Of Red Books, Inflatable Kayaks and Flying Tractors.

I cast my eyes about the room, everything in it's place -just the same as always. Something had to change. I thought I would go look for a new place to rent. I turned and locked the door behind me but on second thoughts, trotted down to the library instead.

Once inside I found it more like a cavernous old museum with soft lighting, and rich textile covers on displays of books. Something caught my eye -in each grouping of books (on topics like: physics, geography, quilting, art etc) there were one or two plain red volumes which struck me for their plainess. No sooner had I but gingerly fingered them than their whole contents had flipped out and toppled, Jonny5-esque,
into my brain. As it turned out these unassuming texts were the key to each topic. One had only to read them to gain a fine-and-dandy working knowledge of all things pertaining thereto (much like a less touted version of the "for Dummies" series).

After slaking my thirst at the knowledge pool, I thought it high time to get on my way. I wandered down the main street of somewhere checking out the "to lets" in the agent's windows. I chanced a glance back over my right shoulder at precisely the moment a beach ball came bounding from the roof of a multi-storied appartment complex in appearance a verdant air traffic control tower. I shaded my eyes to see, and no, they didn't deceive me for there, indeed, was not just Simon Barnett, but the whole MoreFM crew, banners, flags and loud hailers at the ready. Something was going on, I had to find out what.

To kindle my jealousy, the guy who managed to catch the wayward ball announced that he was going there to claim his prize which was an inflatable kayak. UNfair -that thing almost knocked me down and what do I get for my fright? They were drumming up a crowd and were more than pleased to see me there. Turns out they would give me a spot prize if I joined a game of leap-frog. But as it was "televised" live and I would have to submit myself to being judged, olympic style, I vehemently declined.

All was not lost. They gave me another mission instead. To deliver a baby girl. All I had to do was ascend the grassy slope (on the outside of this circular building -corkscrew fashion) in a clockwise direction until I reached the top. Simple. I set off but was greatly impeded by some hefty great cracks in the clay substrate; some spanning a good half foot or so. Imperial foot that is. 'Just wait til I tell J.E. about these cracks in the "lawn"' I thought.

I finally reached the top and flaked in the doorway. There to greet me was, bizarrely, my old pastor and his family and, last I heard, they were in Seattle. So there I was lying on the baked grass and what should happen to crawl out of my baby backpack but David's cat, Smudge. Oh the baby was still in there too, and no worse for the wear either.

Feeling much refreshed, I peered over the balcony
look down and see the flying machines
something is not right
spies are all around
amorphous paua shell blob that glows then tuns into a blue bowl

Fake Falling

I happened to be drifting off to sleep thinking about how I went on a work conference last year back to my home city. So I decided to do the touristy thing and go up the sky tower which I had never done before. And I remembered what it was like to stand on the glass panels and see the city bustling between my feet many metres below. I remembered how it's just a "mind over matter" thing and the glass is so thick it would never break. Then I thought about what it would be like if it did break... What it would feel like to plummet toward the earth.

At that precise moment one of the slats under my bed popped out of it's socket (which gives both the loud banging noise and a sudden sensation of falling {even if only a few centimetres}). What a fright! I bolted awake. Weird coincidence or black swan event?

Weevil Killing Spiders

I happened to be in a big city with lots of skyscrapers reclining on the hotel bed gazing out at the sunset (as I always do) when I noticed a thrush was hopping round on the railings above. I motioned for it to come in through the open window and held my finger up for it to perch on hardly daring to imagine that it would do so. After cautiously negotiating the flapping curtains it swooped in, but I never did see where it went.

I must have drifted off to sleep, for when I woke I peered through the moonlight to see drowsy wasps scattered on the carpet and spiders preying upon them. They were putting up a good fight though and I managed to dodge the writhing clusters on my way to the kitchen to get a drink of water, for I was parched. I squeezed a lemon into the glass then filled it with water and took one sip before resting it on the bench. I went to take another sip and there was none left so I repeated the process but try as I might my thirst could not be quenched.

Feeling quite defeated, I suddenly awoke (in real life -I'm pretty sure) with a dry as mouf, sore froat and stuffed up dose, crying out for a mucolytic agent. Seriously contemplated tottering through to the kitchen to slake my thirst but looked at the time (6:28) and decided it would be better spent catching some more zzzz's before the alarm went off.

Then I was in a boat discussing a parasailing trip we had planned for next weekend and searching for the best launching spot. I was at the bow nonchalantly tossing ping pong balls onto a square plate on top of a pedestal whist someone else was steering (or so they seemed to be). Then someone from the boat in front threw a ping pong at me and it landed on my right eye -I was not impressed. Normally I wouldn't mind as it's only a ping pong ball, after all, but it actually hurt.

Before I knew what was happening the guy who was supposed to be steering this thing has jumped ship and is on the shore directing me to steer it in between a couple other boats ready for mooring. I was yelling back that I had no idea HOW! But it didn't seem to matter as I eventually managed to overmanning it by leaning on the appropriate side.

There hadn't been enough wetsuits for to go round so I donned full body armor instead and jumped into the water when a huge wave came out of nowhere and propelled me into the shallows right next to another boat. Someone else called out that I was a Torren but I said I wasn't (as I didn't even know what one was -and I still don't) but perhaps I was when I learnt of the real reason I was there. I had to go help diffuse a bomb that was planted under this other boat.

I took a deep breath and dived down. And as soon as I had, I found I needed to take another breath so I did (in the water, cool huh?). When I got down I saw there was no one else so I had to dismantle the bomb by myself, which I did just in time.

Then I was on top of the hill overlooking the bay with the skipper, staring not at the view but at some memorial mound. Mostly, it was just and old rotting tree stump but I could see it held special memories. I asked if the mistakes of our ancestors were any cause for regret. I leaned in to touch my forehead to a piece of branch that was sticking out, to feel the damp wood against my skin and inhale the mustiness. It was only then I noticed a sprig of fresh growth with small waxy white fragrant flowers (the closest thing I can think of is mandarin flowers).

And then I woke up.

I rolled over and saw the spiders struggling not with wasps now but with giant weevils. They were starting to prevail and I knew I had to be quick with the camera if I wanted to capture the action before the imminent annihilation. I turn it onto maro-shot and pressed the (what is that button called? The one that takes the photos, anyway), but nothing happened. In the dim morning light I expected a flash to go off, but no. My camera would not take a single photo.

And with that frustration it was almost a relief to hear the familiar ring of my alarm (in real life).

Celestial Bodies

I seem to be obsessed with celestial bodies at the moment. I just have to stop and stare at them wherever I am.

After discovering my last name in the Bible, surviving an earthquake and gale force winds, wresting my kitchen utensils from the Big Bad Wolf and his mangy predecessor, I'm pleased to announce that Saturday's grape-juice making effort was a rather satisfying and rip-roaring sucess. Now to bottle it all before it ferments on the bench top.

Xmas-Fuelled Daymare

So there I was fighting for my life, sploiked in the syrupy sweet cookie crumbled intestinal soup of a giant gingerbread man struggling to keep from being dragged further into the amorphous bog of psychedelic sucrose. Then who should turn up (right on cue) but the villainous mob of Christmas wrapping paper coloured (that is to say they were red and green and festively decked with patterns such as: stars, trees, ribbons, bells, snowflakes etc) overgrown amoebae possessing piranha-like teeth. I was doomed. Doomed I say. I was destroyed, completely and utterly. Simultaneously dissolved in the gastric secretions of Mr "you-can't-catch-me-I'm-the-Gingerbread-man" and shredded to pieces by the harmlessly packaged inhabitants of said bowel.

Yes, I must admit, this year I am swamped with cynicism over the commercialism abounding in Christmas. It's got to the point where it's funny, but at the same time it's not. Who will proclaim the true reason for this celebration?

And yes, this was a real dream (that I had whilst I was at work {I only rested [I believe the correct term is: Micro (or in my case, Macro) pause] my head on my arms for ever such a short while, and this is what exploded forth from my unconsciousness}). I strongly suspect we had been discussing Christmas and the multiplicity of attending stresses.