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Pulling a screw out of my gum
2012-10-13 11:17:28
You and I standing at the end of a country platform with three or four others. We have a picnic packed, including a bottle of white wine. You pull the bottle from the basket and ask me to get a corkscrew. I walk up the platform and have to get to the other platform. To do so I must walk through a train, from side to side. It is a troop train, full of damaged soldiers' bodies with missing limbs, wrapped in hessian, lying on straw. I feel sick but plunge through, wondering what detail I should tell you.  We are staying in a hotel, that feels a little like the one we looked at in Nice, with the lift that didn't work. We are desperate for a bath or shower but can't find one. I look around, see a cubicle, but it has only a toilet, not even a basin. As I look at it, you are being told by the receptionist that there are no washing facilities and that if we love each other we won't need to wash. It'll be fun, she says. She shows us where the shower room was, levering up some hardboard so we can peep through to a shower room long boarded up. I wonder if we could crawl through and if the plumbing would work. We decide to beg a shower from another hotel.  We are living in a house in the country.  It is a wreck. The walls are bare lath and plaster. There is no heating, although it is winter. We have several children with us and some adults. I make fires in some rooms. On the top floor I light it in the middle of the floor. On the ground floor is a small coal fire in a big fireplace. My mum is there . I tell her it is a good fire. I return to the top floor to put some rubbish on the fire there but you have swept the fire up and thrown it out of the window, to tidy up. You say best to burn things in the garden. I go downstairs. In the garden you have filled a large brick-lined fireplace with water and are swimming. I join you and say I wish we had thought of this long ago. You look knowing. 
2012-09-23 05:42:35
I was in an abandoned building with Mohammed Alsharif and this couple (whom I don't actually know but I seemed to know in the dream). The four of us were going to go somewhere and I ended up outside in the car (a yellow convertible) with the couple. The guy was driving and he started to drive off without Mohammed. I protested and the guy said something to the effect of 'screw him' and then said, 'He shouldn't lag behind.' I got highly offended and demanded we go back. The guy refused; I argued; he refused. So, I told him to let me out. He woudn't. So, we argued about that until I told him this was kidnapping and got my phone out to call the police. I was deposited on a dark, rain-slicked skid row street. It was very dark and I started to walk back to the apartment to find Mohammed. I got to the upstairs doorway - a kind of doorway without a door to a landing with cracked and abused plaster, the cement floors covered in dust and debris - and he was there. "I'm so sorry, I said. "No problem," he shrugged in classic Mohammed fashion. "No, it's terrible. They were going to leave without you." "It's okay." Again, quintessential Mohammed casual shrug. "They're *****s. I'm so sorry. What should we do now?" I asked, thinking we would make alternate plans for the night out. He smiled in a cute, coy way and blushed as he shrugged his shoulders. I got the hint and smiled and blushed and looked down at my shoes. As I looked back up, he put his arms around my neck - very gently, very shyly - and leaned over to kiss me. It was gentle at first, but as I became more receptive, he got bolder. At one point, I gave a little whimper while he was kissing me and lips still on mine, he smiled and repeated my whimper mockingly. In this torrent of polite and demure passion, the boldest I could force myself to be was to press a hand to his chest. His hands never ventured beyond the back of my neck.
2012-09-14 21:22:08
springs and screws
2012-09-14 14:05:44
2012-08-17 03:39:11
2012-08-17 03:38:56


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