The Pure Life of Dreams

May 24, 2022October 22, 2022

Spies in a Bunker in Prague

I am in Budapest, only it does not look like Budapest because I have been there; so maybe I am in Prague because I have not been there.

I am in a deserted apartment, more like a bunker, but real high up, above the cityscape. And even though the bunker has only two main rooms, the rooms have strange angles and steps up to the lookout posts. Like a bunker the rooms have grey white walls and the windows are glassless but have metal grills.

The spies were just with me, a man and woman drinking whisky from crystal glasses. They poured it from a pear shaped decanter with a glass stopper.

And once they left, they put the glasses on a mantelpiece.

Then an agent came through the door and said, “They were here weren’t they?” But I didn’t answer and he went room to room looking for evidence.

There was nothing in the rooms but he found the decanter and holding it by the neck said, “Yes, the evidence is here,” He lifted it up for me to see.

“You should have worn gloves then,” I pointed out, “as you’ve just destroyed the evidence.”

I thought he was an idiot but he left with the decanter, and the couple returned.

Through curlicue bars on the windows I am trying to point my camera at the view of the city, the way the buildings slope down below me and then back up the other side of the valley high up above.

At the bottom of the valley is a nest of residential houses tightly packed, but in front are ugly white warehouses and I’m trying to angle the camera to avoid the warehouses and focus on the houses, with the remaining buildings on the opposite slope as a background. I would do a panoramic shot, except the bars would show up fuzzy in the foreground.

We walk outside and down to a balcony in front of the bunker.

“You have to see the nightly spectacle,” the woman tells me. Sure enough, a huge aircraft with multiple stories, like a space ship, five layers of oval windows pinpricks of light on black walls, comes up from the right side of the valley, against the dusky sky. Up over the balcony it flies, slowly, mere meters away, angled torchlights scanning the valley. It is followed by a white F-2, a familiar pointed nose. The plane slow rolls for show, and then is followed by the chopping sound of a Chinook.

“The city has this every night!” the man says.

I want to get a better photo and follow the couple alongside a stream that curves through the balcony. A black iron grinder crosses the stream and the man goes first, the woman hangs back. He steps onto the girder but then changes his mind and steps into the water. Ankle deep in clear water, he sploshes over to the other side.

I follow but want to stay on the girder, so I step gingerly onto it.

The girder is shiny, and I want to keep going, but it is slippery and I don’t want to look like a fool in front of the planes and the crowds watching.

Photo from Piqsels

May 15, 2022October 22, 2022

Love from a Previous Life

When I returned to the old office I saw her again.

She was dressed in a thick woolen dress and stockings, in dark maroon shades. The dress was knee length and had sleeves that came right down to her wrists; and her stockings, too, had the same tight, thick hatched woolen knit that covered her legs down to her ankles. She was thin, tall, taller than me, a small round face, dark hair; and I loved her from a previous life.

May 10, 2022April 11, 2025

Buying a Flat Opposite the Dinosaurs

I am barely awake as Elaine and her boyfriend lie next to me on a bed in an upstairs flat in Hanwell.

They are canoodling even though I have my hand on her bare shoulder. And he is a bit rough looking; droopy alcohol eyes, red pyjamas, not very attractive I think, but I can’t really judge her, it is her choice. I was lying there with Elaine talking things through, when he joined us and she turned to kiss him.

They got off the bed and left the room. And in the other bed was one of the tenants who would be renting the flat that the four of us, Elaine, me, Steven and Andrew were buying.

I had come over there for the first time some days earlier and it was unfurnished then. Elaine had brought me; and she’d introduced me to Steven, who was well dressed and clearly smart, although I was still wary of going halves on a flat with Elaine’s friends. I wasn’t sure how well she knew them.

We’d spent a good deal of time looking around. The other side of the road, there were dinosaurs on a rooftop balcony. And Elaine gave me her cell phone when Andrew called through, so I got to talk him for a short while about where we could meet, the four of us, for dinner. He too, sounded polished and I wondered whether I should dress up for the restaurant; to establish a level playing field so that Elaine and I wouldn’t get jipped…

As Elaine is leaving the bedroom with her boyfriend I look out the window. I see again, the open balcony on the opposite side of the road, with the large number of dinosaurs that dance on their bases. They are black and burnished gold and at first I think they are real, they are so well made. There is a T-Rex and and a Pterodactyl, as well as a crane and other more modern creatures, moving mechanically.

And to one side a father holds his baby up, pretends to fly him in the air.

“Way to give him nightmares and a complex when he’s thirteen or eighteen,” I say.

The T-Rex’s arms move fast in a circular motion as do the arms or legs or wings of the other creatures, and I feel a bit stupid for thinking they were real.

The tenant gets up from her bed to look. She is in her twenties, chunky, and pale, almost white skinned. And she wears a powder blue nightie, short, with thin shoulder straps.

As her feet hit the floor her penis spills out from under her nightie; it is thick, large, a good few inches and folded a little.

She catches me looking and smiles lasciviously at me.

“Let me get a good look at that yanky!” she says, but I try an escape for the door.

She grabs at my underpants and they get stuck half way down my buttocks as I pull away from her. I am shy, I don’t want to reveal myself, I can’t match her, I fear her disappointment, before I relent. Instead I turn around and we fall back on her bed.

As we fall, I find myself on top of her, her cute wide face framed with black, short cropped bangs. I bury my head under her chin, kiss her soft white neck. And she begins to reach between my legs.

“I want you.” I say to her, hesitantly and truthfully, “but we should be alone, the others are still here.”

I wake up, stirred.

Image by rubiopinar from Pixabay, cropped

May 4, 2022June 15, 2023

Jamal Ahmad was Shot Dead in the Age of Gentrification

I dream that I am crossing the road using the pedestrian bridge. It climbs high to clear the noisy traffic below and is all grey steel and yellow girders, clanging with my steps.

It was where Jamal Ahmad was shot dead. I have the magazine article about the unjust killing of a black man in my jacket pocket, rolled up .

There is menace in the air and a number of parades are scheduled for commemoration and protest.

As I exit the other end of the pedestrian bridge several black youths are coming the other way along the footpath. They climb the steps, and scatter; they push their way past me, and start to holler. I don’t know how to express sympathy without seeming churlish.

But I need to get back home, and so I take a short cut through the shopping mall. The back way cuts through a pub that is thick with smoke and the smell of day old booze. Wooden panels and TV screens; it looks like Celtic are playing, maybe with Rangers, but I can’t see the score.

I could have a drink. There is a full pint of lager on the counter in a tall glass, but I think better of it and exit the back way, through a corridor into the hotel. And the hotel is newly done up with bright yellow walls and black moldings. Sleek black furnishings, oversized leather couches and side tables are arranged across white tile.

As it is early in the morning only one half of the lobby is lit and the lights are still off on the far side. I remember when it used to be a department store; Marks and Sparks, 70s decor, long overdue for a refurbishment. Then I exit through the swing doors at the front and am back on the high street.

A parade is walking by in memory of the shooting. We gather by the side as the parade comes close. The parade occupies the width of the road and I want to take a photo but am not sure it is a good idea. Plus a very fat woman in grey track suit is in the front bearing down on us, and it won’t make for a good photo. Behind me I catch another bystander taking a photo so I turn back to the parade and snap one anyway.

The parade passes by me and at the end of the line is the coffin, white, close enough to touch, and held up by three men either side. I see only their hands grip the base and I feel my tears well up. But a black man comes up to me. I can’t tell whether he is about to threaten me.

“Yeah I know,” I say, but I don’t really know what to say and I start to cry. Another man dances past me, spiky Afro hair that springs as he moves.

“How’d he die? Did he get away before he fell?’ He asks to no one in particular.

And after the parade has gone by I cross the road; it marks the way home though I don’t recognize any of it. It has changed so much since I lived there.

I am lost but for an instant, when I see the Uxbridge Road. It is now a covered plaza, with sleek metal beams on the roof and on the road. It is a pedestrian only area, it looks nice, newly done; but it is still not clear where I am.

Looking in the other direction, there are more new buildings that I do not recognize. I turn the other way and around the north east corner, coming into view, is the old St. Peter’s church. That’s the way.

At least old buildings can’t be got rid of so easily. And can help you navigate the way.

Photo by Chad Davis via Flickr