Sunday, May 09, 2010

Iain Sinclair Dream

We were staying at my parents house. I was in bed, unable to sleep, thinking about the great nap I'd had earlier on. I'd been woken by a thunderstorm. Later I slept and dreamt. I didn't remember the dream until a copy of Iain Sinclair's London Orbital prompted me.

We'd been walking through fields near Bristol where a controversial new way of ploughing was being introduced: black organic monster machines. I was chatting with Peter Ackroyd about not liking this new method. I told him Mel had read London Orbital (I think I thought he was Ian Sinclair, though Ackroyd didn't pick up on this, thankfully). Ackroyd said he knew Iain Sinclair anyway.

Then I was in Fat Face trying on flip-flops but they didn't have my size and it was the end of season anyway. I somehow change out of my trousers and pants, and, finding myself outside, put them back on. Then I'm on a council estate and two men with sticks are having a fight over the way.

(London, 2008)

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