3rd June, 2013 - Fever dream

It was a 'Hunger Games' death match and we were being choppered in over a map mostly laid out in grids. Various quadrants would move and overlap over the course of the game, forcing combatants into contact. We would be unable to hide - at least not for very long.

It started out with three of us, some guy, a small black girl (based off Rue, I guess) and me. I was Katniss in this set-up but I was also myself in that way dreams have. We were camped in the top of a gum tree. The little girl had caught a fairy and attaching a match to its butt, sent it to an outer branch to start a fire for us. We settled in to sleep. The game would begin tomorrow.

We were on a train with compartments made into cramped dormitories holding two bunk beds each. Between the pillows, blankets, luggage and storage containers, there wasn't much room for anybody. This was where we were starting and trapped in this tiny room, we were already at a disadvantage. We had no weapons and no way of knowing if the coast was clear outside unless we wanted to risk our necks.

Other teams of people had already been through the dormitories ahead of us and they were coming our way. I had a flash-forward vision the future that awaited: with nothing to do but hide behind pillows, we were sitting ducks as heavily-armed men sprayed the room with bullets. Some of my team-mates, the smaller girls for instance, would be able to hide in the storage space up in the ceiling and down under the bunks. We could move the boxes and containers around them to shield them from view - but not the bullets. Even so, it was better than nothing. As for myself, there was no room for me anywhere. I'd be the one cowering behind the pillows while the kids hid. I wondered if this was how the teachers at Sandy Hook Elementary felt before they died. There was no time left. The counter on the door was ticking down. At zero, the others would arrive with their guns. It reached zero and the door opened.

The people who came into the room were not the one armed with the automatic weapons and they did not spray the room with bullets. They did, however, have at least one revolver with them and a bunch of knives. Still weaponless, I'd have to wrest something useful from one of them if I was to have any chance. I managed to get hold of a revolver. It only had one bullet but it was special, with an explosive tip. It might only have one shot, but it would be guaranteed lethal and that's what I was going need if I wanted to survive. The ticker started to count down to zero again. Enemies incoming! I fumbled with the chamber but got it loaded just in time.

The door opened and I fired. The gun jammed.

--

Further back in the train there was a great, big warehouse area filled with old pieces of machinery, painted woodwork, old film sets and stage props, giant cogs and spools, and all manner of strange, dusty things.

With my gun having failed me - now more than once - and having already witnessed the brutality of the game, I was anxious to find a weapon that I could use to survive. There were some knives on a bench and I took one. It was a long, very old boning knife, the same as my dad is keeping for me in the waking world. It would do for now. I used it to pierce the corpse of Mrs Benson, who'd been trussed up on the broken-tree-altar of Catholic suffering. My first use of the blade, I was relieved at how easy it was as opposed to the malfunctioning gun, but  relief changed to revulsion at the sight of the viscous black sludge seeping from the wound - and the smell. She looked twisted and abject, like a torture victim in Silent Hill. As the designated effigy of Catholicism, she'd been forced to continue having babies until she died. So it goes.

I moved away from the strange and dark forest growing around the now ex Mrs Benson, and back down into the warehouse proper. Enemies were approaching and I could hear the sound of gunfire. Somehow my boning knife seemed insufficient but as I put it down, I was attacked by two women. They were not looking so good - torn black mini-dresses, lank hair and bare, bloodstained arms. I looked to the table where I'd first taken my knife and grabbed the only I could - a wobbly saw blade with long jagged teeth. I hoped it would be enough. I slashed at one of the women and managed to cut her thigh. She pulled back, shrieking. I hated this, recoiling from the sight of her splitting flesh. I extended my arm and flicked my wrist, sending the blade out like a bullwhip. It caught the other woman around the neck. I yanked it back and it came, serrated edge slicing her throat as it returned to me. Again, the wound I'd inflicted was sickening. The scene seemed to replay in my mind's eye. My stomach roiled.

I can't remember what happened next; if the seas boiled and the world changed, or if we just went on killing each other while trying not to die. I can't even remember if the train was going anywhere.

NATO exchange

@goblinpaladin DEAR NATO MAYBE DON'T MURDER CHILDREN
@thegreenrat NATO replies: "shut up you're not my dad!"
@thegreenrat *NATO slams door, plays loud music in room*

And now, the weather - collaborative poetry with Goblinpaladin

that weather system in the south-west
with the blood and the screaming
run, southerners
our defensive high pressure collapsed
we are overrun
the ears of our weather shamans started to bleed
the wall is broken
flee for your lives
all is lost!
OBEY THE ORB
all that remains
silence
at last we have peace, the weather gods say
now we can get things done

Nexus

Sign your privacy away, render yourself
naked to satellite technology
a Google Gestapo listening to
the lives of others
through tweet text tracking
the latest Angry Birds mod is totally worth it

June, 2011. Cairo.

The Ibn Talun Mosque  was commissioned by the Abbassid governor of Egypt from 868-884 CE, after whom it is named. It's constructed in a Samarran style, drawing inspiration from the capital of the Abbasid dynasty at the time before it was relocated to Baghdad. One of the distinguishing features of this architectural style is the spiral design of the minaret although interestingly, there is some contention over the Ibn Talun minaret, which some believe was constructed at a later date. 1296 is one historian's estimation. It would not be surprising; the mosque like many others in Cairo has been restored several times with new features added on each occasion. 

The first of the restorations was in 1177 and was undertaken by Badr al-Jamali, a warlord from Armenia who rose to prominence in the service of the Fatimid caliphate, eventually becoming wazir. The man who took care of the shoe rack by the mosque's entrance showed me the inscription that Al-Jamali added to the mosque. It's an important piece of history. According to patachu.com, the Fatimid caliphs claimed the divine right to rule based on their direct lineage from Fatima, the daughter of the Prophet Muhammad, and the propagation of Fatimid Shi'a Islam as an ideology was vital in maintaining this legitimacy. Al-Jamali's rise to power saw the beginning of a trend in Egyptian history where the Fatimid caliphs became puppets of their wazir commanders, figureheads for the military generals to rule from behind. 

When he commissioned the restoration of the Mosque of Ibn Talun, Badr al-Jamali had a slab installed carrying an inscription of the Shahada, the Muslim declaration of faith. It reads, “There is no god but God, Muhammad is the messenger of God.” It then then continues, “wa 'Aliyyun waliyyu l-Lāh” - “and Ali is the wali (friend or vice-regent) of God.” This second part is an article of faith particular to Shi'i Islam. By installing this inscription, Al-Jamali was seeking to support the existing political order which he would later use as a mask for his own rule. I had my photo taken next to it. 

A man with a gun is shouting at me to leave because it's closing time for non-Muslims, 

but the guy from the shoe rack keeps saying, "Just one more. I think I've got it this time!"

Dream: Of Mardi Gras, sharks and the mysterious death of Lindsay Lohan.

Date: 24th December, 2012.

In the dream, I didn’t want to do Mardi Gras but I was obliged to attend because of my membership in a GLBTI martial arts club. It was a damn nuisance on a day when I had so many other things to do and so many other places I wanted to be. And what’s more, I was running late. I raced like crazy through hot suburbia to get to the check-in booths, getting lost a few times on the way as I ran down the endless nature strips of hot grass baking in the sun. There was no shade. Eventually, I made it to the stall, which was attended by a disinterested drag queen, but when I showed by woven rainbow bracelet for ID, she told me that the club that had signed me up had already filled its quota of attendees and I’d have to wait to see if there were any cancellations from other affiliated groups. It was exasperating but at the same time, I caught myself thinking this might be an opportunity to back out of this annoying commitment.

While I waited for word, I noticed that Sandra Sully was also in the area. She was getting ready to host the Ten News at 5:00pm and was wearing a large, unflattering pink and blue dress with white spots. It was her newsreading dress, she told me. She revealed that she didn’t like the sports anchor Brad Canning very much at all. In fact, no one did. As I saw him come around the corner, wearing a light blue mink and ermine collar over his clothes like some kind of pompous city mayor, I wasn’t surprised.

As we sat on the bench on the side of the Pacific Highway at my old high school bus stop, I noticed there were sharks. They were flying through the air as though it were water - or perhaps I'd been underwater the entire time and was just breathing it as though it were air. In any case, these vicious monsters, though not tame, had agreed not to attack people - although it was hard to put my faith 100% in that undertaking. Using a sheet for cardboard to create a barrier and bop them away if they came too close, I swam with the sharks of North Sydney.

Police sirens rang out on O’Riordan St, Alexandria.  There'd been a robbery and I was right closeby. The getaway car filled with dudebros sped past me as I stood at the traffic lights and I got in. Everyone was really excited and we ended up daring one another to do the Ice Sheet Cold Swimming Challenge, which was an endurance test, swimming in icy-cold water for as long as possible. We went to the local pool in Lane Cove and got into the water. There were giant ice cubes bobbing around in it.

When I got out, it was dark and the big news of the day was that Lindsay Lohan had died. A video tribute was to be played as well as a publicly televised reading of her will - both of which I'd have to caption. Behind the scenes in the old house, I could hear the celebrities discussing the momentous event in hushed voices as they sat in the toilet cubicles. Kerri-Anne Kennerly told a friend that Lohan's family life had been disturbed and even though official cause of death was being ruled as suicide, everyone knew how it really happened - it was Bert Newton who'd killed Lindsay Lohan.She also whispered (I was eavesdropping on the conversation) that the evidence was still there to be found.

I went up the stairs to Lohan's bedroom and found it a mess. Things were scattered everywhere - a jacket, CDs, a pair of scissors, ribbons, rubber bands and a massage table. The scissors were suspicious and I knew they were somehow connected to her death. I had a psychic flashback and saw how the murder had happened - Lohan lying face-down on the massage table, passed out from taking drugs. From her perspective, I could see the scissors and ribbons on the carpeted floor through the hole in the massage table. As Bert Newton came into the room, the perspective switched back to the third person and froze as a tableau: Newton with the scissors about to stab down on Lohan's spinal cord at the bottom of her neck.

It faded to black.

Later, as her tribute video was screened on the overhead projector, there was some speculation about whether or not Lindsay Lohan had actually died at all. It was thought she might still be out there, waiting for the big reveal and so although the mood was sad, people still held out hope that everything would be OK. But the question was never resolved one way or the other.

Dream: In which I pass the Slayer test. (undated)

There was some kind of terror attack being planned against the Hogwarts Express and I was one of a crack team of operatives assigned to stop it - but first I had to get there. It was a tricky journey using the train line and along the way, it was revealed that I was one of the newly activated Slayers from 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer'. There were many of us in the world now and it was imperative that I find the others. \

We were on a road, driving along in a car. The grass on either side was very green and there were one or two trees here and there. I got out. I walked down a path through the park until the trees thinned and the ground gave way to sand. I was in the desert from 'Restless', the season four finale, the desert of the mind where the First Slayer lives, and I was alone. I had to walk through the desert by myself, and only after that would I be allowed to be called by my real name.

It was hot and I wasn't wearing any shoes but the sand did not burn my feet and with a great deal of perseverance, I made out of the desert, through the scraggly woods and brush and finally back to the park, dragging a sun-bleached tree branch behind me and now an official Slayer. Zoe Thompsett* was in the car and she called out my name - “Nikki!” I got in and off we went.

 There was a strange black and orange animal that was perched on top of a statue. It looked like a kangaroo crossed with a fruit bat but my guide told me that it was a fox. It was swooping down at us with great, terrifying leathery wings. We shot it down. Turns out there was a bounty on each so-called "fox" killed, by order of the Queen. Her Majesty the Queen was there and was able to clarify the point. I made to toss the carcass in the boot of the car but decided against it in the end. The animal had changed now and was no longer dead. It was now a small, furry, red and white stoat, which I decided to hold in my arms while we drove. As we drove through the country side and down Collins St near my flat in Alexandria, the stoat became agitated and started clawing and biting at my hands. It held on to my index finger with both paws and chomped down on it very hard.

 I was reunited with the other Slayers, my new sisters, while I changed my clothes into a purple evening dress so we could get onto the Hogwarts Express undetected. At the last minute, I decided to add a dark olive-green army vest to the outfit. The effect was reminiscent of Alice from 'Resident Evil'. I'd walked through the desert and was ready to go.



 * Zoe Thompsett - a friend with whom I attended both primary school and high school.