A suicide bomber from [insert arabic country we don’t like] has [attacked / destroyed / murdered - delete as appropriate] x amount of people in [insert victim country here] causing chaos, destruction, the apocalypse, half price waffles and more chaos. Terrorists are suspected [terrorists can literally be anyone with a beard] and [insert sympathetic country here] will be stepping up it’s efforts to [pre determined agenda like ID cards or stopping hippies from protesting] immediate after [government / feds / ronald mcdonald] passes [some bill of something that changes everything but you don’t really know what’s going on because everyone is shouting “TERRORIST” so damn loud that you can’t get any sense out of anybody] in order to prevent this from happening again. [yeah but it will, people are insane]

But honestly, my heart goes out to those caught in the cross fire between sheep and shepherd. 

I had a dream within a dream again last night, an experience which completely denounces my attachment to reality. Ever since I quit my little ‘habit’ my dreams have been making up for their absence by creating twisted versions of my desires, fears, joys or whatever some idiot had on the TV that day. 

I want to start cataloguing my experiences. Which means I might have to actually start writing subjects on my tumblr outside of suedo rants, amusing videos and stunning pictures of women I will never meet. 

Last Night. 

My dream opened in an exposed brick apartment, open plan, big windows down one side which opened out onto a large flat roof. It appeared that I had the penthouse of a 4 story apartment building, nothing lavish or hipster, nor too high to kick my vertigo into self destruction mode - which I call Lemmings’ Delight - but it would appear to have been a north american city as the builds were tall with more style than history; it was also sunny so instantly not a UK location. 

I was with my ex girlfriend who was wondering around seemingly arguing with herself about whether bits in orange juice was a good thing, and if so, why didn’t other juices have bits in them, what exactly made oranges so bit friendly… this I have already deduced as my subconscious mind finding a vessell to place innane thought and comedic awareness; if you ain’t laughing you’re not trying hard enough etc. 

I’m staring out of the window at the pristine blue sky that looks like some kid just photoshop’d it with the gradient tool, not caring for any details outside of pure blue tipped to lighter haze. Behind me the juice debate continues until the words “shall we get on with it?” breaks the pattern. She motions to a large lounger chair, I sit down, she tells me to face away from her. Suddenly I’m not wearing my shirt which is sometimes when I know I’m dreaming as my subconscious is very prone to continuity errors, but I soon forget this detail, doubting instead, my concentration level and emerse myself back in the dream. She pulls out a tattoo gun, gives it a quick buzz test and motions to say “are you ready?” I nod and she starts to tattoo something into my back. I’ve got 7 tattoos (8 if you count getting one redone) and let me tell you this, they friggin hurt like crazy, at first it’s uncomfortable, but like long distance running, after a while your whole body starts to uncover hidden pains that only escalates. But this tattoo feels warm, still vibrating, but it’s lacking the pain, my mind must have recorded the whole experience in different departments and by leaving the ‘pain’ factor out. Time disappears, she announces she’s finished and I look into a series of mirrors to see my back where it reads in large hand drawn Edwardian scripture “what to do next?” and underneath is a large detailed greyscale image of optimus prime. 

This totally baffles me yet I nod in approval. 

I step of the chair and slip into a sharp black suit and leave the apartment. I don’t go far as I then find myself across the street from my apartment, in a glass building where all the guys from Provision are sat around a large table dressed in suits that would only be designed by the council of evil. They sit talking about who should be made successful next, and why. I suggest a handful of people I know because their hard work deserves a reward, I am told that simply “isn’t how we do it” and if I wanted to stay in the room I would “dramatically change my ideas”. 

They all stand on the annoucement that they think “I’ve got a problem”, they all walk out apart from Steve May who points out of the window at what I was guessing was what they were refering to. 

The room melts away and I’m on the side walk. Across the street, on the roof of my apartment I see my ex. But my vision is restricted to a cinema perspective, I can see she is talking to someone, but I not who it is. I look around the street and all I see are cars with no drivers moving slowly across the tarmac. I look back to the roof, she’s crying, the frame moves and another man is up on the roof with her who moves to comfort her. The man is a mash between Christian Bale and William Defoe, tall, tanned, in a corn flour blue pin striped shirt (must not read american psycho before bed). He is everything I am not, and he is now in my home. My clothes are rotting off my skin and the whole world around me falls apart in dust.

I am now in Sainsbury’s, and I need juice. I’m picking up every carton of purple juice I can find. Dropping them faster than I can pull them from the shelves. Suddenly I’m in my room, woken up by Pete my housemate who shouts “what are you doing waking up? Go get the juice man!” I put my head back down to sleep and I’m back in Sainsbury’s, running through the store with my purple grape, elderflower, orange, cranberry assortment. I get through the tills and run down the street to my home. As soon as I get to the door the juice turns into dust and I wake up, this time in reality (I know this because I check for the tattoo). I am so thirsty I run straight into the kitchen and down two pints of water. 

Weird one. I think a large salt intake before bedtime brought the juice-mares. 

But the rest… I dunno. It’s clearly my dream setting but with my current life issues. All I needed was no talent Leeds wankers running down the street shouting whatever catch phrase they picked up in Vice magazine to really complete the idea of ‘taking your problems with you’.. but the lack of people in the city speaks to me the idea that I don’t know the people of that place, not yet, so it’s an open canvas. 

I just hope I can get the balance right, it was too comfortable in the last few months. That’s what killed it. Like the villagers who riot because they have nothing to worry about, or in the Matrix when they say “we made the perfect utopia but humans rejected it, entire crops were lost”. There needs to be a constant progression between two people, otherwise someone will find it elsewhere. 

And the excitement all starts again tonight - the dream within a dream element is starting to really freak me out.