The One With The Devil...

...had the most amazing sequence in it. I don't remember a huge amount, I'm out of practice and I only had 6 hours, which was hard enough to catch a dream from on the best of days.

Anyhow, my dream was kind of half "In The Loop" and half "Wolverine", both of which I saw last night, so that, I guess, makes sense. I was in a meeting room, with one old bald guy. Anyway, his line was (walking towards me) "So you think I'm the Devil? Well I guess it's the horns (at which word, spiral kudu horns broke through his bald scalp) or the beard (a pointed black goatee grew impeccably) or maybe the cloven hooves? (shoes rip off and hooves become apparent) What gave me away?"

Anyhow, I thought that was a pretty cool sequence. By the end of it he was close enough for me to smell the brimstone on his breath and see the fire in his eyes.

Which was fun.

Ladies and Gentlemen...

I'm off to the cinema momentarily, but before I leave, I thought I'd leave you with a thought that has just flashed through my head. It was beautiful. It didn't take any coaxing. Brash and brazen it leapt into the limelight of my conscious stage and proclaimed without a trace of teenage irony: "Why are all of these fucking songs about love?"

I love my brain.

Later folks

I trod on a slug today...

...and I wish I hadn't.

I hated that slug. I didn't even know it. I'd never met it. But I hated it 'cos every morning when I woke up, there would be fresh slug slime on my radiator or on my shoes or on my carpet.

I don't know how it even found enough moisture to stay alive. Life must have been really tough for it. Dessication only a hairs breadth away. There's not that many slugs that could hack living in a house. But I didn't think of that. I hated this slug. And I'd never even seen it.

And today I trod on it. By accident. I looked down and what I mistook first off for a piece of pasta was a slug dying. It was a handsome slug, beautiful maybe, mantle mottled chestnut patterns on a military grey body. Little black stripes running around the foot meniscus. Instantly, I loved it. Instantly I respected it's tenacity, it's perseverance, it's raymearsesque survival in a land not made for it.

I carried the little body outside. I salted the hell out it just to make sure it was dead. I don't know why I did that. It was unresponsive anyway, but I wanted it to be dead, not dying slowly with its guts on the outside. I guess it was for me. The slug probably was too far gone to care. But I felt that maybe I was doing something to help. I'd hated it and turned down the option to love it, and now the option was gone. And until I was completely sure it was dead I was distraught. Why do I always want to save those that I can't? Why do I want to have that which I can't? Why do I love those that I can't?

It happens all the time: As soon as the option is taken away from me I *want*, *need* what it offered. I can't think of anything else until I snap out of it. For Alice it took two years (Three years, who am I kidding?). For my slug it took until I was totally sure it was dead. For Nick, maybe as long as Alice and my slug added together.

But yeah, just to say, angsty Grey is back. You've got me for a couple more years.

You all remember the old dreams right?

Well here they are: LinkPlz All fifty two thousand words. Hit "Download" to read.

A year at a thousand words a week. Doesn't sound that much when you put it like that. But it was a lot to me. And it's all true, that's got to count for something?

The One With The Brain In The Can

So, crikey, things have been happening. Nick's back! My camera is back from being fixed! Not only that but I've just written a new show for a stand-up gig on Friday, CHDK has now been written by the forumHeroes over at chdk.wikia.com for my little Ixus, and my woodlice have just had a litter of woodlicelings. Whoo! Life is good.

So, that's why I haven't been writing. But on top of that I haven't been getting much sleep recently. There have been other things happening instead of sleep. What? No! Seriously, there is been caek! In small quantities. And what else? Tidying. And thinking.

But there has been one tiny dream that had such an interesting thing happen that I had to remember it.

This was going to work. It had to. Not "It has to work!" like, as in desperate, just the maths and physics behind it means that it has to work. Like when you drop a ball, it has to fall. It just has to. So yeah, this was going to work. I could tell.

I took the saucepan off the heat, grabbed the carefully cleaned bean tin from the counter top and headed into the garden. The bean tin was my choice, the process just needed a container, I figured a metal can to increase the cooling effect of the environment on the broth that I was now pouring in from the pan. The quicker it cooled, the faster it would set. The faster things set, the smaller the contiguous tessellating unit size. And the smaller the tessellating unit size, the more you could fit in the can. Power, it was all about power.

I placed the pan aside and dug a small pit in the cool earth and placed the tin into it, refilling the loose areas to increase soil to can contact. Good! It was starting to set already. Extra geletine during heating had been a good plan, methinks. Not enough to interfere with axonal growth, just enought to ensure that the liquid/solid boundary moved at the same speed as the synapse front. That was the plan. Only the centrw of the cylinder was now liquid, so I pulled the usb cable out of my pocket and pushed the male end into the gel.

I noticed something new as the synapse front met in the centre of the cylinder, locking the usb cable into position. A gentle blue glow coming from the waxy translucent set material. Ha, just like in Star Trek! I remember that the BioNeural gel packs that comprised the computers of one of thoces ships gave off a blue glow.



Well, let's see if this is as fast as it should be. I heaved a paving slab over the top of the tin to keep the new computer out of the sun and trailed the usb cable back through the kitchen and the lounge to my room and plugged it into the back of my computer. Now we find out if this thing is as clever as it should be. Based on my calculations, this new neural computer should be able to use pure logic to supliment our slow internet connection with what it had worked out should be what would be on that page if it had loaded yet. Think fairy-cake powered Total Perspective Vortex machine. See? Cunning.

I opened wikipedia and started a search. The pictures were slow to load due to our internec connection, but without a hesitation the brain in the can guessed what they would be. I loved this new brain in a can.

The Ones With All The Big Players...

Well, here's a bloody surprise. Guess who I dreamt about? Three guesses. Nicki? Yes. Hedvig? Yes. Alice? Yes. It was a free-for-all of emotional weirdness. Ah well. Shall we begin? Aaaaaalllllrightythen.

The One With The ShrewMonkey.

Ho Mon, is hot. I got sweat in my fur, Mon! In. My. Fur. Dass no' right.

Still, least I'not tirsty. 'Cos, Mon, when it's hot and you're tirsty...damn. Not a good day. Anyway, I'not tirsty. And so far, ain' no shrews in de crop, neider. So, yeah. Hot. But a good day.

I thinks: Right. Gonna chill in de shade and watch for shrews 'pproachin. So I climb uppa mango tree, Mon! Up dere wit'de mangoes! Hang dere by me hands and me feet and me tail. I looks down and think of the image we two muss look like! De blonde, beautiful farm-girrl and her trusty ShrewMonkey. Ain't no shrews getting pass me! I'ma show them shrews who de boss mon! Me! Hey farm-girrl? I thinks, Wanna mango? Nope? Mangos for me.

There! I seen it! A shrew! Coming for de crops!

Hell no, Shrew! I trow down my mango at it. Miss de ting! Climb down. Hands and feet and tail. Run over to farm-girrl! Come on, girrl, what you got? Oh yeah! Shrew, you stuck now! She gon brush you! Wit her broom! Oh Mon! Bye bye Shrew! Dat's right! You better run! You go back live in yo little shrew house made of a book!

Oh Mon! She donnit again! Farm-girrl! No! How many times? You don ruff a monkey's fur! Aa! No! None of this scratchin and scritchin behind me ears! I don't care how affectionate you tink you're being! You with dat big smile on your face! Who's a good ShrewMonkey, you say? I *know* dat! I *know*! I seen it coming, dat shrew!

Still...you are cute. For a humon.

Whassat noise? Mon, dat shrew come back! An dis time, he got other shrews wit him! And tiny monkeys. And a snake. Oh Mon! Why'da snake? I hate snakes! A shout my alarm.

Firm-girrl gonna need more don a broom, dis time. She gotta close de gate. I get de lock. Mon! Dis ting near as big as I am! But dere! ShrewMonkey let you down? Ho no!! Not me! Farm-girrl! Hey! Wake up, you! Start movin'! Push dis gate! Dat's better. Slow humon! I'do it, but it about ten time bigger dan me. Good work farm-girrl!

Mon! I can hear dem! Alla dem little shrews on odder side of de gate! Scribblin and Scrabblin. And dem little monkeys. What dey workin wit shrews for? Disgrace! But I can't see. But I climb up de gate! And den onto Hedvig de firm-girrl's shoulder. I can see dem shrews! All bored now! No crop for you! Ha! An up dere, lookin out on de valley and de sundown, I can feel de best ting I felt all day:

A cool breeze.


That was pretty cool, no? I'm a big fan of dreams where I get to be something other than me. It's like a holiday from your body. And your mind actually. For just a couple of hours you get to live with a changed attitude: No fear. Or lots of anger. Or a monkey accent. Whatever, Mon.

The next one was set in Ringwood, which, for those of you that haven't been there is a small town on the edge of the New Forest. And I was playing me again. Always a good plan: Being yourself in a dream. Makes them more than just entertainment, makes them
a model for reality. Let's you go, I wonder what I'd do in *this* situation.

So, yeah. What the hell was I talking about?

Oh yeah! Ringwood. I was walking along Ringwood high-street towards the slightly covered markety bit with my beautiful girlfriend, Nicki and my cousin William. We had decided not to take the cars to the market bit. The rest of the family would be following later. we walked along danced swung round lampposts. Generally, had a very good time. In fact such a good time, that one old lady commented that we must all be drunk. Cynical old wench.

We arrived at the shop, went inside and sat down. It was hard to find someone to sit the shop was so full. All of the members of my family were there, both sides. Eventually the staff managed to serve them and they left one by one, until I was the only person left.

All of staff disappeared to just one man was left, on the phone.he was discussing a new book with an author. Talking about chapters, editing, cover art.he held up a finger to need to indicate that he would be off the phone in one minute and I should wait. The bell above the door tinkled gently as another person came in and sat down, I didn't turn around soon was.

The man finished his call and turned to the person who had just come in. "Did you make the changes I recommended?", "I did" replied a soft, familiar voice. Which rang little alarm bells in the concious part of my brain: "You're dreaming about Alice? Again? WTF man? Have you no discipline?" and so on.

But it all turned out fine. I turned saw her, she didn't recognise me. I turned away, and got on with describing my book, Noodle Related Super Powers, to this publisher. I talked about how it was about 60000 words, detailed the dreams of a dreamer, was about losing love. Et cetera.

And I managed to do all of this coolly and calmly without standing up and pointing and shouting "It's all about how *that* screwed me over". Which I think was mighty impressive. And then I turned, left the shop, and walked in the sunlight with Nick.

Right, that's about it.

Later

The One With The Hot Air Balloon Accident

*Blows dust off mic*

*Tap Tap*

Is this thing on? Ah! There we go! No, if I remember correctly this bit goes in...here. And that wire goes over...there. And now, we should be in business.

Wicked.

So, a quick update on life in general: there were things, then stuff happened and after that everything was a little bit different. I guess you had to be there. But as we all know this blog has never been about what's going on in real life. It's about trying to work out what's going on in real life through the odd , odd things that are going on in my dreams.

Now, I know what a lot of you are thinking: "I've just figured out what I'm going to do with the rest of my days. Aside from gaining forty pounds and getting an over-sized guitar. I'm going to read this Undercover SuperBlog!"

Well I've got sour news, Jack. This isn't going to be anywhere near as constant as it was. I was young, I was in my Prime! Now I'm old, arthritis has set into my blogging fingers. I have to dictate this all to a team of trained monkeys.

So any typos, that's the monkeys' fault. K? Oh and Emma, I am terribly sorry about this.

Onward: The One With The hot Air Balloon Accident

It was the perfect way to cap a perfect evening. The party had been brilliant, I had looked fantastic in my pinstripes and my date Emma looked beautiful in her black dress and fur wrap. What's more important: We both made sure the rest of the part knew just how rich we were.

And now we were up on the top of the block. Not as good as mine, I thought, running my hand along the metal safety railing. I'd gone for teak. Expensive, yes, but it make the right impression. Metal, was just so...common. The whole building was like it though, all thirty floors, all glass and steel. No marble and wood. No warmth.

However, even I had to admit the balloon was a nice touch. To end the party with a flight over the city back to our transport was inspired. The canopy was made to look like old style canvas (although, I had no doubt it was really state of the art parachute nylon), and the wicker basket held leather seats and an African Colonial style table laid out with teas.

Emma had climbed aboard the basket. I'd let her take the first flight, might as well put an impression of chivalry on my impression of rich. Some more ladies went to climb aboard, but Emma had worked her magic on the chauffeur and he tipped his hat to the ladies and closed the door as they approached. She does like to ride with some style that girl, I thought approvingly.

The chauffeur undid the knot that attached the balloon to the roof of the tower and left the loose rope dangling as the balloon drifted skywards. Soon they were thirty feet above the rest of the party and dangling over nothing but a thirty story drop to the vermin laden streets below.

I stood at the (eugh, metal) railing and looked that the craft. The balloon itself was filled with air, heated by an internal element, so there was no noise or any other interruption from a gas burner. And this was attached to the basket by a single rope that passed through brass eyelets on the rim of the basket and on the circumference of the balloon. Beautiful. A rope that was tied at one end to the basket, and the other? The other had just been left dangling by the chauffeur.

And, like a trailing stitch in a seam, the links were pulling through fast! The basket dropped away from the balloon. That was it. Simple as that. The basket went down and the balloon went up. I didn't turn to watch the basket fall. I know already, they were both dead. You didn't need a finance degree and two yachts to work that out. Instead, I watched the balloon shoot upwards, unencumbered now, into the brightening sky. Then, while the screams from the other party goers were dull and far away around my cotton wool ears, I crumpled down and sat on the floor with my back the railing. God, I wished it was teak.

(Now here, the dream takes a rather abrupt turn)

Ah well.

What did I care anyway? It wasn't is if it was me that had just lost a balloon, an employee and his reputation. All I'd lost was some acquaintance who looked (very) good in a black dress. I had a lot of them. I'd bring another one next time. I lifted my head and got up.

Someone broke away from the crowd of people looking over the (yup, still ghastly) metal railing at the wreckage below and came over. She wanted to know if I was alright. I gave her a look that meant everything I meant: Please! Me? One of this cities most powerful men, not alright? Get out of my way.

And she was shocked. But proved herself to be a business shark as well. Not one to miss an oppertunity, quick as a flash, she gave me a card, and mentioned how she'd been looking for actors as good as me. They were shooting an episode tomorrow and could use my skills.

I walked back to the bar, grabbed a Martini and strolled to the elevators.

I'm going to leave the dream there, 'cos it does go on, but its very very different, and I think possibly it was two dreams that merged when I woke up. I go to the studio to shoot this episode (yes, of Star Trek TNG, I wasn't going to say it!) and get very excited about getting the chance to meet Patrick Stewart and about watching all the prosthetics get put on. It was wicked, but doesn't fit this

Night all