Dreams

Eclipses are moving, they come closer then move further and further until they are out of my hands. I know this is a dream but I can't open my eyes. It's the middle of the day and I know Mum is watching the TV. Every time I uncurl a finger from my closed fist, a bright neon eclipse appears. It is pulsing, colour changing and making a sound. It's a high pitched sound, It took me until the end to realise that the sound was the dog, happy and playing with his ball. I was in a black room and my hand was blurred, only slightly visible but the moons were vivid and never-ending, even with my only having 5 fingers. (daydream in a dark room)

I am in a town and I am going to a place with small rooms, it's kind of a bar -people were smoking. I ran into friends but they weren't my friends. We got on well.
Before we got to the next bar I found a puppy. My friends said I couldn't keep him. 
A drugged up man ran to where we sat and opened up a pillow behind me to retrieve a big bag of pills and other drugs. He gave me some for 'protecting' it. (Frankie's dream)

I am on the bus and I know it because we aren't moving and it's too dark to see anything other than the reflections on the windows. The windows are clearly in a bus formation. I can see the black frames and silver finishes. All of this is in the background, and unimportant. I am talking to a man, he's an ice cream and his cone almost grazes the ground. His legs are forced further apart than a human mans. His face isn't soft, it's hard and glazed -like a gumball machine. Glassy and reflective. I can't remember what he said but I can remember the line of light from dark windows, curving around the orb that is his head. I don't remember the colours. I know that the primary filter is a dark grey silver. I think the contents of his head might have been pale pink and baby blue but they are unsaturated and grey. (recurring dream of the ice cream man)

It is a fragment and I cannot remember if this has happened or if it's a dream. I feel like it's a dream within a dream. (Nicole)

I went to get dinner, I am in Uni but it isn't Uni. It is a large mall, like the kind you'd go to if you lived in America. I'm looking for my friends, I finally find them but one of them has had a heart attack and I try and try to convince her to go to the hospital but she won't. (Parice)

Jay Z was at my Nan's on Mother's day and I sent my Mum to buy CDs for him to sign. I went to a bar that was now at my Nan's house. Jay Z sat down beside me and put his arm around me. We drank and took pictures, talking about how his older albums were better. Mum complained she wasn't getting attention on Mothers day. She gave me a CD which came in a scuba bag. The cd was in a glass case. 
We went into the kitchen to make a cup of tea, I called my friend to tell them Jay Z was here but my friend got angry and didn't believe me so they hung up before Jay Z got to say hello. It was too late. (Frankie)

I am worried about other peoples' carpets. I worry about what they are privy to. I worry they are being trod on too hard, that they might be sticky and twisted. Matted and melded fibres. Ruined by spilled drinks and sticky fingers. 
The wear isn't even so the springy young carpet dies when the tired and old, worn out carpet dies. 
'Other peoples' carpets', I can't stop thinking that sentence. 
Dirty shoes, black bare feet.. all applying layers of pressure and dirt. (A dream I couldn't remember well)

In my dream I heard a scratching sound, I think it's from the Alan Partridge book. He articulates and writes the sound as 'scrit, scrit'. 
The sound was really close by and I thought that it was me, that I'd open my eyes and be clawing at myself. 
I wasn't. (Tiny dream during a TV show)

I am younger but I'm not the same version of me that I was in High School, I am more similar to how I am now. 
I am in a high school. It's just like mine before they knocked it down and rebuilt it into a Lego house. It has too many corridors and they are not well lit. It's so dark in here and I am cold. I don't know why I am in there at night and why I am alone. I remember that it's because I volunteered for parents evening but I stayed behind and the teachers put the place to bed. I am the only one there. 
Suddenly it's changed and I am aware there's a problem. Small alien creatures are rolling in the night. They find places in crevices and shadows to hide, waiting to get us. 
I am with the town, we are all in the narrow school, all running and hiding from the animals. They roll on mass- up hills, filtering into drains, vents, empty spaces. They can sense us. I remember hiding and holding my breath. A gang of us ran across the field. We were going to lose. (an epic, recurring dream)

I'm falling, I have a rod of light that shines through me. It keeps me up if I am still but not with all this wriggling. I am sleeping and having a nightmare. I can't stop moving and it's going to kill me. (recurring dream)

His eyes are so big and round and small and angular. Fat, wet, purple, blue, cola reflection. He’s seeing me better than I see him. His whole feeling my movement, my warmth. I think I’m jealous of his sequinned eyes. Silver as electricity and glittering now. (Peeking at a chubby fly, while he peeked at me)

People gift me magic. They bring it fresh and warm, white hotel towels. It’s strong and soft and it wants me too. I didn’t ask, it comes because it wants to. (Dream about bell boys bringing me stacks of towels but it is really love)

I am in love with the sound of his wet, hot little breath, He makes himself uncomfortable for me, contorted and squashed. I stretch him out to fill his lungs. Strong velvet brow, a warmth that feels from love. His face fits my hand and he wills it there (Closing my eyes and cuddling Teddy- dog)

My brother is grown but he isn’t my brother, he has been discharged from the army. It was not honourable. He can’t look at us, he can’t talk about it. He looks down and he’s quiet. I don’t understand because this isn’t my brother. My brother plasters walls and studies law. This guy looks like GI Joe. He’s ashamed of being discharged from the army.  (Dream about a fictional brother)

I am home, but it isn’t my home, opening the door to a 1950’s milkman, he is wearing the correct garb. Every detail, down to the milk bottles, is authentic. He’s so unhappy, he’s sick of carrying milk. It is heavy, and the bottles make too much sound. He thunks down the last crate onto the driveway, not reaching the doorstep. He takes out a clear glass pen, like a biro but ornate and weighty. He looks mad, his eyes are wide and wild. I remember him having black hair and blue eyes. His skin is pale and wet, his mouth is stretched into a triangle. His teeth remind me of a Peter Kuper illustration. The tension is so great, his body is strained and taut, jutting angles. He pulls down his collar with one hand and with the other brandishes the pen, his thumb and middle finger slowly unscrew the top. He flips the pen and the ink cartridge slides out soundlessly. I can’t see it after that. Suddenly the pen is in his neck and the pain is palpable. It makes my knees go weak and I feel sick. His neck is so hard; muscle and gristle. He is twisting it in, as deep as he can. Then I notice the tension fade in his body, like a wave washing over him. his face relaxes, and his mouth softens. His shoulders lower. Milk fills the pen, like white ink. It flows from the opening and splashes onto the doorstep. I nudge a bottle forward and it starts to fill. (Slow motion detailed dream about an angry milk man)

I’m a musician, I play the accordion and I am so very popular. People travel to see me, they wear shirts with my name on. My look is gingham. I hate my music, I hate my instrument, in my ear it sounds like cutlery scraping over itself. People love it so I wear headphones, listening to Chilly Gonzales. I imagine that’s what I am playing, I tell no one. (Little dream, fell asleep during a film)

I know I am hanging because my legs are free to swing, it’s wonderful. I love it. I could swing all day, so I do. I am being held up, but I can’t feel it. I don’t know at what point my body is being suspended at. Neon illuminates my new life, it’s soft and bright so I don’t sleep too well, a blur means I cannot identify any objects nearby. Over days of not feeling pain, hunger, my chest.. my eyes adjust. I am warm, I think. Colour seems to indicate this. I start to see objects, curves, lines, edges. I see texture. Sparkling and smooth alike. I cannot turn around, but I know it’s dark behind me. I sense that the light grew out of there. I am facing away from the recess. I swing now to reach something else. I finally touch bristles. In my hand are long green strands. I don’t get any further, I am now swinging less, boredom leaves me still and depressed. Slowly turning rigid. (dream about being a Christmas tree ornament)