The Lost Witness


I’m attending court. I’m a witness. I have a black bag full of stuff with me. Inside the court, people sit in the wrong places. Including me. The judge, the defendant and the victim all sit in armchairs, as do I. The judge has a young goat on a lead. It comes to me and licks me frantically, trying to suckle my thumb. I’m not required for a while. I walk around the block. A man carrying a valentines card with his cock hanging out runs down the middle of the road. I laugh at this with a passing Korean. “That’s Wolverhampton for you”, he laughs.

I return to the court through the wrong entrance. Security guards give me a lift in a single seat wide golden ford Capri.

They take me to the wrong place. We walk through a barristers Christmas gathering, all rich foods and black tie. I guide a blind man around. We talk about rich food and the pain of gout, and the usefulness of Braille on mixing desks.

We have lost our security guards. Outside, it is getting dark. We walk until lit rains. We enter a dark cafe.

I am outside, wondering why the other me is in the cafe with the blind man. I can see buses going by, and reason that I could ask a driver about buses to Exeter. I walk on, trying to access maps on my phone. The road narrows, and an old man stops to offer me a lift.

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Gentlemanly Discussions in the Lion Bar


I am in a bar. It is a theme bar based on hipsters, the Old Firehouse and the Cyprus Tavern. There’s a murder hole above the stairs on the way in. Inside the customers are student hipsters. Many seem like stereotypes.

I order a Guinness and look around. I don’t fit in. I’m wearing a colourful scarf, and otherwise monochrome clothing. I wander outside. A stoat is tethered to a fence. I walk towards it. I realise it belongs to people in the flat above. A lion wanders in the background. They own many exotic pets.

I return to the bar. I direct two women to the toilets, and head downstairs. My drink has been purloined by a group of lads. I challenge them, throwing beer over them. We adjourn outside, through a door labelled “gentlemanly conversations”.

I think there will be violence. Instead, only civil discussion, so civil that we become friends. We discuss films. We watch something loosely based on Back to the Future. There’s a sequel. It looks awful.

I am in the second film. Luke Skywalker is out for revenge. We watch demonstrations of cybernetic cells that can grow into humanoid robots, and construction companies who build homes with built in facilities to taser the inhabitants, or demolish the whole building remotely.

We are outraged. A group of us head off into the endgame, looking for characters we must kill. In game, communications with the outside world don’t work. I explore a shopping centre, becoming trapped when a woman I suspect of being the enemy walks though a shelving display, and I can’t follow. I abseil from the roof using a sacred amulet and it’s long chain as a rope. At the bottom are others in my team. We go off together.

There’s an undulating sculpture, moving. I lay on it an fall right in, worried I will suffocate until I emerge safely on a lower level. This level has narrow paths filled with old people. I find a way to ascend, and rejoin my friends.

🎬🎬🎬🎬🍻🍻🍻🍻

Master of the Multiple Moustache Bow


We are fighting. I make a bow and arrows with the help of a master. Others try to fire it, but I’m the only one able to. It bends to my will. At first it is very out of control, very hit and miss, chaotic. With practice I improve. Looking at it, I realise the bow is shaped like a moustache.

I am planning to use fire arrows to destroy traps the enemy has made. Children gather fat and other combustibles for me to use.

I am in a field. The bow has developed into many bows combined, connected by levers and balances, getting smaller the further away they are. It terminates in a small biplane model, containing the workings of a hand crossbow. I move slightly to take aim, the entire structure wobbles, and points towards the ground. The master shouts instructions at me. He also has a multiple bow. His starts compacted into one bow, and as he draws upon it many other bows and crossbows, some with multiple bolts, extend from it, all perfectly balanced and on target.

πŸ’­πŸ’­πŸ’­πŸ’­πŸ’­πŸ’­πŸ’­πŸ’­πŸ’­

Black Spot Computing


I am squeezing spots on my nose. They extrude pink cylinders, fleshy, and green at one end with infection. I pull one open. Inside, is a computer chip. On it is printed “Supachip 79”,

There’s quite a few of them. I plug them into a console, and play a first person shooter. I used the enhanced processing power to call up an AI to fight alongside me. He stomps off into battle while I practice trick jumps on a hillside full of stone ruins.

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The Uphill Struggle and the Demon Drink


I am climbing a hill. On the way down I used a wheeled office choir to scoot down. Now I have to walk back up.

I meet a woman. She was viewing a room at my place earlier. I like her. She gives me her email. She is going to live near the Posada.

We walk up the hill. A cafe owner is turning off the lights to save money. Tom Dent wrestles with a squid in a barrel. A couple read a print out if a guide. The woman holds a reed, with a huge black and silver stealth dragonfly on it.

We proceed on the uphill path. This road is full of family pubs with drunk old men and crying kids. We cut across a field, and through a yard where furniture is being delivered.

A bar. We are watching a film with the sound down. Zoidberg is manipulating Jew eggs. I talk to a German lady sat next to me, describing the life of Ed Gein. Her young son is very interested. He is a demon. I am not afraid, I have seen him before. I put a damp towel in his head and tell him to be quiet. He is. He laughs remembering how surprised I was last time.

πŸ‘ΉπŸ‘ΉπŸ‘ΉπŸ‘ΉπŸ‘ΉπŸΊπŸΊπŸΊπŸΊπŸΊ

The Chav and His Weed


I am on bed. My window opens onto a roof. My chav neighbours window opens onto the same roof. I can smell his weed.

He climbs onto the roof with his family. Talking about insurance. He climbs in my window. I’m anxious, but he’s ok. He has mental health issues but is a lot like me. We talk. He offers me a joint. I decline because of my medication. He sleeps in a spare bed. In a dream within a dream, I see a badger under a duvet, with baby badgers playing beside her.

I awake. My neighbour stirs under his quilt, and orders me to fetch him a black coffee and a skinny kitten.

I now want him to go. I talk him out of the window, and close it behind him.

πŸ’€πŸ’€πŸ’€πŸ’€πŸ’€πŸ’€πŸ’€πŸ’€πŸ’€πŸ’€

A Man in a Turban


I am in a cathedral. I avoid the main area and enter a side space. My brothers are there. I wanted to pray quietly, but a vicar is there who has seen me before, and wants to start a prayer group.

We all pray together. Others share their visions of gods will. My vision is of a man in a turban, his turban unfolds, and snakes through the air, touching each person and inspiring their visions. He is not divine, he is s man. A man in a turban.

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