I’ve mentioned my Trainspotting anecdote before, but I don’t think I posted the track in question so that’s something I need to resolve.
I’ve always found dreamtime to be an odd sequence, my dreams tend towards abstraction and nonsense. An old friend, who we’ll call Marcus on account of his name being Marcus once said that dreams would usually fall apart once you were faced with something you couldn’t deal with in real life. His example of the time was that you would be trying to drive a car up Berryknowes Road and then things would turn once you passed Joy Sinclair’s home and the car would turn into an Irn-Bru bottle and things would slowly dissolve into bizarrity as you progressed further. No real need to get weirder as the home in question later became a focal point when her mother’s partner was kidnapped and beheaded, but I digress somewhat. I was once a leader in the scouts, and Beverley was one of the named Jungle Book members. My strongest memory of her was once in Wales we took a number of young boys for a week or so camping, and she wanted me to clear up a pants explosion accident by one of the youngsters but I made myself scarce for some time until Bagheera or someone dealt with it. This grouping feeds back into my early DJ partnership and initial learning with my previously mentioned colleague, but that’s not for today.
Anyway, back to the dreamtime. In previous installments I’ve mentioned dream confusion, and in particular I have a very strong memory of a different time in Wales and a dream of seeing a sticker for the Andrew Weatherall Radio Show emblazoned on a burnt out car. My dream memories were tickled recently with something I consider similar, but not originating from a dream.
A few weeks ago, myself and the entourage (Mrsstx & ministx) were shopping in Germany for the usual assortment of cheap meat and beer and we were returning to Swissyland. Due to our recent move, we pass a local Bio-store called Hoheners(which I think has many more umlauts than I’ve given it) and while we pause at the traffic lights I notice a poster with a familiar face that is strangely out of place on a street corner.
I rub my eyes in my best overblown Harold Lloyd fashion, and again as I wonder if the few times I’ve tried acid have come back to me in force. I realise I’m looking at a poster of Dieter Meier promoting his own brand of wine.
Bedrock featuing Kyo – For What You Dream Of
Bedrock featuing Kyo – For What You Dream Of (Instrumental Edit)