I woke this morning barely able to roll out of bed. I seem to go through these cycles of intense dreaming where for a week or so the neurons in my head fire like some crazy electrical storm and I wake feeling like shit, tired, irritable, etc.

Last night I dreamt that I moved into a new place with a few friends, an old terrace apartment in some innercity suburb. While moving furniture, one of my friends called me and the other housemate over to show us what he'd found. In the centre of the living room, hidden under an ancient dustmite ridden rug was an ornate iron manhole that was covered in these geometric lines. A design that you might expect to have seen in blueprints to some 19th century timepiece.

Failing to open it, I began to beat my fist against it, and as a joke began yelling at the top of my lungs, asking if anyone was down there. We froze, silent as the sound of splashing could be distinctly heard from the bottom of whereever that hole led. Silence.

At first it was just the one voice that cried out. If you could call it a voice I suppose: high-pitched but guttural if that makes any sense, inhuman to say the least and then it was followed by more, three, five or ten frantic cries. What the fuck had we stirred up? I asked myself shitscared. What the fuck had we signed a lease to?

Returning from the supermarket that day, I walked into the living room to find a couch over the hole and my friend sitting there watching television. I tried unsuccessfully to broach the topic but no one wanted to talk about it.

What's all this hoo-har about Pol Pot winning "Britain's got Talent"? Firstly I thought he was dead and secondly I didn't know he could sing and if he could, what the hell!?! Nessun Dorma for christs-sake! And what the fuck does ITV think it is doing, having a genocidal dictator on its programme? Seriously, they're exploiting the deaths of more than 3 million Cambodians for nothing more than a few rating points! Geez! Someone should do something about this.

fear of the werewolf

By day Wolf became Man. He would only recall this other life like one remembers nightmares. Flashes of strange and great things, of electric lights and cars and office buildings that rose so high they pierced the sky. But the traffic and noise, the flickering of his computer screen was unbearable and encroaching on his waking life. It was like the beating wings of an enourmous hornet, buzzing buzzing so loud that it became deafening. Wolf felt something dying inside of him. His senses dulled and he lost his joy in the hunt. Wolf could no longer smell their fear, hear their desperate footfalls or taste the blood, sinews of the flesh, feel the texture of broken bone. Not like he could before. It had all become bland and colourless.

Wolf feared he was becoming Man.

He breathed deep as he slept, my arm interlocking beneath his, held tight as I smelt the nape of his neck, the perfume, sweat, hair and product. I drew it in as I listened to the sound he made, slightly nasal, blocked, forced and as I too began to fall into sleep swore that in it, I could hear the calls of sea birds and the rush of the ocean....

...I woke with his hands brushing gently along my arm, wishing that things would not go this way, that I could just lay against him as the daylight faded. Maybe all I wanted was to feel his warmth, hear his heart beat and hold him for just a while longer and know that I am needed and wanted and loved. But then I heard the clink clank of his belt buckle and I reached down to help him remove his jeans.

This rather dark clip is from a film called The Adventures of Mark Twain (1985) and is a "feature-length Claymation fantasy [that] follows the adventures of Tom Sawyer, Becky Thatcher, and Huck Finn as they stowaway aboard the interplanetary balloon of Mark Twain. Twain, disgusted with the Human Race, is intent upon finding Halley's Comet and crashing into it, achieving his "destiny." It's up to Tom, Becky, and Huck to convince him hat [sic] his judgement is wrong, and that he still has much to offer humanity that might make a difference. Their efforts aren't just charitable; if they fail, they will share Twain's fate. Along the way, they use a magical time portal to get a detailed overview of the Twain philosophy, observing the "historical" events that inspired his works."

Plot summary is from IMDB