mine; clearing out a car boot of old food and empty meat packets. Finding that I was part of a Hogwarts House called something like 'Lachesis' with mottoes that were positively Blakean in terms and length, and talked about being humble in the face of one's passion or hatred. Ice and worms were mentioned. Finding out that we were sneaking through the house, and not part of it at all...Leaving the place in time to see a parade of its representatives including clergy in red crossing a field. Eschewing the temptation to join them to get back to where we were meant to be...

And yet it was all as peaceful a night's sleep as I can remember, refreshing and pleasant.

Another night out tonight. Must try not to KO myself with good food and drink.


Feb. 17th, 2017 10:50 am
smokingboot: (dreams)
Wrapped in some kind of blanket on the kerbside, people nearby saying nice reassuring things about me, but not noticing that there was a man at the other end of my body, and neither I nor they seemed to be able to make out what he was doing. Maybe he was doing it with their permission. I could not move. I started saying, 'Help me, help me!'And was woken by my partner.
I hate it when I talk in dreams. Even in my sleep, I often know it is happening. My voice sounds much lower and forced. It creeps me out.
smokingboot: (dreams)
We celebrated,and though I am not hungover, my dreams were mainly alcohol inspired, so not worth recording as any kind of record of my psyche. But sometimes landscapes, routes or paths recur with a strong sense of being real places.One such turned up last night, very clearly, a pathway near Bermondsey or down Southwark way, which starts real enough with a bright cheap little cafe full of people, and then becomes a road near a cliff's edge.

Across from that edge was a kind of man-made edifice where apes sat rather bored; generic primates, larger than chimps,smaller than gorillas with few defining characteristics. They are not very interesting. But turning north, there were the most huge eagles/vultures/hawks I had ever seen. Some even had saddles. They were kept there by chains around neck or feet, but still could fly, though not away from the site. Alongside there was a path, and I knew, from other dreams,where it leads. It goes to a castle which,in my dreamland, folk equate with Arthur. The outside is carved of pale, almost yellow, stone with strange figures on it,covered with slick black soot. Many of the faces and details have been worn away by time and rain.

There is a recurring theme in my dreams, of a road with an old ruin/great building beside it into which I somehow never make my way. I used to have it about a cathedral under ground, a place slipping away down a sort of tunnel.

It would be interesting to use lucid dreaming techniques to get into the old castle. But that feels like cheating somehow.

Meanwhile, looks like a visit to Japan in 2019, provided the tickets aren't ridiculously expensive. Could be wonderful!
smokingboot: (dreams)
The dream was odd. A man with whom I had a real life acquaintance was shmoogling up to me. This was a surprise as not only was the gent a deeply unshmoogly sort, he was certainly never my cup of tea, and the feeling was mutual except for one time when he got very drunk and gave me what could best be described as a signal. He was smashed beyond coherence so chances are he thought I was his girlfriend, but in any case, it was a matter of surprise, both in real life and the dream. During the latter there was a way out of something, but it entailed climbing up towards a window or vent, in which I could see a big brown rat. I don't mind rats really - I find them sensitive and intelligent creatures - but I didn't fancy putting my face close on a level with it. Transpired that was unnecessary as said rat ran out of the window straight towards me bringing with it a whole bunch of gerbils or hamsters who had been eating a face/ massive puppet head or something. They scattered, never touching me, though they made me question the wisdom of heading in the direction they were so frantic to leave. In the dream it wasn't horrible, though I appreciate it's grim when written down.
smokingboot: (dreams)
I saw Dad for a split second last night.

He appeared in the most cliched way, out of the mist. He was standing on a wooden quay next to a little moored boat and he looked at me, his expression serious. The trouble with these things is that once the picture is there, the mind starts creating a story/conversation, possible extrapolations, the kind of thing he might say. So I put that to one side.

But this is the second time I have seen him in my minds eye, as opposed to a memory.

Next time I shall be more Hamlet-like, though cheerful having no Elsinore to baffle me. But like Hamlet, if he speaks, how do I know it's not just me talking?
smokingboot: (dreams)
We're on a hill, one of the highest around London.

We had a light carpet of snow, enough for little beastie footprints, and white bonnets for all the cars. Now it's melting. Not proper Narnia at all. What rubbish.

The sky must have cleared late, because I did wake to see the full moon shining bright through my window. I was so sleepy though, I didn't follow it downstairs for a chat.

Dreamed of old friends GA and JS, and one old not-a-friend. Apart from GA who seemed to be arranging things, we were all readers at a wedding, but I had no idea of the order,or the readings. For some reason we were all going be camping/setting up temporary residence together. I went into a grand shop to get some loo paper for everyone,and a lady told me to go out the back, where I could buy it. When I came back in, this huge shop was deserted, and I was alone in the perfume section. Someone - it might have been GA - picked up a perfume and recommended it to me. It was called 'Simply Neptune.'

It makes me think there's magic nearby, and worlds strange and winsome to explore. This morning's sky is blue here and almost luminous pink over London. To the North-West I can see a spire of what seems to be gold metal gleaming. It's all very slightly Rodney Matthews. The wind's blowing across the hill, and the day will become ordinary any minute. But not quite yet.

smokingboot: (default)
I dreamed that I was witness to the beginning of the end of days, the arrival of the devil on earth. I was in a room as the door began to cave inwards,and everything was breaking and shattering around me; in my hand there was a bottle, not like one you drink out of but square at the top. Somehow I was indicated a direction of escape, upwards and out, at approximately 10 to 10.30 if one considered it as on a clock face, or North West on a compass, but from where I stood it was definitely upwards rather than along.

This series of images repeated itself, as if to make sure I wouldn't forget. But I take comfort from the fact that t it was obviously an illness dream, me snuffling away unable to breathe in my sleep.  Also, various parts were taken from memories. The bottle looked exactly like the witch-killing bottle from the Horniman, the caving in of the room was very similar to the attack a few years back when the man broke down the door, the difference being that there was no blood in the dream, and instead of just the door everything was being destroyed around me. In a way it is a good sign, because it means that my PTSD flashbacks are becoming assimiliated into memory.

The second part showed no images directly taken from recent memory. I was in a field, using a scooper to clear dogs poo from the earth;there were some places so churned up no separation of earth and faeces was possible.I saw a man in a field next to me, grey haired or holding up a silvery grey plant, and there was a flash of purple to it too. I climbed over a style because it seemed wise not to be in a place where a strange man could reach me so easily. There was a country lane filled with people, pleasant enough, we were all going in the same direction. I suddenly discovered I had a dog. One silver haired lady commanded him and he obeyed so well that other people tried to start telling him what to do. I told them not to,because I didn't want them to take advantage of his good nature.
smokingboot: (default)
Well that was interesting. I dreamed that I walked out onto a level landscape, though there were trees dotted here and there. There was a kind of low but spreading greenery with slightly bobbly leaves everywhere, and here and there I noticed scat, so I knew something lived here. I walked, to find myself suddenly on what I can only describe as a mini-cliff. and nearly bumped straight into a sleeping lion.  He was very skinny and surprised, his cubs less so; they leapt up to examine the stranger, and I had wit enough to turn and run, not from the cubs, who were adorable, but from their elders who might be interested too. Sure enough, other members of the pride had woken, young not-quite-cubs, slightly smaller than adults but having no mane as yet. I leapt and ran to the sounds of other humans making surprised noises, while the young lions ran around absolutely certain there was something to chase here somewhere. There were no screams; those other humans were safe enough, as was I, once basically out of the den. There was no fear in my dream, only happiness - theirs and mine -  and a basic idea of survival. It was a fun dream.

We got a contact the other day from one of our safari group members which is why I reckon I dreamed of lions.How happy they were in Chobe, in Savuti, in Moremi! How much better life is with lions in it!  Endearing memories, a cub chasing birds across the landscape, his mother close by. Vultures staring down at said cub balefully, with a real look of  'If your mother wasn't such a big shot around here...'
But the little cub could laugh, knowing she was a big shot, so the vultures could dream and wait. All the world can wait. There's death everywhere and life everywhere too. It's very beautiful.

The close up of the cub on the kill is [ profile] larians photo, the other two are among my many attempts at capturing their casual magnificence.

My father died just over a year ago, on the 2nd. I think they told me on the 4th, so this,to me feels like the anniversary. Must reset my understanding.

Pythagoras had this theory about the reincarnation of souls. I kind of like it...Dad might not have been the most perfect human being, but he'd be a magnificent lion in the wilds of Africa.  There now, that's a fine story.
smokingboot: (default)
The zombies were only a small part of it though...and I am annoyed at forgetting so much of the plot. All I recall are zombies in period costumes  spilling out of the woods devouring corpses and living people. I was with a very large group, but the zombies came close. I had one,a large male with straggly black hair, point blank,shot it twice in the chest and was out of ammo.  Having said that, we moved away with ease, for the zombies were slow and our group was well armed.  We left them behind very quickly. There was a figure to the right of my vision. The figure was watching me watch my dream. I can't recall why but it was significant.

The dream however,probably wasn't some deep truth dredged up from my psyche, due to being affected by beer and pizza down in Blackheath. A very pleasant night!
smokingboot: (default)
We haven't caught up since the wedding, so away to the wilds of Stevenage I go...But first, a conversation with Oz this morning, and a record as best I can manage it of my strange dreams last night.

A place that seemed European, very distinctive fountains, with huge sparkling jets of water coloured blue. The number four featured, but this, I think came down to a conversation I had yesterday. Then in the streets huge globes of varying similarity to the moon appeared,  emanating missiles that attacked people.Some of these missiles were round like bubbles clustering, others like lightning. Crowds were running everywhere, especially when the lightning began.I saw a man being tormented by these mini-electrical shocks zapping all over his body, while I just walked through it. When I went to him, it struck me directly but still, nothing to it. There was a page thick with handwriting, quite elegant but closely packed, a lot of information. It kept appearing in front of me at intervals throughout the dream.
smokingboot: (default)
I went to see my brother, who was working from home. He showed me something he has been writing for a few years. It has a magic in it, London rough,London old . It needs work for sure,but yes,it has something.

We talked about travel. I am ready to leave London.  'You're always ready to leave,' he said. My background is travel positive.His,not so much. 'I hate travel,' he told me. He reminded me of all those times,something like  three a year, Dad would make us up sticks and head for Spain and stay for a month or more.  'By the time we came back,' he told me, 'Term had always started and people had picked their friends. All the new stuff to be explored had already been found by someone. And then there was the havoc played with exams and study...' I never noticed any of it. For me, travelling was fun.

The conversation reminded me of a dream I had, one of a few very vivid dreams I recall from my early life; In my dream I was a being who lived at the top of a tree, among the high leaves rustling, but there was a boy or something like a boy who lived in the trunk.

Maybe that boy was my brother, sturdy and wanting the rock-solid, while I was the flyaway.

More than 45 years on I could tell him, there's nothing there, mi principe, just all those little streets that fall down drains into the dark. It's better to fly and forget the exams. Coming back is always an option, the sooty old chimneys aren't going anywhere. What's there to it, but derelict warehouses and offices that shine brightest when they're empty? Cruising car parks and raves in the tunnels under Vauxhall bridge... and even those things are done.

 But we are different. Our observation is so far apart...But it's nice that he'll wave me goodbye as I fly off, reminding me to come back.

There's a music in it too. But we don't hear the same things. Here is something I hear and see. Once I had the great pleasure of seeing De Falla's Amor Brujo performed by extraordinary flamenco ballet dancers.  On its night it has no equal.

Bad dream

Sep. 1st, 2016 08:41 am
smokingboot: (default)
Dreamed I was working somewhere, trying to get a man a receipt. It took a little time, the man reached over and punched me in the nose, hard enough to knock me over. He walked away.

I don't know if this is anxiety or just my unconscious mind translating a blocked nose into a story.
smokingboot: (default)
It seems Mum is aware that my wedding is next weekend, as has made noises at my aunts about whether there is a possibility of it being skyped.Turns out it looks likely, so fingers crossed! Even if something happens and it can't be done, a chum will be videoing bits and pieces so we can upload it at some point. I am delighted she and my other relatives, especially the termagent, will be able to see it, even if it means I can look forward to a whole bunch of comments like, 'Well, you would have thought she could lose a bit more weight before she... Why is she wearing a table on her head?...She would have looked better in the pink...' What is important is that Mum is involved and aware. And if it can be done, I may regret it in time to come, but I won't regret it on the day.

Another dream last night.

I was living in a room in a house, and realised I was leaving it. The room was dark and dusty, and I had known for a long time it was haunted by a malign presence, a girl. There was some kind of doll, but also, a much bigger version of the girl made up of the pipes/brickwork/door so it looked as though she dominated the room, coming in through the walls. I shaved the head of the doll to show her that she had no power in the situation, but I didn't throw her hair away; my act wasn't about dissing her but about gently setting her straight as to who had power in the situation.  so I put her hair on the side where she could pick it up and stuff it in a pillow or burn it respectfully, or do whatever she needed to do to recover herself. I checked the backdoor which led out into a dark place; the locks were old fashioned, covered in rust...and in any case, the door had been on the latch the whole time.Anyone could have got in.  I left for good through the front,  to find myself  being flirted at by Richard Hammond. He was a bit full on actually. We went for dinner.


Jul. 22nd, 2016 10:26 am
smokingboot: (default)
I have not had a proper dream in months. But yesterday, the weirdest thing happened... I just crashed out in the early afternoon and fell into a very deep sleep, and then came the dream; A room full of in-laws and, of all people, an older lady I know from the pagan scene. The toddler son of my sister-in-law-to-be was bouncing on a bed; sometimes he seemed more like a baby sometimes he seemed more confident, like a four or five year old. We jumped on the bed as though it was a trampoline for a few minutes, but then I saw something no-one else seemed to notice; it was snowing in the room. It had a very localised starting point, a specific part of the ceiling,and it didn't seem to be settling anywhere,but there were particles of it flying around everywhere. The pagan lady asked me about the phenomenon, mainly trying to to work out what it was. I  don't know if she could actually see it. Sometimes it seemed like snow, sometimes like hail/sleet or rain with a curiously distinctive gleam, sometimes like little sparks,though it didn't seem to burn.

I woke up feeling better than I have for a while.
smokingboot: (default)
Went to the Chamber of Flavours, had a great time, but they ask one not to describe how it works or what it is about, so fair enough. I can recommend it though.

Feeling more rational about the wasteland, though I still don't like it. What it shows is that we have wide terraces and we can do a great deal with them, it's just my mind is a blank about it right now. I am no great gardener though I mean well.

Dreamed of Dad last night. He and I were returning to Zaidin, and he was marvelling at how it had changed. Uncle Raffa was waiting to see him/us. The sky was pink with sunset,and there was some kind of letter on the floor.


Nov. 22nd, 2015 01:09 pm
smokingboot: (default)
Dreams, dreams, one night ago, two? maybe it was even Thursday... looking at my phone seeing lots of messages from Dad, including one which was a song called something like 'Ed's End.' I didn't get to hear it.
smokingboot: (default)
A room full of people smoking and me sitting amid the fumes and the people; A view of myself as seen through the eyes of an interviewer, cigarette smoke billowing around me.

'Aren't you passive smoking?' Asked the interviewer's voice.

'Oh yes,' I laughed, 'I've been a passive smoker all my life.'

That's all I can remember.

It is true - my dad was a heavy smoker, and I lived in his house, breathed it in without any choice. It put me off cigarettes completely and to this day, I have never been a smoker. Nicotine makes me sick. And of course, it killed Dad.

I think this dream is about the toxicity of... well, everything... almost everything. Everything that is about the outer world of people. In the end, all that poisonous air, breathed in, breathed out, recycled, curdled ideas, rotted words... it can get into you. It can taint your whole life. I feel it everywhere, and once again, must retreat, to try to get this work finished. But even if this work wasn't an issue, I would have to retreat. My life is better when I do... though I feel as though I am somehow a lesser person for not engaging.

One of the things I hate about austerity as a concept is that it creates a kind of petty smallness, a shrinking of soul and mind, a drawing up of barriers: go no further, mine not yours, the thing I know, not the thing I must extend myself to learn. All that matters is controlling my tiny purse, my tiny mind, my tiny world. No great art or kindness ever came out of parsimony. It is a diminisher of people into numbers. I detest it.

Like sitting in a room full of smokers, me laughing and admitting I've been there all my life. Clearly I like the smokers' company or I wouldn't be there. But I wish the snapshot had shown me a door.
smokingboot: (default)
My dreams are just getting weirder...

I woke three times, and each time I went back to sleep there was another dream nugget. One was about going to a place with a reputation for danger. I was told it wasn't that bad, but had to accept I would be followed around by crowds of curious people. The other was when some guy turned up to tell us there were snipers on the hill.

I do remember asking the Professor (I am almost sure it was him) to be discreet. And here I am blabbing of our liaison! The good news is I can't recall details. My psyche doesn't want to freak me out to the point of no return.


smokingboot: (Default)

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