this is very annoying. i can't remember hardly any dreams. must be a hangover from the jetlag. it feels very odd to not be able to remember dreams - sleeping is definitely not the opposite of life, though it's starting to feel like that at the moment.

must try harder. hmmm....

i'm in a circus tent with all the gracious people and i flip the switch to start the chocolate pouring out. from pipes and tubes all over the big-top come massive sprays of chocolate. most people exit screaming. the rest of us get chocolate all over our heads and our faces and i see one girl just standing under the system with her mouth open.

practising for the battle. i'm following my team up out of the rabbit-hole but all the stormtroopers keep dropping down it and on to my head. i cannot get out.

all i dreamt about last night was work and all the tedious shit i'm going to show my boss today. i hate that...

my friend and i go into this shop to spend the night. we realise there's still someone locking up. it's a boy, about 16. like the boy i always used to fancy when i was 16. not a specific one - just... the ones i was too scared to make eye contact with. so he finishes locking up and sits on the sofa i'm on to put his shoes on. i sit up behind him, and wrap my legs around him, and he's not sure. he looks at my friend. my friend says "it's okay. it's allowed" and his expression changes and so he turns around and we screw. straight after we're done he says he has to go because his mum's picking him up.

later in the night somehow my friend and i are in the car and we notice 16 messages of faith hidden on the cover of the nick cave "best of" album. this is our guide for everyone who got lost when they were 16. there are no sleeve notes and nothing written on the spine.

(if there is a moral, it's to not read bukowski right before going to sleep)

moving into an attic. i can see into it from outside. all my friends sleeping in another room. ed is kept awake by yo la tengo. i read someone else's dream diary. it's very impressive - red leather hardbound, and inside it, all of the recent dreams have me saving the world. "well what did you expect?" he asks me, and i know the dreams aren't meant to have anything to do with me.

walking round some kind of mall. but in england. looked very out of place. people in all the shops all looked at me suspiciously. i kept tripping around the mall. there was lots of glass. then i went to a film screening in my old school and there was a bunch of 5 or 6 guys on the roof singing along to a guitar. i walked passed and tried to sing but tripped and my voice fell out wrong, and so i walked on. then i stopped, turned back, and said, "i can sing normally you know" and we made friends. one of the guys looked south american and told me all about this band that only he was in. and he could play. and he was really good. and he was going to keep on finding gigs, but his last one was 6 years ago. he got me to write down my phone number, and i couldn't remember how to write my name next to it. it came out with 6s and %s and $s instead.

the walls are rippling unsettlingly. jim wants me to stay in and watch "muppet babies". leaving party. stuart's organised it. there's one person there, who keeps changing into someone else. every time she changes i realise that it's been this new person i was talking to all along. "do you want to dance?"

What the thunder said

all the different types of thunder and lightning arguing. i catch it all in my cup. but who made it? i dreamt i woke up but i didn't. karen o there and all the people in the room saying "ohhhh" repeatedly.

taking grandma shopping to M&S and going off by myself to look for something - can't recall what. i had to get across town to meet her, but the centre was flooded with clear water so i had to swim. but i couldn't swim. i just floated round in circles. so i ended up wading over and all the teenagers laughed at me.

finally get there and grandma's already left. i catch up with her and look at a cuban rhythm cd. then suddenly i'm in mexico arguing with a man about how he could allow his roses to go on sale, knowing that they're posionous. they cause pretend death, like in romeo and juliet.

i talk to a priest. even the slightest cut can get infected by the roses. he's just been infected and will die soon. he says "it's a culture of fear."

there's more. there's a whole new sense that i can't get at.

"He felt that his whole life was some kind of dream and he sometimes wondered whose it was and whether they were enjoying it."

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