26 July 2011

To get the made-up-shit ball rolling again I resorted to interpreting a dream into a sequence of words and here it is. I have called this one "Bee".


A bee and a small fly are fighting at the base of the windscreen, inside the car that I am driving. The fly takes a bite out of the bee’s abdomen, with jaws that are rather spider-like. They lock legs and tussle, buzzing and tumbling up and down the glass. It’s hot in the car and I notice a tiny flash of flame on one of the bee’s wings. The two insects fall down the gap between the dashboard and the window.

I follow the signs for the car park, and am led down a residential street. The white wooden houses jut out into the road and and I navigate between them very slowly. A final sign leads me on to a private drive outside one of the white houses. Paint on the ground leads me into the garage, where I turn right into a parking space right next to the kitchen. It seems an unlikely place for a public parking space, but all the signs and road markings led me here and nobody is complaining.

As I get out of the car I look to see what the fighting insects are doing. I can’t see them, but there is an orange flicker behind the centrally mounted air-vent. I lean closer and between the plastic bars of the grating there are flames. No doubt about it. The flames are only the size of my fingernails and I decide that they’ll go out soon. I leave the car and walk into the now busy street. I’ve got to be somewhere but I’m not sure where now.

I start worrying about the fire, and I snatch a bottle of water from the hands of a Chinese lady who was about to drink from it and then I run back into the garage. I’m sure the water bottle lady will understand when I come back out and explain things to her, but for now I must douse the little fire so I can remember where I was supposed to be going.

I open the car door and pour water into the vent. Steam rises from the gap where the windscreen joins the dashboard. Orange flames lick out too. I find a watering can, half full, and pour water all over the dashboard, trying to force it down the gaps. The fire really takes hold now.

One of my friends has joined me and I ask her to go and find more water while I warn the people in the house about what is happening. I bang on the front door and shout. An elderly lady answers. “FIRE FIRE” I say. “ FIRE IN YOUR GARAGE”. She starts crying and frantically running around the front of the house as smoke pours out of the garage.

My friend has called the fire brigade. I am in the kitchen, pouring water on the walls, when they arrive. The old lady and I lead them through the kitchen towards a door to the garage. The old lady wrings her hands. The fireman pokes his hose through the door and sprays water at the car which is now fully ablaze.

As the fire is put out, I go to the car and pour water on it to cool the fiercely hot metal. The fireman stops off the hose, but I can feel that the passenger door of the car is still too hot and I hear hear a little fire inside it. He doesn’t like me telling him what he should do, but we wrench open the door itself and douse the remaining flames.