You know that fucking dream, the one where you leave the house, and you think everything is normal right up until you get somewhere crowded, then bang! your naked ? we've all had it in some form or another, well i have, but in my dream it deviates slightly, i always seem to have a pissy cover less duvet wrapped round my vitamin B deficient carcass, it looks like maybe your filthy pissy pants grandad was using it to doss down on, "not my grandad" you say, well maybe not yours but definitely mine.

you see your dreams right, i believe anyway, are a manifestation of how your feeling, whether you feel free sad happy horny drunk melancholic, depressed elated dizzy dopey sneezey or even bashful, the mind will create that very tangible expression of your exterior world, in your subconscious but with slightly more artistic licence than it.

Does my subconscious pity me that much it feels i need a blanket in a fictional embarrassing social situation so as not tip me over the edge?. it think it probably does,an it says a lot about me, the self even, i conclude the mind is a very poetic thing i suppose it teaches you "things" about yourself and then burns them onto a dvd and lets you watch them while you sleep, a bit like the open university i suppose, its a smart bit of kit.

You see i can find the beauty in all that stuff these days, the wonder of you, me, and everyone and everything that shit just blows my mind sometimes.

Theres just one thing puzzling me, in a Colombo type way,what the hell!?, out of all the things my subconscious could have wove for me in that dream, all the infinite possibilities the full spectra, colours, sounds ,vibrations, all possibilities, out off allll those and more, why ?why ?why? did my subconscious mind choose to wrap me in a grandad piss stained blanket, in my moment of need.

it wasn't even a high tog rating.

how very very strange.