A Dream Diary #7 - August 2022
Photo by Jennie Clavel on Unsplash
The magpies double-crossed me!
I grew suspicious after posting last month’s diary, but the first week of entries for August confirmed it: most of my dreams are repeats! Nothing more than recycled sections of other dreams that I had previously recorded, with slightly reworked characters, locations and events.
Did they really think I wouldn’t notice? I rely on my nightly adventures for any kind of escape from this monotonous life. I had been duped, and I was furious.
On 10 August I returned to the park where I had encountered this mischief of magpies – it was difficult to imagine a more appropriate collective noun. Striding purposefully into the copse where they had nested, I was determined to renegotiate the terms of my wish.
But the magpies were nowhere to be seen. I stood there for over an hour, invoking my right as one of Romany blood for an audience with the creatures, declaring my annoyance to nothing but the trees and a few dogwalkers, who quickly veered away from me.
At last, though, the nearest tree shook its branches, as if blown by a fierce breeze, and a single magpie dropped to the ground. I stared at the bird, and it stared back at me, all innocent. Perhaps I was imagining things, but I am sure it was the very same bird that granted my wish.
‘What’s your game?’ I asked. ‘Why are you cheating me of my rightful claim?’
The magpie cocked its head to one side; hopped towards me a few paces. It did not speak – of course it didn’t – but as its beady eyes drilled into me, the following words appeared in my head:
‘We do not cheat. We are beholden to sacred laws. You wished to remember your dreams. This wish was granted.’
‘But they’re repeats,’ I said, frustrated by its impudence. ‘Most of what I dream is nothing but the same things recycled and switched around a bit.’
‘Your wished to remember your dreams,’ I heard again. ‘This wish was granted. We hold no responsibility over what you dream. For that, your brain must take full accountability.’
‘But…’ I stammered. ‘It’s just not good enough.’
‘Tell your brain, not us. But your complaint has been noted, and will be duly actioned.’
With that, the creature fluttered back into the treetop, the branches folding around it, their protective barrier signalling the end of our mediation.
I stood in the copse a while longer, shouting my annoyance at the birds, but no more of them appeared, and even the trees refused to help me now. Reluctantly I was forced to accept that, for the moment at least, nothing useful would be achieved by standing in the middle of a public park shouting angrily at the air.
But still I wasn’t satisfied. Somehow, I would gain compensation for this fraudulent behaviour.
‘This isn’t over,’ I growled, pacing out of the copse. Though I wasn’t sure what more I could do. Were there any lawyers that would handle such a case?
Only when I returned home did I start to wonder what the magpie had meant by my complaint being ‘duly actioned’.
1.8.22
I’m tending to a confusing network of large silver pipes, trying to get them to pump out the liquid inside them. It seems an impossible task – I can’t even tell if it is many separate pipes or just one huge one. I give up, and go on holiday. I’m staying in some kind of hotel that has large private rooms, with three other people, two men and a woman. We make plans on where we should go next. The woman seems to be my lover, I realise. At least, we seem very intimate together. I take a shower, although I have to try a few to find one that works, and then we drive to the next destination. Or rather, I drive, which surprises me as I can’t drive. But they trust me to do it and I manage without incident, despite having to take it very slowly. We arrive in an icy landscape, with a large mountain ahead of us. We enter another hotel, and I try to find every reason I can to spend more time with my lover, but we have different things we need to do.
2.8.22
A large orange bush with white leaves on a green background, almost cartoon-like. Its branches reach towards me, as if asking me to feed it. I rub my hands together and from them some kind of liquid begins to flow, pouring into the bush, which seems to grow bulkier.
3.8.22
I am studying an interactive map of Europe, looking for places to visit. I notice the symbol for a plane moving down the coast of Portugal – one I had not seen before. It goes from Porto down to the southernmost point of the country. I decide to try it, and arrive at once in a small town that I guess must be Sagres. The town consists of a lot of straw buildings that look more like a primitive village than modern-day Portugal. I wander the dull, rain-smothered streets a while, before being captured by locals and made to sit on a small throne. Perhaps they realised I have super powers. They ask me to help vanquish their enemies from a neighbouring tribe. I agree, but once released, I escape to the plane and fly away.
4.8.22
I’m in a large, tidy office. Music is playing from an old cabinet-sized record player – a song from a recent Deacon Blue album. Annoyed by the tidiness, I unpack objects from the cupboards and litter them over the desks, singing along to the music. An administrator who has just joined the company walks in with a client. They are clearly hoping to have a meeting, so I walk over to the stereo – still placing objects liberally around the room – and turn it up, because I want them to like the song. But the music has changed to some kind of classical track I don’t recognise. The client seems to be enjoying it, but the administrator isn’t happy and asks me to turn it off. I refuse and leave the room, taking a whole packet of chocolate malted milks from their desk for myself.
5.8.22
A large, thick chunk of white canvas, on which I am trying to paint a series of images and a written interview with someone. I have to get it right in my head first because, as soon as I commit it to the canvas, it cannot be redone.
6.8.22
Having a picnic in a park. Lou Sanders is there as well. Despite our differences, we seem to get on ok.
7.8.22
I am in the home of a distant relative. He is asking to do something, but I don’t quite understand what. I go outside and find a large heap of rubbish, and begin digging in it to see if I can find anything of use. I pull out a strange contraption that I don’t recognise and return to the house. My relative is not happy with me. He wanted something completely different. He is preparing for some big event, but won’t tell me what it is. The rest of our family begin to arrive, but I recognise none of them. I refuse to help them get things ready, which annoys everyone.
8.8.22
I am outside a townhouse, trying to take a photo of its frontage with my phone. A green-haired dog jumps onto the sofa beside me, and I lower the phone to give it a stroke. I go to work in a greenhouse that is also an aircraft hangar. As I arrive somebody says ‘We don’t get paid enough for this shit.’ I agree with them. I start moving plant pots to their correct shelves, then notice Rhod Gilbert sitting on a bar stool. I sit down next to him, and we talk for a while, but end up annoying each other. I tell him I have to leave, then stay where I am until he goes. I am then at work, telling a colleague about the dream I had involving the greenhouse and Rhod Gilbert. They tell me there must have been some misunderstanding, as he’s actually a very nice guy.
9.8.22
It is dusk. I am outside in a garden, sitting over a large mound of grass who sides seem to reach deep down into the earth. A large spider begins to crawl up the side closest to me; too large for my liking. But as it climbs higher I realise it only has three or four legs left. I begin to feel sorry for it instead of scared. Then a squirrel bounces in and eats the spider. I go back inside the house, and try to get organised. There is a lot to do, but I don’t seem to be able to get my head in order. I just run around moving things while complaining to my housemate about how much there is to do.
10.8.22
I’ve let the grass grow too long. The farmers are worried their small pigs will get lost in it.
11.8.22 – 31.8.22
No memories of any dreams at all! Damn those magpies!