Incarceration. Caged. Locked up. Locked down.
Another vividly familiar dream theme washed up on fresh nightly moon tides from the Sea Horse, the creative juicy Hippocampus of the brain…
I am on remand, confined to a multidimensional convict cell, in a Victorian prison, that emerges from the pink mists of time, stuck inside with some old work colleagues…
I am free to leave my pink misted and dank cell, free to wander the long corridors of the prison, which is dark, shadowy, and cut into a stone tunnel that runs on forever…
I stay put, however, sitting on a mossy green beanbag, surrounded by these faces blasting from the past, listening to some tense instructions from outside the cell…
Turns out we are all on a stakeout, a military reconnaissance mission. Another face from a forgotten past enters the cell and dishes out some old rifles and glocks…
Before our eyes the prison begins to crumble, as masonry and brickwork collapses all around us…
An old head from the Anarchist Society explains it’s Penny, a rich trust fund girl turned activist, whose been destroying prison institutions since 1978…
Before long there is a full-scale football match being played in the middle of the prison rubble…
The dream ends.