A familiar, well-rehearsed and thumbed dream from the pages of the Dali Dream Journal, that many people experience over the flight of a lifetime – and comes from one of my first attempts to master bird-like aviation in a lucid dream…
I walk, tripping out, along a tunnel pathway of intense colour, kaleidoscopic fractals, and pixelated graphics – then dramatically into a 1970’s style roughly animated cartoon…
The dream switches to a flight by night over a derelict Glasgow housing estate, where police and firemen stand by a burning car…
Feeling clumsy and drunk in charge, I crash down towards the earth, then, catching a polar wind vortex, go flying upwards towards the stars…
The dream switches to my old home in the Midlands, to a family gathering, possibly a wedding, with relatives crowded round a long white table, in a white room, and it is snowing white roses outside the window…
I fly round the room, over the heads of relatives, do several laps, then sit down to eat…
The dream switches, and I am flying over the spaghetti flyover that runs alongside the River Adur, clutching the big book of East Sussex A-Roads…
The dream ends.