Bowie and the Families that Control the World.


A shop selling basses. One is an Ampeg baby bass. I am chatting to the lads that work there as they walk home.

A walk and a chat with David Bowie. Including through a launderette. I try to get him to do my music homework. David heads back to the national gallery, where he is being celebrated as a national treasure.

A man on the run, wearing two towels. He slips into an estate agents office, and destroys paperwork that keeps him in debt.

Much later. The man is injured. He is my brother. People help me fix him up. They are medically trained.

A door opens. The estate agent is sat there, with two criminal families. His brother is with one of the families. He wants revenge. The doctor says,”That’s right, we fixed him up so we can kill him slowly”, I am led through the room, and down through connected rooms that spiral to the right. Always down. We pass through rooms full of people, politicians, judges, doctors, all connected to these criminal families. We get to the room my brother is in. They leave me to say goodbye before they kill him. I don’t have time to explain to my brother, I push him through the shattering window, hoping that he either survives and gets away, or dies quickly by my hand. Rather that than slow torture and humiliation.

People rush in. I escape through a back door. I am on wasteland at the back of the house. My brother is barely conscious, but he staggers from the yard of the house onto the wasteland and collapses. I’m too far away to help.

I walk away. The families gather around, and stone the remaining life out of him.

I walk through a sports field. Police ignore the murder happening in plain sight. I walk with some girls from the families. They talk about work. It seems to consist getting involved with rich and powerful men and controlling them.

Back in the national gallery. Musicians improvise while the audience joins in on an out of tune piano. The audience are out of time. The musicians are frustrated. I think the audience have a better understanding of improvisation.

The same space. This time, three musicians, and stacks of sony branded instruments. I am one of the musicians. We finish a very structured piece. I ask if they know how to improvise. They do, but they are hesitant. They have something scripted that they want to stick to. They play and I improvise around it.

🎹🎹🎹🎹🎹🎹🎹🎹🎹🎹🎹🎹🎹

Hanging the Little People Out To Dry


Running away from a cave, along rough tracks that rise into mountains. I cannot remember what happened in the cave. It was too dark. Chris Law runs past me, he was in the cave too. His face is a rubber gas mask. We argue as we bound across the rugged landscape.

Walking along a city road. We are wearing suits. I’m carrying a PowerBook G4. I’m aware the man next to me is armed and dangerous. He anticipates this. He draws his weapon to shoot me. I bat it out of his hand with my laptop, and beat him about the head.

He drops the gun and steps back. I pick up the gun and shoot him repeatedly. It is firing blanks. The last shot misfires, and part of the casing kills another man, stood next to me.

The gunman says. “Now, we have to shred the room.”
“Which one?”
“You know which one.”.

The scene changes. I am the assistant to a magician who has built the world’s first camper van. It is an estate car with a large cardboard box and pillow in the back. We meet a lesbian couple, looking for work. The magician can use them in one of his acts.

A normal home. A pipe leaks rusty water through the living room. In a shed outside, midgets carry dismembered body parts and hang them from a washing line. This disturbs me, and they cover it up with a sheet.

Sport shirts are hung on the line, and people sing songs. It is now the little people who have been dismembered, and hung out to dry.

I am in a local transport meeting. Nigel Farrage is there. Others try to stop him speaking. I say that though I am opposed to fascists, I defend to the death his right to free speech. He thanks me graciously, and we leave the building. He is a charming character, and this thin veil of charm hides a racist, sexist, small minded bigot who does not realise just how dangerous he is.

I am back in the normal house. I offer to make a friend a cup of tea.

Rusty water leaks from a pipe, soaking into the carpet.

πŸ”«πŸ”«πŸ”«πŸ”«πŸ”«πŸ”«πŸ”«πŸ”«

The Recycling Boat.


I am jogging by the canal with a woman in red cords. I complement her on how shapely her bottom is. She likes this.

We enter a building. A man shows us how to sort out our recycling properly. There are some odd interesting electrical items waiting to be recycled.

We are on a boat. It has a huge sunken rear section for storing recycled material, and above this a section of sinks and chemicals to strip out important elements. I ask if me and my brother will get to drive the boat. The answer is yes. I’m excited. I know it’s too wide to get down to the Turf Locks.

I am walking up the river, jumping gaps in the path, where the river has flooded. At one point, the woman is on the other side of such a gap, near a waterfall. I can’t think how to jump it. I rub a little river water on a rollerball deodorant. It fizzes and foam expands from it, into the river.

The flooded gap is gone, replaced by a hole, with a large stainless steel plug hole at the bottom. The waterfall is a trickle. The woman thinks I blame her for this.

I start to try and find another way around. I notice that the river upstream is expanding into chemical foam. I don’t think this is safe. I run towards home. An old gent tries to hide in the Railway Pub, in New Moston.

I run along a path through a field, singing to myself, hovering above the ground. I carry a Statue of Liberty style torch made of chemical foam.

I pass people out for a stroll, and I accelerate as I pass wooden buildings. I stop suddenly at a wood fenced T junction. I turn left into a council estate. Three lads approach me. I expect to get mugged. Instead one warns me about the dangers of muggers in a rap. He’s very good at rapping and informative. I jog with them for a while. We discuss the Ginger Ninja Panda films. (These don’t actually exist). We jog along a road into town. The road becomes a corridor, banners of Chinese writing hang from the walls. There are steps, with metal pipes at all angles. We jump and slide our way through. At the bottom, I turn right into a crowded corridor. Eventually I make my way to the surface and fly into the sky singing. On the ground, crowds of people join in with my happy, elated song.

🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊

The Tower


I am in an unknown city. David Salas has arranged a meeting. I want to explore a ruined tower, and I’m about do so when David turns up, and walks with me to the meeting.

We meet town planners. They are all excited about building new developments, no one is interested in maintaining existing buildings. This is why the tower is a ruin. This saddens me.

We pick up a hire van, and David drives us to an outdoor space, where we watch films projected onto the wall in the fading twilight.

I am in work, watching someone else teach. They are doing a terrible job, yet I cannot intervene. I just have to watch.

I wander the streets. I see the tower.

I am inside a damp, ruin of an apartment. I can see the tower outside. I feed bread to a family of friendly cats. Giant spiders explore my sandwich. A giant millipede scrapes my teeth, searching for food.

I need to leave. I don’t know where I am. Someone lives here. I can’t find my shoes, or my bag.

I sneak out. The apartment shares a common door with other apartments. They are arranged fractally, like alveoli.

I want to go back to find my stuff. I’m lost. I can’t find my way back.

🏰🏰🏰🏰🏰🏰🏰🏰🏰🏰🏰🏰🏰

Repossession of Childhood


I am inside a large, old house, with friends. Outside, construction work goes on. Noisy and distracting.

We watch a movie narrated by William Shatner, about an exorcism to rid the house of the ghost of a boy. Bill Shatner also plays moody organ music.

A delivery arrives. It is a chair to restrain a psychic, while he tries to contact the spirit of the boy. We put the psychic in the chair and begin an exorcism.

The psychic is possessed.

There are bangs and heavy footsteps. The steps move towards me and shake the floor beneath me. I am skeptical. I begin to levitate. I am a bit surprised, then I remember that this always happens. I rise slowly and somersault in the air, this is a more powerful way of flying. I need to learn to control it.

The spirit speaks through the psychic. It likes me. It asks if next time, it can communicate through me. I ask if I can sleep on it. The spirit of the boy agrees.

I try to remove a necklace. It has a protective amulet on it. It doesn’t want to be removed. I think that this is for the best.

Outside, I see students in fancy dress. I want to go home. I cross a road and see Church Street in Newton Heath, where I grew up. I walk up the hill.

Involuntarily, I begin to fly. Others are surprised. I try to keep it low. In the end I relax, and fly along the canal.

I discover that steering this new energy requires much more control. I also realise, home is no longer here.

πŸ‘ΆπŸ‘ΆπŸ‘ΆπŸ‘ΆπŸ‘ΆπŸ‘ΆπŸ‘ΆπŸ‘ΆπŸ‘ΆπŸ‘ΆπŸ‘ΆπŸ‘ΆπŸ‘Ά

Moon Gibbon


I have a gig at a hippy festival with 4 of 7, a Children of the Drone offshoot.Β 

Β 
I am badly organised. I lose Keith’s keys. I worry how he will find them. I have to get home, pack my electric double bass, and meet the guys at the festival.Β 
Β 
I am in a strange, ramshackle house with people from work. I can’t remember where I left my bass, or find clean pants to put on. The guys have a soft toy monkey CD player. He’s called Moon Gibbon, as a cd with Moon River on is stuck inside him.Β 
Β 
I walk from a beautiful bathroom along a ruined corridor. There’s a covered balcony, and outside a storm is howling by. Across the street, I see a couple having sex in a window opposite. The storm is their passion.Β 
Β 
I get to the festival. I am very stressed. I try to call people, but the interface on my iPhone has changed. It won’t let me search, or use VoiceOver to make calls, and animal noises and scary voices come out of it.Β 
Β 
I ask a passerby for help. They all seem aggressive. I can’t be sure, as I think I am hallucinating.Β 
Β 
I’m late. I meet Ren. He helps me. I’m still hallucinating.Β 
Β 
I navigate the stalls at the festival, men in golden jackets sell golden shoes.Β 
Β 
πŸ’‰πŸ’‰πŸ’‰πŸ’‰πŸ’‰πŸ’‰πŸ’‰πŸ’‰πŸ’‰πŸ’‰πŸ’‰πŸ’‰πŸ’‰

Clone Call of the Calories


Aliens are invading. They spawn in a field near a car park, using cloned bodies of local youths. For a short while, after spawning, they are bullet proof. Local gangs challenge them, joining together at different spawn points across the city. They are always defeated.

We organise a meeting. Lots of people turn up, including president Obama and reporters, who we try to keep out. There’s no door, only a curtain. We tell people it’s a sci-fi convention. They see through the ruse and come in anyway.
We are disorganised. People sit at small individual desks arranged randomly and talk over one another. Eventually order emerges. I am presented with a certificate, recognising my efforts, giving me a military rank and permitting me to kill aliens. It has someone else’s name on, that has been crossed out. My name is scrawled below. I am not happy about this.

We dance, flocking like birds in reaction to each other’s moves, we flow around the room. It is a thing of beauty.

We discuss strategy, including placing those cloned in the spawn fields, armed, and in such a position that they can gun down the aliens once they lose invulnerability.

I leave the room, and walking down a corridor, I meet a group of alien clones. They seem nice enough, but their behaviour betrays them. I follow them to a bar, talking. I discover a weakness. They love sugary, calorific things. They gulp down fizzy drinks and sugary sauces. Some ask where they can find more, and follow my direction to a local curry house.

I meet some of my allies. I signal that I am with aliens. We take them down a steep, stepped corridor to the quayside. Some more aliens turn back, unable to resist the call of the calories.

I am at the back. As I enter the quay and cross the road, I see a knife. I stuff it into my hoodie.

The clones are talking to the originals. Sat at a table, one of the originals shout to me, that they have ‘discovered how to Liver together’ he makes another reference to liver. I realise that is a weak point. I stab the nearest alien in the liver. He looks surprised, and dies. They are not the immortals they thought themselves. I dispatch as many as quickly as I can.

It is over. Back in our room we celebrate our victory. Some clones survived, and this makes me nervous.

I am in a hospital pleading for help, I have just seen a clone, and I’m convinced he will kill me. No one listens. Not nurses or doctors. I find an unqualified doctor dressed in red. She listens and tries to help.

πŸ‘½πŸ‘½πŸ‘½πŸ‘½πŸ‘½πŸ‘½πŸ‘½πŸ‘½πŸ‘½πŸ‘½πŸ‘½πŸ‘½πŸ‘½