Fever dream 5

The area around a vintage cabinet is surrounded by a nearly invisible shield where time stands still. There is a thick plume of smoke emanating from the cabinet and grows bigger and bigger. One man is on the outside of that shield and records what he can find on a camcorder for research purposes. The more the plume of smoke (resembling an underwater iceberg) reaches out, the more the shield has to claim new territory. The man steps backwards as delicately as possible. A creepy song plays as we cut out.

Fever dream 4

We're to watch a film from a projector but the projector makes too much noise - a high pitched squeal. Eventually we get it working but the school is getting demolished. As the cranes come through the walls, We run to the other side of the building and watch all our belongings slip and fall into the river. We jump into the river to retrieve as much of our possessions as we can.

Fever dream 3

2 men and a girl are walking from a street to a house. One of the guys and the girl disappear behind a door while the other looks crestfallen despite protestations that he doesn't mind.

Fever dream 2

It's a dark, night. Everything's in black and white. A well off man with bags of confidence goes through the crowd. He talks with another man before going into a building. After he opens a second door, we cut to a play being represented in colour. A woman in a red dress moves balletically across the stage to a sofa where she takes the covers off to reveal some books. This motion is repeated twice and once she picks up the books, a man with a Belfast accent holding a gun tells her to put the book down insisting "We don't want to get hurt do we?"

Fever dream!

Jeremy Corbyn asking the British prime minister question which he fails to answer. Cameron's head and that of a few others resemble that of a pig. "You've still not answered my question?" "Well what do you expect? What do you want us to do?" A lady MP with a glass of wine in her hand walks to the side. One MP is fast asleep. They motion to him and put two fingers at his throat. Suddenly smoke appears from his suit which has then turned into pyjamas. His eyes are wide awake now. The smoke intensifies. Everyone around him is motionless in shock. The smoke moves away from him for one brief second and then viciously attacks him and disappears inside him. He's dead.

Moscow By Camera

I don't know where I go in this grand stage. The sense of time becoming lost in a great fear. Injuries and complaints multiply in large doses. Broken thought patrols that control inside. Your concern makes me yearn for a kind of friendship. Even if nothing comes of it, it's the building blocks of a rehabilitation.

Unqualified for nothing more than dust. The schemes of future dreams elude me at the best of times. And when there is nothing left, I want to see where it leaves me. Return back if there's anything left to salvage. Nothing left there but pride. An instrument in gliding through the secrets of the past. But pride disappeared a long time ago. If it can manage, I would enjoy the thought of being nothing else but the conversations we had two weeks ago. Your flights to London, Brisbane and Vancouver. I want to be a tourist in your thoughts and speech.

I've this recurring feeling of care homes. Wheelchairs dreaming of another life. A tourist in your heart to numb the pain. Painkillers make me dream of a tranquil life. These pills make me so light that I don't know where I sleep. The weakness in my walk. Pain builds up and I break down. Here I am, the genetic defect. Please film Vancouver for me. Film all your holidays. I want to see new lands and how they speak.

Take me to Moscow by camera film. I don't care whether analogue or digital. I want to get lost in the lights by the shade.

Secret Stages

Lying in the secret stages of a new light. A secret bond beneath the memories of last year. It's everybody and nobody. Like pretty much everything, there's no secrets anymore. There's no hope, there's no fear. I look away in the hope that something new will appear. A list of love, longings and despair. The disparate dreams of a bruised ego broken into the summing up of lifeless decay.

Your placement slices erotic motions in private reels. A dream may come alive but I'm feeling old and I don't know how to move on. A new destination would've helped because it's a secret that will be spent rejuvenating the tiredness that seeps into the fragmented life I've got living away inside. Every motion I speak of, kills the chance of that secret conversation we speak of. I wither and dither. To leak out in whispers in silent suffering.

Bit Part Player

If echoes were truly a dream, I would've vanquished the demons that live inside. Instead I'm left with dreams of a corruption of identities. Profit and loss, an inevitable part of daily life. I slowly come to terms with the rejection. My biggest dream became a nightmare of my own making. Taking pictures on smartphones, it was a religion, I knew only to myself. Part of my disconnection grew ever more. I still get my pills from there. Slyly though, there's a girl who passes on her discount to me. We seem to chat - a default of nationality. And in a default of my sexuality, I wonder how it would be if it were seen as an affair. It probably wouldn't, but the thought intrigues me.

He's very nervous around me.....it's kinda funny, I suppose. The trapped anxiety of a waking nightmare, the sound of euros in tills being missed due to my own inadequacy to his expectations. Steamrollers my joy into a deathless agony. But I move on. Slowly. Through the trail of a snail, I mirror her in a different way.

A negative demeanour. A difference in approach. When my life crashes into a single, monotonous depression that I'm anxious to hide. I want to hide in everyone but my feelings overpower me. I get no consistency being a bit part player in a wide ranging role. It would've been nice to know the nicer elements of it. If there were any but I could be dreaming. I usually am. What playlist has he made today? Which one should I play? And my own end up sounding like a cosmic space funeral.....a rather apt term that described my life at that point. Context of dimensions, how far does it go?

In ways, I suppose I'm looking for outside emotional support. If I stay inside, it'll kill me. The motion of chance and change, my language has become deadened even at its rotten core. I have her feelings to think of. Even as she improves, I disintegrate. An emotionless, barren run of a dream not worth fighting against. How fortunate am I to want anything at all?

They are all hugs. Part of me doesn't understand this nature, this touchy feely aspect to it all. For me, it was all repression throughout my life. Male ego. To slag and banter. Even if I didn't like it all that much. What difference does it make? Well it's shellshock and go. Loosely described banal pleasantries and feelings, it was a little private victory at the start. But the inadequacies are felt right from the start. And they gnaw into me like piranhas or the secret teenage abusive love affair with the razorblade. Sometimes it still cuts.

Mysteries and illness.....my biggest vices feeling through as if a segment of partition from a lifetime ago. I withstand the secret sympathies and tortured agonies. Everybody loves, everybody dies. Everybody buries the body outside. So out of mind.

The occasional meet up for pills and supplements. In my weary state, could you take what's left of me and drain it down the sink? I feel I'm of no use anymore. I could deal with the finest you give me. I'm always amazed by the charisma you exude to your customers. The finest performances and the most knowledgeable in your field of expertise. It's just a shame I got the other side of your crazed persona. The one that belittles and spies from underneath the wires.

I disintegrate and melt into a thousand different bodies not one touching another. A vision of future, a prospect from hell. I dreamt of a Canadian summer and winter to compliment how torn apart I am. No decency in failing even their most basic hopes in me. Why continue a losing battle?

The Disconnected Thoughts Part 1

I've always been riddled by a vague sense of that foreboding spiral. The great quantitative abyss that constitutes life. Days wash by without ever seeming to stick. At times I wonder if I'm a robot malfunctioning or just a hapless zombie waiting for the good guys to stick an axe to my head. I've never been good at figuring out which one is me. I suppose that's the point. The heightened anxiety that pervades in and around my life like secret spies tapping into my thoughts. Speech has become nullified. A context with which I cannot take part in any more. I wanted to sever my vocal chords but somebody got to me before I got the chance. I hadn't even made the decision as to whether it would've been a rope or a knife but you get the idea.

I live for the days I go to hospital, I feel strangely alive there. They are the highlight of my life. Stranded on a bed, alone, with my eyes on the blue skies outside while the pain in my fractured wrist seeps out into the bed. Transfixed by the skies. If only I was smart enough, I'd be out there, enjoying the jet set life. But instead I'm hounded and haunted by the aggression of others. I just don't have what it takes. A teacher once said that I was “mystery wrapped in an enigma” which I thought was strange. There wasn't really anything to get. I don't have anything special to offer and I don't hide it. Ah confidence, you'd be amazed at how lousy you really are!