I am sleepy 2nd June 2008
Last night I had the craziest dream. It could be classed as a horror-dream — the type where it’s so scary yet you’re intrigued to find out what happens next.
It starts off when I’m playing guitar in front of this stage while this person is speaking. For some odd reason, it was hooked up to the main speakers. I was plucking my guitar strings making weird awkward noises which provoked fury amongst the audience. The weird thing was they didn’t know who it was. Then my friend discretely turned down the volume knob, and unplugged my guitar, careful that he wouldn’t give me away.
Time passes (i.e. I can’t remember what happens for the next few minutes or this was another one of those disjointed dreams).
The presentation ends and the crowd dismantles themselves from their nicely rows of chairs, and exit through the back door. I walk to put my guitar away until I realise that my guitar neck had fallen of. This was super scary. I even checked in my dream to see if was really a dream - you know, the thing they always do in movies - however the reality check came out to be positive. I thought I was living in the moment.
Can’t actually remember what happens next, however it’s at the end of the day. My surroundings are tinted grey, turning into black, surrounded by an atmosphere which is dense with pollution. I was outside. Out the back of the place where I just watched the presentation seemed to be some sort of train yard. There seemed to be at least 20 set of tracks strewn across before me. There were diesel trains which looked as if they had not been treated with soap and water for many years, were constantly shunting carriages along the tracks.
I was on my way to the Rockshop. It’s a place where they sell all things guitary. I wanted to get a quote to see how much this guitar with a broken neck would set me back. The Rockshop in this particular dream was set just on the other side of these 20 set of tracks. The darkness of night was slowly crawling over me - I knew that I’d have to move pretty quick to get there just in time before the store closes.
This part seems a tad vague. I remember falling into this storm-water ditch which was bridged with a–believe it or not–bridge. Trains wooshed all over the place. Well actually, they didn’t woosh - they were actually rather slow and most of them were at a far off distance. But for some strange reason, I’d stand there and wait a few seconds for one to pass. Because I was scared I’d get crushed.
Woot. I reach the other side - only to find out that the Rockshop had already closed. Quite strange, dreams, because I remember what the inside looked like - I remember walking inside the Rockshop - yet it was closed.
My dream ends there. I was left rot in disappointment for a while in my own mind as I waited to wake up.
Many things happened in my posting absence; I went to sleep and even went to school for 5/7ths of a week, but the most memorable is the witnessing of a massive house fire up on my street.
This is not a convention for the weird-and-wonderful — However, it is a photo of the Negro being escorted. This Negro stupid today attempted to hijack a small propeller-driven aircraft and demanded it to be flown from New Zealand to Australia. This woman is mentally challenged because firstly, she is dressed in incredibly incorrect hijacking attire, but more notably, she is stupid to think that this micro-light-like plane is able to fly some 3000 km across the Pacific Ocean from NZ to Australia.
I got a book some time last week. It has my name and address on it. It is from Christchurch. Initially I thought it was a book sent from someone from Trade Me, a mistake. I soon realised it wasn’t, as none of the sellers I had recently traded with were from Christchurch. It gets weirder: The sender’s surname is Mozgov, the stamp was placed in the top-left corner of the envelope, the handwriting contains a mixture of upper and lower-case characters and the book is entitled “Allen Carr’s Easy Way to Stop Smoking” — yet no one in my family, let alone myself smokes.
