Thursday, September 27, 2012

after the rainstorm

Ah. Still hadn't written out those two dreams. The one about the disturbance after the rainstorm still vivid in my head, but the other one is gone,can't remember it now. My room on that top floor, a roof more or less, on top of a tall building. The leaks. My sister had been there earlier, but she wasn't there now. I check to make sure the guitar and the bed are not under the leaks, the many leaks letting in lots of rain into the room. The noises of disturbances outside, the thunderstorm but also shots and shouting.I come out onto the roof to see what is happening. There were two naked men with guns hijacking cars during the riot. A lot of shouting and cursing, could see people looking out from windows and balconies and hurrying back in. There were people lying on the street, injured or dead, bloodied, very still; people driving madly in all directions. Sirens, police cars; the two naked men hijacking a very lime green volkswagen beetle. I heard angry voices near and knew some people were coming to get me, but there was nowhere to hide on that roof. I made for an entrance to an emergency stairs and crouched in a nook… What was the other dream about, what was it...

Tuesday, September 25, 2012


The many sets of coordinates, the infinite configuration spaces that contain us and define us and the vst array of possible us, the blurry demarcations, the uncertain limits and borders of what we are. I open my eyes in the middle of the night, I think 'it is night, it is I, what does all that mean'. Outside, the vast pinwheel firework of the universe continues its blind careening burning itself in a mad dash of entropy towards oblivion, one that is too slow for us to register, perhaps mercifully. Beyond that, who knows. In the meantime, I stare at the ceiling in the dark, I think of many things to do with impermanence and the transience of life and of being, I sigh and turn around and try to sleep again.

Sunday, September 09, 2012

a dream of lost guitar

In that dream I lost my guitar. That hadn't happened that I can recall... often I'd found myself without my guitar in a dream but it was always that I was in Venezuela, unable to make it back to England and my guitar, my pupils and my things. This case was different. I was with Carlos -whichever of the many calls that might have been, and we were trying to make our way back from the ... was it the airport? from a terminal building, in any case, but had had to walk miles in the dark, stopping by the second bus stop from the terminal; we get on the bus and I realise that I've left my guitar, my one good concert guitar that's been with me for the last thirty-five years, on the stone bench by the bus stop, in the middle of nowhere. Carlos has gone to the top deck of the bus, I haven't got a mobile phone with me so I have to shout to him, has he got my guitar -but it is too noisy and he's far at the back of the bus... I try to move over to where the steps for the top deck are but people are in the way, some rather noisy boisterous young people get in my way, apparently trying to get me to share their drink. By the time I get closer, Carlos has left the bus and we have arrived to wherever the bus was going. I trout get the bus back to go to that desolate bus stop in the middle of nowhere in case the guitar might still be there unstolen, but there won't be another one until tomorrow. I make it home, finally, and check all my guitars in case I had taken the wrong one (after all, would I have taken my best guitar without any sort of case to protect it), but it's all the others there ok -I have lost it. A cleaner I don't remember having hired is busy cleaning the guitars and making them shiny. Then I wake up. And, yes, I had to go and check the guitar was still there on its stand as always, and not in some desolate wilderness by a country road in a gloomy country of dreams.