In every dream home, a Heart CD.
The houses in my dreams are generally unpleasant places. Last night I added another to the set.
It seemed to have been built on a rocky outcrop overlooking a wild shoreline in the mid seventies, thus the apparent front door is at the 'top' of the building and the rest of the living spaces march down the outcrop towards the water. The kitchen is the first room you discover and is panelled like a Swedish Seventies Sex Sauna, which more or less sets the tone for the rest of the 'groovy' 'pad', and since it has a flat roof, it leaks.
The largest building is less of a house and more of a seemingly abandoned school or department store, though given the nature of both abandoned schools and shops such as Jolly's in Bath or the House of Fraser (which used to have a proper name) in Cirencester, they have been houses in their past. While there are people in the things, they are easily avoided and I can wander the empty rooms, storage areas and hidden stairways until I wake up.
I think I may have dreamed exiting such a building in Nottingham in order to shoot my doppelganger with a large pistol.
There's one in Cheltenham. It seems that I rented a small place round the back of somewhere quiet and then in the manner of the mole from 'Wind in the willows' abandoned it for no obvious reason. When I return, it is as I left it; rumpled bedclothes and mugs in the sink. It feels as if the building is holding its breath for my return and there is an aura of sadness and reproach about it.
The notional London building is akin to the hidden police station in 'The third policeman'. It seems to be built into the corners and spaces delineated by the absence of another building, and is a collection of narrow and twisting stairwells and corridor -like rooms that seem only fit for the business of waiting. What the purpose of that waiting may be is never made clear, but it is home to leaks, wallpapered-over mould and electrical fittings that wave gently on the end of their wiring.
It seemed to have been built on a rocky outcrop overlooking a wild shoreline in the mid seventies, thus the apparent front door is at the 'top' of the building and the rest of the living spaces march down the outcrop towards the water. The kitchen is the first room you discover and is panelled like a Swedish Seventies Sex Sauna, which more or less sets the tone for the rest of the 'groovy' 'pad', and since it has a flat roof, it leaks.
The largest building is less of a house and more of a seemingly abandoned school or department store, though given the nature of both abandoned schools and shops such as Jolly's in Bath or the House of Fraser (which used to have a proper name) in Cirencester, they have been houses in their past. While there are people in the things, they are easily avoided and I can wander the empty rooms, storage areas and hidden stairways until I wake up.
I think I may have dreamed exiting such a building in Nottingham in order to shoot my doppelganger with a large pistol.
There's one in Cheltenham. It seems that I rented a small place round the back of somewhere quiet and then in the manner of the mole from 'Wind in the willows' abandoned it for no obvious reason. When I return, it is as I left it; rumpled bedclothes and mugs in the sink. It feels as if the building is holding its breath for my return and there is an aura of sadness and reproach about it.
The notional London building is akin to the hidden police station in 'The third policeman'. It seems to be built into the corners and spaces delineated by the absence of another building, and is a collection of narrow and twisting stairwells and corridor -like rooms that seem only fit for the business of waiting. What the purpose of that waiting may be is never made clear, but it is home to leaks, wallpapered-over mould and electrical fittings that wave gently on the end of their wiring.