it’s not a dream
I woke up in the night and all I could hear was a freight train in the distance. »
I woke up in the night and all I could hear was a freight train in the distance. »
Things are slowly taking shape, even if I don’t have a physical ticket in my hand – just a few extra rows in a couple of databases across the country, disk lights winking in dark machine rooms somewhere or other. All of this so I can watch the red dirt go by from the safety of a little tin can. I don’t know what I’ll do when I Get There, but I’m hoping the journey will make things clearer. »
dream: I’m on a bus, I think. The seats are red vinyl, and somebody accidentally sits on me for a moment as the bus lurches one way or another. I’m listening to some dark, brooding track by The Church on my iPod and it makes me want to write something, about dark, pulsing shapes travelling through the countryside, or thereabouts. The right words won’t quite come to me though, as per usual, and I stare out the window trying to pull a sentence together. »
For reasons unknown, I seem to spend a lot of my dream-time on trains. Where am I headed? The destination is unclear, because I’m always getting distracted by trivialities. »
dream: I don’t remember much about this one, apart from that I had a beard. I’m sure it dangled down a good 10cm at least, too. No, I’ve no idea why. »