  Oh my god. Last night the dream machine was verily working overtime and I was amused / entertained / accosted by a sensational dream featuring David, Vanessa, Nick and Tim. Dave, I met you in a pub opposite a pool table. It seemed to be some meeting of random people, perhaps a gathering of netnerds arranged for the specific purpose of finally copping a real-life glimpse of one another. I picked you straight away. You were very tall - looming at least a chest and head above me, and I'm not short.
You must have been two meters tall. You had glasses but your hair was shaved and your face was round, in fact I think you had the head of my friend Jake, and you were looking around at everyone, trying to pick which one was me. I wondered if I should watch you for a while to see if you&nbsp;would know which one I was, because it might be fun to see which girls you would hesitate at, then when your gaze fell on me I realized my piercings would give it away so I waved to you. You walked around the pool table to come and say hi, and you seemed really surprised when I jumped up and hugged you, then you apologised for something obscure - I think it was for the jumper you were wearing, and I told you not to be ridiculous. It was a dark brown jumper made from coarse wool, old and stretched down to your knees, and admittedly it was quite ugly, but I couldn't understand why you would say sorry about it. That was it.
I am amazed at how relatively normal that dream was. &nbsp; But the normality didn't last long. At the next stage of the dream I walked into Nick's house where he and Vanessa were hanging out. Having met Vanessa before, my dream picture was mostly accurate - long dark hair, round face, only she was wearing white face makeup like a goth. Nick was unmistakeably Nick. How I know that is a mystery, and there was no clear picture at all, just a vague male figure with no face sitting on a bed with Vanessa that was situated right in front of the front door, but without a doubt it was Nicholas.
He handed me a tiny zine folded concertina style which showed the history of his and Vanessa's relationship. I was amazed to discover that Nick had been Vanessa's boyfriend before Tim (sorry people, I have no control over what my dreams do!). &nbsp; "So, Nick came before Tim? " I asked Vanessa. &nbsp; "Yes," she laughed, and I realized that he would have had to, because Vanessa is still with Tim. &nbsp; "So, after Matt, there was Nick?
" Now, I don't know if Vanessa's ex is actually called Matt, but if he is I would like to commend my subconscious on its weird but accurate memory, and he&nbsp;isn't I would like to know his name. Not that I ever met him but I'm sure Vanessa must have mentioned him in her zines. &nbsp; "No, it went Matt, then Elder (? ), then Nick, then Tim," she replied. &nbsp; "So Nick, you and Tim are still friends? " &nbsp; "Well yeah, we only know each other through Vanessa.
" &nbsp; I flick through the zine that Nick had given me. It mostly spoke about Vanessa, and there were pictures of them, tiny little ones, looking very happy to be in each other's company, reclining on a bed in summer with their bare legs and arms showing. Tim arrived looking very happy. He was also faceless, but tall and thin the way I picture him, though I'm not sure why. Vanessa pulled out another "zine" that was more like a bulging scrapbook with all sorts of things crammed into it - enlarged photos of herself, little rag dolls that she had glued to the pages, lots and lots of writing and cut-outs and bits and pieces. I looked through it slowly, fascinated.
Tits was there beside me suddenly, and she proclaimed that Vanessa's zine was narcissistic. &nbsp; "Of course it is," I replied. "That's why I like it. " &nbsp; Nick's place had become a rocking party. Rene was there. I went to the bathroom at one point and realised that the little bag I was carrying had lots of money in it that I had forgotten about.
I peeled off a section of white floor tiles near the base of the loo, fuck knows why, and it came off like a sanitary pad that had been stuck there, revealing a bare patch on the floor where I felt obliged to leave some money. I left a $20 note there and picked up a piece of toilet paper that I had scrunched into a tiny ball the size of a marble and accidentally dropped there, and flushed it. I realized I was very drunk. &nbsp; When I walked back where everybody was, we decided it was time to go to the pub, which was conveniently located next-door, and consisted of bunches of people sitting in a lane, each group enclosed by a square fenced off area, drinking long-necks. &nbsp; And that be it. &nbsp; My god, what goes on in my brain?
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