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Sunday, 26 June 2016

Other worlds

I dreamt....

At the back of my house, which wasn't mine, was a large, spherical, glass room.  At the centre was a column that came halfway up from the floor to the exact centre. A disc resembling a giant LP was fixed at its centre, so as you walked around it, the whole disc tilted and moved.  Independent of this, the whole sphere constantly turned like a revolving restaurant.  As it revolved it passed points where you could exit the sphere, but these doorways were randomly placed and to access them, you had to get the disc at the right level at the right time. 

Each doorway led to the exact same world that you'd just left, but experienced through a different perspective.  There was the door of optimism, the door of paranoia and the door of comparison. 

The whole sphere was powered by butterscotch, melted by the vitriol of a fictitious character.  It was in a glass jug and that day was being kept mainly melted by Tracey Barlow. 

I managed to get through a door and I thought I'd know instantly which world perspective I had, but I had no idea and realised I had to figure it out. 

I was in a chapel and was embarrassed at having no make up on. I became aware it was an open mic chapel but the other performers were singing and doing acrobatics at the same time. Before I could think much about this, my boss approached me to say it was about time they heard me sing but first I had to answer a question. 

The question was just a few seconds of silence and I had to choose a, b or c as the answer.  I chose 'a' which meant I had to go on an open top bus tour of my own prejudices.  However the bus went without me and crashed into a derelict building. 

Suddenly I was back at school. I knew I was there to work but I was equally aware I was back at school. Not only physically there, but back in time too. The feeling of nostalgia and regret was painful and I tried to hide under a staircase, but I became entangled in the colour green and my (other) boss saw me. I apologised for being late and tried to scuttle away but she insisted on telling me things about my life. 

As she told awful stories they took hold and became memories. I ran away and tried to hide in an answering machine but I heard someone singing a song I'd only just written. 

I had to ask how they knew it so I came out to ask. She wouldn't answer but more and more people joined in until it was deafening.  I felt scared and confused and so upset my song had been stolen, so I started throwing Bunsen burners but my hair caught fire. :-/

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