Saturday, 5 August 2017
I was sat in the street with my cousin. It was a blessing, because I hadn’t seen her for over twenty years. She was so very small, so very young, so very nostalgic and spiritual and free. In fact, I had a photo of her on my person. I checked the photo, and continued to admire her perfect physical form. Her image and the photo were identical. The photo was over two decades old but she hadn’t changed a single molecule. Still a heavenly child, forever precious in my memory and even more precious in person. Only my late Dad could drag me away from her. He was struggling to control a beefy Rottweiler that kept jumping up at me. I was pleased to see that Dad had three copies of the first book I had ever wrote on him. He looked very proud. I wrote this fact down on my hand, so I wouldn’t forget it: Dad looks very proud of me. I then took off running along the dark suburbs of Manchester. Suddenly, up ahead, concerning several yobs, a fight broke out. It looked particularly violent, so I hid behind a bin. The only thing was, the light from my phone attracted them. They came over as one brawling gang and made me drink poison. I woke up from the poison on an oil rig with my mate. I asked him what time it was, because I knew he could not answer me. He could not answer me because he was a pigment of my imagination in my very own dream. Yet still he was a person stood before me and I was very curious as to his response. He stalled numerous times, but I kept pushing for an answer. Finally, he said it was 3pm. I then asked him what day it was. He answered quickly, but he got it wrong. I told him I was dreaming, told him he wasn’t real. He shrugged this off and got back to work. I found myself in a precarious position then. I was trying to walk along various door handles stuck into a high wall. Rock-climbing, in effect. Around me was a balcony chock-full with people. I fell towards water, but at the last minute decided I could fly. I flew across the surface of the water, up and down, along and back, gently skimming it, posing and showing off before the audience. I bombed into the depths, and then flew back up like Superman, laughing. I bounced off all the walls but felt no pain. It was bliss. Then security stopped me, and demanded to see the photo of my cousin, as if it was identification. She’s still the same, I told them, and my dad’s proud of me. They said the boss would have to see me, so I began to wake up, gently shaking myself. On second thought, I said no, I’m happy here, I think I’ll stay for a little while longer. But I wasn’t waiting for no boss, not in my own dream, where I was the boss, so I flew down into the water again and decided to go a level deeper, beyond the bottom. It was there where I found a chapel with Andy in. Andy had come back from the dead at his own funeral, but nobody was telling him, and he didn’t even know he was back, wasn’t aware he had even died. His memory must have been wiped, people were whispering behind his back. I sat and rejoiced with Andy. Then I awoke and wrote it all down. The dreamworld can be nice to me, sometimes. I’m not always afraid to close my eyes. In fact, there are rare occasions when I get excited.