Monday, January 12, 2009


i am moving towards a large desk, i have lots of papers in my hand. i need to sort them out, they hold a clue. each of them is a photograph of a bookcase. there is a large white border around each image, in the top right there is a number, top left there is a time – the font looks reminiscent of that used in the prisoner.
at the desk i try to get the papers in order. it should be simple, they are numbered but there are a lot of them.
i try to lay the papers down to make them more manageable; it is hard to keep them in check.
it soon becomes apparent as to what is happening in the pictures. one of the books is being moved. not being taken off the shelf just pushed in or pulled out, as if it is a switch to a secret chamber.

i am playing a game on my mobile phone. it is an intensive and draining game. even though i am engrossed in playing the game, i do not know what the game is or how it is played. it is like i am viewing myself from the back so my body shields the view.
(strangely when i woke up i tried to play the game on my phone, it took several minutes before i remembered that there is not a game on my phone).

i am at a funeral service for my father. at first the view is from above and i am watching myself move around the space. where i am sitting is below the level the door and to get to it you have to walk down a few stairs.
i am sitting on a beanbag type thing in a large square area. there are several more of these beanbag things scattered around. a few more people come into the space.
i get up to do something with the service. i am wearing a black two-piece black suit, the shirt is a blue flowery patterned affair which is not tucked in, as i move i notice that the hi-tech (brand name) combat boots i am wearing are battered and very heavily scuffed. i feel a little uncomfortable about the way i am dressed.
a little later i am sitting down. slightly slumped, slightly distanced from those around me.
two men interrupt me; they are my age (and i seem to be in my late teens / early twenties in the dream) they are dressed in sombre suits. i think they are coming to offer condolences. one of them reminds me of an old school colleague (someone i was never really close to, and best i can say about him was that he was pale, had clammy hands and a double jointed thumb) the other one i can’t place. both are very earnest, both lean into me, their voices are low. one of them asks me if i had seen their new graphic novel.

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