TEN DREAMS

Rolls royce and peter sellers only its not , someone looks and sounds like him. I am in a bad way hurt or homeless not sure the rolls glistens like sex. I see shops and london in sixties time and space. Travelling through colours. Exeter railway station tanney playing sunny days and cream not raining here. In the car peter is a man. No he's a thing. No he's a she. No he's my father. I see a courtyard it's old england a middle town near fairmile mental hopital. Pascale. I run nowhere.Back in the rolls On the way up. Only have to go along. Give head take tail. easy hard . money. Fame, more fame more sex. less like this . weight up the disgust. I like it. why did I think I wouldn't. Ashamed of liking it. it is the slide into orgasm. everywhere at once . river of white.amen.

ninth dream.

My second year got off to a good start, I’d blagged the old man about my shift in classes and my new form teacher was called Miss Nichols, because of her magnificent bust she soon became known as Miss Nipples. She had the aura of a sex goddess and was of a dark hue. I always imagined her being of Mexican or in my wilder flights of Brazilian descent, she certainly had the samba in her blood, the way she walked through the school corridors causing blood to swell the lower place of all the boys she passed. The girls that I over heard didn’t think much of her. I wonder why. Once my euphoria had worn of, I began to make new friends, one of whom was Hazel Henson, A half-cast girl from Pangbourne who had a rare breed of toughness beyond any male I had previously encountered and I found fascinating. Later when I was locked up for the first time, she became a godsend. Among my new male classmates sat a very quiet boy of solid oak. He had stillness. All around him, the white noise of school and petty perusal and forced impersonations swarmed around him like a light wind. I quickly made friends with him and was soon invited to his house. I had to be careful with him though as he could be a moody bugger and I found out a couple of years later, he had fists of steel. Hardest bastard I ever had a pop at! So I turn up at this converted station house, which is sitting just above the Tilehurst station and has a beautiful garden. I knock on the door and his mother answers. Why is it every other mother is prettier than mine. I felt cheated and inferior. I go in and his mum shows me around the house and my instant thought is; these fuckers are millionaires, everything looks new and first class. We go in to the kitchen and the mum opens up this tank of a fridge and asks me if I want a soft drink. I look at what’s on offer and swear again (internally) there’s all the colours of the rainbow, Orangeade, Lemon, cherryade, cola, limeade, some French shit in a fancy bottle, which I almost pick. Then I spot a Doctor Pepper and grab that. The son walks in and grabs me up to his bedroom and I’m fucking gob smacked. His room is the American cinema version. All shiny, all groovy, all fucking space age. And sitting in a corner under a spotlight, a pure white electric telecaster. If he weren’t such a big cheated cutie I would have smacked him on the mouth right there through crippling envy. He saved himself more thoughts in that dark direction by asking me if I wanted a go on it. Did I ever!! He plugged it in and strapped me up. I remember it’s heavy strain on my back as I tried to play it. I made a pig’s ear of a noise and he grabbed it back threw it on like a second skin and played like a stream after a heavy rain. I felt like hitting him again, till I opened my ears to the rhyme of his playing and just flopped on his bed and watched a master at work. We spent a good three hours in that room just hanging out. I have to say he was the nearest I ever got to a sense of spiritual understanding in all my years at that crazy school. He definitely had that otherworldly aura going on. It is sadness to me that I ended up a stranger to him because of the envy of a so-called friend. Man, he sure could play that guitar. The music is fading. And I am aware there is my bed.

All dreams begin with a lesson.

Some are harder to learn and some are in another language.

A few I never learn at all.

This is my death dream.

eighth dream.

We reached Ierapatra with something of an armistice. We were talking to each other but not in any overfriendly texture. I for one couldn’t give a toss and was more interested in what hung outside my bus window. Then as the journey got more boring and repetitive, we started to talk to one another again. No stretching of great thoughts though, just the basics. Fears mostly. Me; Do you think we will find any work in Irapatra? Her; I hope so David, I’m really worried about my finances. We shared a sandwich, that a lady in the seat behind us was good enough to pass on to us when she realised we hadn’t provided our own sustenance for the journey. We both thanked her in unison and for a moment I actually felt bad about my behaviour earlier and with the suitcases. First her and then myself eventually fell asleep to the gentle rocking of the bus’s suspension. When we woke, we were pulling in to Irapratra’s town square, where the bus terminated for the day. We cooled our heels by a café and shock horror K.girl sprang for two beers. I thought I was hearing things, till the cool ones arrived. Chin-chin and down in one I’m afraid. She stared at me coldly. It was back to the games. I asked her what she wanted to do. If she had said, I’m splitting, do what you like; I wouldn’t have been surprised, her money was almost gone and she was wearing me out with her ramblings about some eastern prophet. Lets ask around for work, she said. So that’s what we did. After talking to several people a farmer pulled up and getting out of his pick-up (every other car on Crete, was a pickup) greeted nearly every one in the café. Someone told him that we were looking for work. He talked very rapidly and mentioned a town called Myrtos, where there was sure to be work. Sounded good enough to me. Kgirl wasn’t that impressed, but we had to check it out. We were now both broke and living on a prayer of jovial proportions. We finished up at the café and started to walk to Myrtos.
Dusty roads are always a bit of drag to walk down. Every time a car whips by, you get a mouthful or if you remember to close your gob, a nostril full. I ended up tying a handkerchief to my face, bank-robbing style. Kgirl had adapted her Hepburn look to encompass most of her face. We walked about five miles and suddenly Krishna girl stopped dead and informed me that “ In five to ten minutes time a disco kid in a blue shirt will stop in his Volkswagen beetle and give us a lift to the next town.” I thought I was hallucinating. I walked back to where the girl had stopped and asked her to repeat herself. Once she had reenlightened me to her disco kid saviour, I only had one question for her; “How do you know all this?” I already knew the answer, but I wanted to hear it out loud, so later I wouldn’t think I’d made the whole thing up. “ Krishna told me.” I suppose I over re-acted, but I’d had enough of this Krishna shit.”Fuck you and fuck Krishna!!!” Her reaction was instant and a fright. She spat in my face and if she had a knife she’d have stuck me with it. It was the end of the road for us. I almost slapped her, but something stopped me. Her eyes I think. They were bulging like my father’s just before a storm of abuse. I walked off towards Myrtos, swearing, wiping off her spit and whatever connection we had together. Strangely enough, she did get a lift in the next few minutes. It wasn’t a disco kid in a beetle; it was two farmers in a pick-up. I choked on their dust.

seventh dream

Night club in amsterdam. Security. Friends.slinheads. looking after a girl. One went missing they called me in. Dutch government. Suposed to be resting.Securiy is effient though to lax and dark spots.Something about the cleaners, day and night.Turkish,mean something? the skinheads? good guys bad guys? cant tell yet too soon. How much time. The girl comes twice the same week. Ghost her. Feeling watched both times not good. Nothing happens. Something out. Cant find hook. Second week at work in Europe , not right, maybe medical. Ring central for a safe net. Private clinic near Van gogh Museum. Ear. Mental picture. Woman doctor. Thorough examination. Strangely sexual, reminds me of Franka polente The German cover. Eyes meet at old bullet wound, sadness thats familar. When she speaks that accent. Then I find it, the memory. Old mossad hit tailgated, lots of blood lots of covering at the farm. patching in a hurry, Paris and lyons. I know you from paris I say. She stops taking blood sample and looks up with shame, why shame? She says no. Doesn't deny it , I begin to speak. She puts figer to lip and stares at mounted camera. Embassies she mouthes. We finish in silence. I remember the diet advice and the parting look. Don't come back,pleading. Try not to I whisper, the look says she hears me. Eat more fish. twist a cleaner. I just got sharper. Didn't help. Cleaners are family. The next visit. right in front of me. drugged me and the girl. Cant work out how. Noise club music then breaking bones, mine. Girl gone. Pain stay till I cant hear anything. last image skinhead on phone, lip read why alive. Angry at decision sees me staring. Kicks me into the black.

The girl has a sister. Colours. The girl has a sister. Familar voice. London calling. Here/phone/her. Miss mossad is back. I am the mummy. There is resignation in her eyes. I am drugged again. Get rid of the constant ache and replace with a constant itch. Abstract room. Off white. resetting of bones, A couple of rods. One month stay then she is gone. I am back in london hospital pyshsio-therapy. Calcium shots. Bones all fucked up and a new scar on the face. Great for the moniters. May have to retire you, is the public consumption. A wink follows, I don't just want to clean myself. Cleaners. Get better first, then work on answers. Three months. Caluim shots, olive oil salads more fish.eyes of ossad in training and healing. Wont leave me. The girl replaces the doctor, or rather her eyes. Both pleading. For what?getting better getting stronger. Kung-fu is new. Old ways to heavy, bones wont take it. Have to learn to adapt, diflect and shadow. Old master cold eyes unreadable. Hong-kong boys flew him over. Big favor old score.Getting better getting quicker getting stronger. Cleaners. Final examination, all areas. testing fluidity. Fly,mind and body as one. Breathe. Flow.Find. Master's eyes show a glimmer of warmth. I am fit. I am ready. Amsterdam. Time to seek a cleaner.

sixth deam

missiles. they are here. And I need to find them. I am married and followed everywhere, being scrutinised and questionised all the way. I try to lose her then I try to pacify the anger of betrayal. It's so hot here all the time and there are flies on our food whenever we eat. So we move back to France. My boss rings and I have to explain the wife and the flies and the noise of the heat and the lack of missiles and the fact my wife is killing me softly with her voice. Then I make a mistake the first genuine gaff. I say a name on the line. The minute I say it , I throw the phone away and head back to the house. Telling my wife to pack a bag , I rush round for papers I need . The house phone rings , I am to far away to deal with itand my wife answers. I contnue to collect the evidence. I stop. The house is different. She's silent. I rush back down stairs and she is white as a ghost, the phone dead in her hanging left hand. I shake her violently what is it? Her dead eyes stare blankly into space. I slap her. The fire returns and she stares with feelings flowing back to the heart and brain. The house is bugged she whispers leaning next to my ear. For a second being sexual then sthe next scaring the shit out of me. I whisper back, f it is then they are also watching. We check the windows. The third one's the charm, it has a view of the river. The view is spoiled though by a black 4x4 on the opposite bank. We come away from the window. I hang up the phone and it rings instantly. Dare I answer. My wife's eyes are begging me no. But I have to, it's the only game in town and Im holding a flush. Give us the papers says a dead voice. They aren't here I imate. Then die. I rush to the window, my wife follows just in time to see a man get out the 4x4 pop the back and pull out an RPG. He points and fires.

fifth dream.

Monkies riding on a wave. Its hot all the time, there are streets that melt into one another. And I lose myself in the back of town. Greece or southern spain. Not sure where I am. A person is folowing me. I am seaching for my daughter who keeps changing face. No-one knows her or have seen her recently. It's a lie I can tell by the eye of the beholder that another lie is forming. They are afraid of me. I eat. It is soaked in a local ol. There is to much cheese in the dish and it taste funny. I leave the cafe feeling bloated and a little queesy. I head for the beach and there they are the surfing monkies! a glimpse of silver on the distant cliff. Is that my daughter watching me watch the monkies roll in to shore. Im not sure.

fourth dream.

Spying. Under cover in an old time & place 73-75. going through europe picking up packages and doing wet work. Listening house in Paris. Lots of flow . Spanish woman keeps turning up on the background mugs. She's a hitter. Last month in Naples the church leader from senegal. Diamonds. South Africa. This week moscow and a dead fellow traveller. Why would KGB let her in and out? Obvoius. Watch yourself. She's turning up nearer and nearer. Meeting in London. I show the face and the worry. She's a free lance according to the judge. Judge is never wrong. I am put on stand-down and twiddle my thumbs for six months. Then a big pop in Mexico. Old hand caught,my old teacher , now a cia freehander. But he's been spotted and is held. I know and think like him. I fly to Cancun for a brief and tools. Then it's the car to Palenque where he's been put by the off-handers. We have military back-up The H's. I never watched or worked with them before. Uncle was under Stirlings command in the 42 desert, right at thye off. But me I hated thye beacons and all that rain and sheep. I like the food of angels to much for that crowd. So I went another direction (C'est la Guerre chef!). They were on the money I just had to point the man out. We went in hard and came out bloody but clean. Back in secure I was in for a shock. My old teacher had been doing her bidding third hand , he jabbed her out an old mug. I asked him how they connected. "You should know Dusty you introduced us."