(from 29th Sep 05)

February 25, 2009 at 2:23 pm | In Migrated 20six stuff | Leave a Comment
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Down at the quay, back in Lymington, my Mum and Dad, other people from the town and I waited on the side of the slip for the drop to happen. The small white powerboat silently gliding, as the high tide turns, past the moorings and the jetty, before scattering the dozen or so packages down to the bed of the river at the bottom of the slip. It was still raining, it had been raining all night and most of the day before but it had settled somewhat, downgraded from torrential to light.

All of us from the sides threw ourselves into the water, me in my flannel grey dressing gown, to retrieve the packages; cocaine or heroin, from beneath us. Unseen police directed the scene from the sides, arrested were being made based upon the evidence that we would drag up from the dark nights waters.

The water was slowly rising about me. I was raised up by standing on a package so that my head was clear. My body would not respond. Something was wrong. I kept turning, around and around, pivoting on tiptoes on the tied plastic box below. What was happening to me? I tried swimming but again I could only swim around in circles. I thought that if I couldn’t sort this out then I would surely drown.

I call out to my parents who have already reached dry land and my circling becomes more controllable. I reach land with my dad pulling me up onto the side of the quay.

I walk along the quay towards the cobbles that lead up to the high street. Someone with me talks about the tunnels under us that connect shops, old pubs and houses, built by smugglers but are still used today.

I make my way to a large pub that now stands along the cobbles. Inside people from my old work that I haven’t seen for a long time mingle with new friends from London and with kids I went to school with who are obviously no longer kids but who haven’t ever changed. Did I have a drink? I can’t remember. I do know that everyone was talking about the drop that got busted. Darren someone, ex Priestlands guy, says he’ll be all right he has a nice stash at home that no one is getting their hands on. I leave them in the upstairs bar, by the back stairs and I follow JH across the cobbles to another pub. But I leave her and make my way along a tunnel into a new mall that has been built but whose shops are still to open. It runs parallel to the cobbled hill, to the east, but the hill is much steeper, so steep that I can not reach the doors at the top. It is about then that the zombies start appearing.

Everyone is running away from the quay along the tunnel to the mall, away from the zombies. But the exits here are blocked! Panic! I find a couple of wooden poles that we could use as spears. I give one to another guy and we run down the tunnel towards the advancing undead. I throw mine into a zombie’s leg but it does little to slow down the advance. People I know are getting bitten. Fox gets bitten. Anna gets bitten; I try and save her by putting her face in a blancmange shape (?!!! – Ummm…?). Then it all goes quiet, people turn back from zombies to normal people, everyone is saved, no-one died. Hooray!

I celebrate by playing, and beating, a dog (border collie) at poker. My pair of kings up against his jack five. He draws a full house on the flop, jacks over fives, I make a 4 of a kind on the turn and the river. 4 Kings! Take that dog!

The end.

Ape Recycling

December 2, 2008 at 6:19 pm | In Uncategorized | 1 Comment
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Down at the ape recycling centre I was hanging around, pootling whilst on a journey somewhere, some quest or some such no doubt, some unexplained reason to be travelling around this dreamscape. I seem to remember a toilet block at a railway station, and bicycles too.
This place is depressing due mainly to all the animals, dead, alive and dieing, be tossed into the recycling bins, but also because of the bored teenagers breaking windows with large rocks. People are dropping off dead dogs, dead dogs in sacks and dogs that are no longer wanted; they all end up in the large dog bin. Hopefully someone somewhere will find a use for them. The bin is a large rectangular box built into the wall of some building, it has a see through front for maximum depression. I do not feel it is right and proper to place the living animals with the dead in such a confined space.
Someone brings a sad old female ape to this place. I can not bear to see them do such injustice to this once proud creature, I approach her, crouched, slapping my palms onto the grass a few times before turning running on all fours for a few seconds and then perform a lopsided forward roll. She moves after me and shows signs of play and gives a sad hug. I try to pick her up a few times, she is bloody heavy, but eventually she hold on and I struggle under the weight back towards the building. But what can I do? I can not offer a home or a life to this ape. Into a Hessian sack she goes and into a recycling bin. She is resigned to her fate, an acceptance of change but with little conception of the future. I can only hope that there is someone who comes along.

thisisalloneword dreams he is socialist dog

October 13, 2008 at 11:35 am | In i could be dreaming | 1 Comment
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I am socialist dog
And I believe that
We could get along
All dogs made equal
You can read minds
You were born to fight
It’s not your fault
I will stay by your side
You only know obedience
But there are higher laws
You can read my mind
You can’t retract those claws
But you can change

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