“I’m known not only for my ability to see deep inside of a single person, but also my skills at seeing far in advance of many people. For instance, I know where you’re going to be sometime within the next five years. Do you want to know? Do you want to know where you’re going to be? I will be there, too. Sometime within the next five years, we are going to be at a rave. An awesome rave. Maybe the best rave we’ve ever been to.
I don’t even feel like I need to explain any further. Just look around right now, look at all this. We are right now living at a quarter to ravetime.”
Cex, last night
“We’re all in it together.”
Harry Tuttle, heating engineer, Terry Gilliam’s Brazil
I had my flying dream again. I mean, I don’t fly in my flying dreams. I sort of bounce. I think I mentioned this.
All my life, people had flying dreams. They sounded ace! I never had no flying dream.
The first time I had my flying dream I was in the garage next door to the semi-detached house I was living in at the time, wrapped up in a duvet with my then-ex girlfriend. The previous night I’d taken ecstasy, and had arrived home to find her outside my house. We had been split up, and on bad terms, for a while.
(Luke thinks ecstasy is a bit rubbish because it is like Huxley’s soma, and he is right, of course. Ecstasy is false love for those that weren’t convinced by Jesus. I didn’t know any of that then though. Thinking about it, I didn’t really know anything at all.)
I don’t remember much about how we split up, let alone what we talked about that night.
I remember my first flying dream clear as day.
It was five years ago.
When I woke up, sunlight tore through the cracks in the corners of the slide up metal door. I was covered sweat and dust and garage detritus, and she lay there expectantly, warm and breathing and full of thoughts and notions and knowledge that I’d never have any part of. I didn’t recognise her at first. I pulled on a gritty T-Shirt and went to work. Later on I lied to my friends about who I’d been with.
We didn’t get back together.
But as we slept together on the concrete floor of my old garage that morning, somehow she gave me a dream. In it the sky was blue like infinity, and I ran, from something bad, faster, and faster, and when I could run no faster, I let the ball of my right foot hit the ground, I let my left hang, and with precision calf, I did pump, and was airborne. I skipped, into the sky. Up I swept, wind in my hair, going, RAH! Then I peaked and began to fall, with great speed, back t’ward earth. Panicking, I flapped my feet like flippers, and waved my arms, and found in doing so, I decreased the slide, the fall increment, as t’were. When I hit the floor again, I was ready, and, barely touching the ground, with a perfect left ball and calf, I powered back skyward, this time peaking yet higher, and returning earthward with further power, further grace, BLAM!ing back off again. Eventually I was bouncing off buildings, over bridges. It was the best moment of my life! And It happened in my head.
I have had a few since. Three? Four? I don’t usually remember my dreams. Just the nightmares. Last night I was bouncing again, but not too high. That first time, that was the highest I bounced. Ever since it has been ultimately disappointing. I somehow fuck it it up at the end. I forget how to wiggle my feet in such away to get maximum momentum.
I was bouncing, super-skipping, along a windy Welsh-seeming road last night. It was pretty dusty, so it must have been Summer. The Sun was setting, and I was fleeing some horror or other with a dark haired girl, to whom I felt a sort of fearful attraction. Like, I kind of wanted to do her. But I wasn’t sure if I fancied her. Or if she was evil. Or if in fact she was beautiful and not at all evil, but I’d somehow been made to think that.
So, we were escaping away, (as often we are) and I suddenly remembered I could skip really high. “FORSOOTH!” I said, in a really boomy voice, and went, runrunrunrun, bombed down the path, and launched skyward. I got about fifty feet high. It was pretty cool. I’d remembered I could sort of fly! But the woman I was with couldn’t, and as I tried to power-skip back to her, a black cloud gathered on the horizon, and bore down on us with some great vengance, and a furious anger. I reached her, landing with a comic book THOOM!, cracking the scorched earth. I could feel the black on my face, and tried to get us away, but I couldn’t carry her AND run really fast, not fast enough to power-skip into the sky and away.
I got really frustrated, and I shouted, “JUST FUCKING SKIP!”
She smiled at me and said, “we can’t all fucking skip, you retard.”
The black got us, but we did have sex later on, so it can’t have been all bad.
Hey, here’s a good one for you. White House advisor John Yoo on record stating that there is no law preventing the President from ordering the torture of a child of a suspect in custody – including by crushing that child’s testicles. Are you desensetised yet? Shit! Now that’s gangsta!