Wednesday, 22 July 2009

My Dreamscape

In the last two weeks I've dreamed about nuclear war three times. I have seen full blown nuclear exposions from the end of the earth's atmosphere and mushroom clouds appear from my window.

Dream #1
As I look at the column of energy consume everything in its path like an immobile tornado my own cat is driven to complete insanity as the mushroom blossoms, I try to take him away from the horror that awaits but he scratches my face to pieces in the panic and fear that only a fragile creature like a cat can feel. Unusually, the only thing missing from my imagination was the intense white light that follows a nuclear explosion, the one that all voluntary witnesses are advised to shield their eyes from lest they destroy their retinas.

In this dream I see huge collumns of smoke one after the other, as many as seven consumed the entirity of my vision, towering into the sky dwarfing the 'skyskrapers' they engulfed. Each was entirely and perfectly locked into its own position, making no outward movements but shaking violently where it stood, seemingly sucking life from the ground to the heavens. The unison they showed was incredible, each was a precise replica of the last in its previous seconds and all towered thousands of metres into the sky joined by a grey cloud that was even higher than it ever seemed possible for the earth to reach. I wept in fear at their presence.

Dream #2
In another dream I witnessed the destruction of the earth from its own atmosphere, I saw mushrooms consume continents falling from rings that resembled those of cartoon planets. I saw billions die in this dream, I may well have been the only living survivor, a lucky anomaly who happened to miss a date with death. Again, all white light was absent and I was not blinded, I looked into the eye of the explosion and felt the fear and pain of every innocent and unassuming individual. I woke up before I could see the results, the last thing I remember thinking was how no-one could ever deserve this amount of suffering and weeping into a bowl at the loss of humanity whilst praying that this was just a dream.

Dream #3
In my final dream I was the most disturbed. I was aware of some kind of destruction, but I did not see it first hand like I had in the other dreams, although I knew it was enormous. People were shredded limb from limb, apparently torn to pieces. Faces were almost always missing. At times internal body organs were exposed in the living and breathing, stomachs protruded like dull red footballs beneath yellowing rib cages. I remember seeing animals that were once pets eating the feet and shoes of their human friends, people walked on all fours but behaved in their usual manner as if their revolting presence was not offensive. I saw a dog shit into a corner only to produce a hive of cockroaches that crawled over its body, searching its surface for the similarity they found inside the decaying cask that they had immediately left. I saw men eating their own hair because it was the only form of disposable and affordable nourishment. Water was exceptionally non existent and as far as I could see, liquid was a laughable luxury, life crumbled to the touch.

This is what I see, the images have no basis in reality, the only thing they can be is a product of what I have seen on TV...


Saturday, 18 July 2009

The Great British Stag

Where do you begin when it comes to dissembling this fine human institution? Stag and hen parties are a staple for the marriage type, the final few hours of acting like an arse because you will apparently never be able to again once wed. Aren't they fantastic? A true testament to the human condition, all of the loudest and dimwitted of yr mates attempting to give you one last hurrah before the tedium of wedded bliss destroys yr soul. I don't understand why there is a need to dress up like a twat because yr getting married, maybe I don't understand the desire to get shitfaced in the next town over when there is an array of perfectly suitable drinking holes right where you already are, and maybe just maybe I don'tnt get the fucking point when you do the same thing every Friday night and in all fairness you are lucky to have found someone even worth marrying after you probably picked the drunk mess up in something like Oceana or the local Yates.

But more importantly, aside from the fact that all people on stag and hens look like twats there is another thing that really bothers me. The scale of ambition is pathetic. If someone I knew, least of all my BEST friends, thought throwing a big send off for me involved any of the following, I think I would rather be friendless:

Devil horns
Anything that sparkles (not including fireworks)
Custom print t-shirts
Wondering around old street
A kebab for the train home
Being home in bed by 2
Possibly going to a strip bar

So, yr friends are trying to give you a send off, why the fuck then are you wondering around some crappy part of London, with t-shirts two sizes too big that look like they have been printed in times new Roman size 12 font, yr still wearing yr work clothes and really the best they can muster is the possibility of a flesh show (because yr getting married, you've never seen a pair of tits before so now is the time to get acquainted with the female form). Where is the action? It all looks and sounds like its come out of a box, mass produced "memorability". Jesus Christ! I was on the train last night, yes that's right, the train so you are correct that would make the time EARLIER than 1am, and I see a stag party going home, the stag party had ended at about 12am, that would be a night to remember, because no night I can remember has ended before 3am for a long time. To me a night to remember needs to go on til at least dawn, that's just standard, it also needs to involve a lot more than a MacDonalds and/or a kebab and attempting to cream myself over toplesswoment at the same time as all my friends.

I want to set off fireworks from the back of cabs, I want bottles and bottles of booze and bags and bags of powders, I want the sleaziest clubs the city has to offer and when they close I want the worst of the afterparties and the very best of the bugging out corners, if we are going to strip clubs then I want the worst of the worst, I want to go to cheapest and dirtiest of the lot, then I want to go to kings cross and buy all my friends two for a tenner hookers and bring them in on the party, when I get hungry I dont want a kebab or a burger I want a barbeque in one of the royal parks and when it gets light i want to steal a car and drive to a house in the suburbs and use the pool to wash the filth that i have been rolling around in all night whilst the family sleeps in doors, then i will want to get married and if a hooker has somehow died along the way, not even that will matter.


Saturday, 4 July 2009

Junkie playground

It's quite amazing how shit scared I get around kings cross, the ingrained threat of being turned into a sex toy is too high. Basically for those that don't know, kings cross is the centre of drug and people traficing in London. And by people I mean you and me as well as the slaves. Look at any missing poster and notice that anyonne lost in London was last seen in kings cross. It's a junkies playground. So we have me, lost somewhere between kings cross and farringdon, its all just as bad. So I'm fuck worried, I may hav beem here a million times before but since im explaining how bad it is im a lot more worried. And im using my phone to write this nonsense. Never a good idea. So what could happen? I could get abducted into the night, that's the worst possible outome, by a long shot, the other is getting my head kicked in and having my jaw broken again. Becoming a sex save is bascally the worst thing that could happen, I dont like people I don't know, I don't like people I don't know touching me, I dont like things beeing put in me. By my own rules this fucks me bad. Being punched in the face wont be fun, but id rather that than being arse raped by a 6.5ft nigerian in denial about his sexuality and thus treating me like a rag doll because he hates the latent homosexuality unfolding before his very eyes.

We are in weird territory now, not only the last comment but I'm on the bus now. The buses to kings cross are always full of crackheads, great, it smells like piss and damp dish rags because thats the smell of crack, if you don't believe me get on a 25 at 1am, thats the smell. So fuck, im trying to get out of kings cross but in order to get out I have to venture deeper into it's heart, Kings Cross station. Would you like to know why there are always so many junkies whores and psychos around major train stations in London, well FYI there are a number of reasons. Reason number one, when you are chucked out of home by yr parents for whatever reasons you leave to the biggest, nastiest place in the country, where there are endless possibilities and total anonymity for fuck ups to get by. Secondly, the level of tourism is blistering so the prospects for prostitutes and beggars are pretty decent. Finally, and most darkly, there is an unaknowledged fact that it is possible for a child who has run away from home to be in the hands of scumbags, pimps, junkies and pikeys within a day of landing in London, thus being turned into most of the above before the week's end.

But tonight it's an exodus, junkies, whores, thieves and psychos abound the bus stops apparently trying to board anything moving. Why do thy want to leave? This is where it's at for them... This is the pinnacle of their sad and lonely lives, they will never get more involved in their own personal hell than they are now...

Get the fuck back, there is nothing for you past calidonian road....