DREAM: 8th of December 2013

I was in the box room at home, trying to get some sleep. I opened the window and could see all these hippy types walking back and forth. It appeared that some sort of music festival was going on in my back garden. Why didn't my parents tell me? I was outraged and deeply concerned about my sleep. I then saw this 18 year old man with a beard, prophesying like there was no tomorrow. I desperately searched for something to maim. He sang some mantra and the crowd lapped it up, all transfixed and cooing. I should have tipped off the dole office.

DAY:  9th of December 2013

Meditate.
I debate about shaving my head. I then remember that the ESB are on strike and are threatening to switch off the power. What if I was in mid shave and it cuts out? I would have to walk around town looking like a cry for help.
Exercise.
I get distracted by the numerous sounds pouring in from my stain covered bathroom window. I find myself blindly figuring out each sound and than giving it a narrative. I then add the time of day into the mix. 9 am so that must be a school run or off to work or delivery truck or postman. I ponder and think about how all this is taking place solely in my head. It could be just two fella's banging a stick off a barrel for all I know.
Switch on the electric shower but no water. First blood by the ESB? Finally it works and I step under. Ice freezing cold! Did I cut their pension's?
I imagine going up to the picket line of ESB workers and asking them should I tie a kite to my tongue and walk underneath a power line. If they warn me, is that crossing the picket line? Shcab.  
I think about what it would be like to have no electricity for a week, no internet.
I reflect on how the hot water triggers off thoughts and ideas in my head. Is there a way of keeping this creativity outside of the shower? Perhaps a little shower that could fit into your school bag, dip your hand in when you need that jolt. I imagine boardroom's of businessmen merging with Japan sitting under showers. Lovers on a first date sharing non-committal witticisms, being drenched to the bone. Maybe that is the secret to hypnotism, convince the client that they are constantly having a shower. Paul McKenna wept.
Then when I brush my teeth I always need to go to the bathroom. The strange physiology of the bathroom...
In my room and passively looking out the window. I see an elderly woman waiting for the bus. She extends her hand and the bus pulls in. I wonder does she, on some unconscious, base level, for a split second, believe that she has super powers? If you think about it, it's a person sticking out their hand and making a huge, mechanical juggernaut bend to their will, taming a metal beast. This interpretation could have positive benefits. Could empower the elderly, make them feel stronger and genuinely listened to.
It triggers off in me that idea I have for my own super power. The ability to give hernia's at will. For the times when you are in a gym or at football and you see someone posturing and posing. Just give a little wink and bang. A stomach erection.
See an ad on my laptop about Irish children, how they are overweight and obese. The American cultural takeover is finally complete. No one can hear you tweet.
Make tea in the kitchen. Think about how when one thought comes it can trigger off other thoughts, memories and association's. I begin to think of certain situations in my dreams and how they can spiral off into other situations and associations and that maybe the waking life isn't so different. Are dreams just more cryptic, encoded day time thoughts? More loaded allegories than just mere linear, straightforward thoughts?
I reflect on how I have lately been listening to music from a certain time in my life. I unconsciously gravitated towards it again. Am I trying to time travel? Is there a conscious reason for this unearthing? Or is it just because it is good music? Maybe I am just trying to do for music what Proust did for tea.
Decrepit explorer.
In the future bomb shelter bunkers on the edge of the world, will even one cream cracker remain completely intact? Even one?
Read the Guardian online. Article about Snowden giving evidence to a European court, live over a video link. Some party in England wants it stopped, saying that Snowden is a traitor and is putting people's live at risk. I don't really remember hearing of any deaths since the revelations came out. Nothing. Not even a vigorous headlock. Although to be fair headlocks could be classified.
Walk pass the Salthill petrol station.
Pretty blonde drives by. I wonder is she unemployed too? You can never tell. Unless you corner them. It reminds me about my Attractive Loser theory.
Approach the crossroads. See a young man in skinny black jeans, walking as if he is carrying smashing eggs in his underwear.
Walk pass St. Mary's secondary school. See an ESB van and workers littered around the scaffolding of a house. Man in yellow jacket and hard hat meets my eyes. We have a bit of a stand off. I felt like going up to him and asking him what was up with all that shit earlier in the shower? I let it pass. For now.
Walk pass a house for sale. Potted plant and dog teddy in the top window. Sold! Never mind the desperately needed paint job and disheveled roof. A failed piece of a tree and a stunned dog will seal the deal!
I begin to think of a dog teddy. Is it a dog teddy bear? A girl doll girl human?
I turn right and approach the canal. I see a Honda Civic parked in the smallest driveway conceivable. Was it even a car or just a garden ornament? Do they airlift it in and out everyday? Who are these people and are they hiring?
Walk down the canal. Helicopter flies overheard. No? It can't be? A local business perhaps? Airlifts vehicles into narrow and cumbersome driveways.
Woman walks passed me, face down in a book. Walking and reading. Strange. Man reading iphone walks by and trips. I am at the border of two shifting worlds. And hungry.
Walk pass the window of Ward's shop. See the deli girl, swallowing a mouthful of coffee, red eyes desperately seeking to drink in as much sensory freedom as they can muster. Ration it out over her endless thankless shift.
Walk into the college. See all the leaves from the trees scattered and piled on the ground. All the trees barren, except for a solitary black Dunnes Stores shopping bag, the only known survivor, proudly hanging on for dear life. I think about, possibly in the summer, planting a papier mache middle finger in that tree and just wait.
Go to play the piano but there are 'Exams in Progress.'Head to the common room of the chapel. Some lad, taking up the entire room, books and notebooks out, on youtube. On youtube for Our Lord. Scum. I go into the main church and play the electric. Old and young come in to pray and light candles while a bald unemployed man bangs out his honky tonk boogie woogie in the corner. I sit and wait for an elderly woman to call me a 'heathen.'Doesn't happen. Disappointed. I begin to cook up possible excuses for them if they do approach me with their senile scorn. "I am praying to God through the non-verbal medium of music" or "Have a go at the lad on youtube in the common room, pretending to study. Go bust his maladjusted chops. Mrs O' Flaherty."
It would be funny if they were actually lighting candles for me. If he is taking requests ask him for more of that hair stuff for human heads everyone else seems to have. Cheers.
Walk passed the Aula Maxima and notice the trees. Some of them look like skeletons hands shooting out of the ground.
Think about shaping events as they come and how I always fall back into the safety hammock of a daydream and envision and prepare situations and modes of future being. How futile and devoid of reality that practice is. Is it an evolutionary thing? If you know there are wild apes in a certain area, is it only natural to prepare yourself for battle when traversing that terrain in the future? I suppose that situation is a lot different from say, preparing something witty to say at a party, planning each move and line, rehearsing it perfectly, even when you are driving a car. The mind wanders and blathers.
Walk pass the sign down the canal, the Lower Canal sign. The C has been etched out. Sadly there are not enough BAFTA's to go round. IFTA's maybe.
I watch the swans. One has his head submerged under water. I wonder if swans ever threaten each other with suicide? "I'll do it, I'll keep it down there and won't come up, you'll be sorry then!" An auld Eastender's or Yeats job.
Go into Ernie's and buy the makings of a soup. Don't like the look of the broccoli so Plan B: Supervalu. Walk into the shop with a bag of pre- bought vegetables in my hand. Will they think I am stealing? But my bag doesn't have the Supervalu logo? But I could have easily brought in my own bag and done the bad deed. Surely they could just check the CCTV? I would never be able to show my face in here again. Even if I was proven innocent the embarrassment would be too great. I only want soup. I line up at the counter and inform the cashier I brought this bag in with me. She smiles but her eyes register something else, something fundamental and secret. I have lost her respect. This soup is tearing my life apart.
On the walk home I think about if they did accuse me and check the CCTV and find me innocent they might give me my shopping for free in order to bypass the bad press. I think about how I could pretend I bought a dvd player with my broccoli. Bottle of Jameson perhaps.
Walk passed house that says Legio Marie on the door. Lego of the Virgin Mary. Good to see her diversifying. Not just a one trick pony. I'd say that house is a trick or treat hotspot. They probably would say 'tricks' are for the devil and 'treats' are inhuman pleasures, the reward of sin. 'Or' is kosher.
Driving instructors are needed but what freak of a child grew up and wanted to be one for a living? It's like someone watching a bikini competition and then wanting to grew up and make massage oil in a factory.
Elderly couple, standing at bus stop outside my door. I nod and pass them and search for my door key. I twist it in and push. No luck. i do it again. Still no luck. Third time. Again no. Finally it creaks open. The disadvantages of being a vegetarian.
I make the soup and exorcise the demons. Transferring social pain into edible art.