New Year dreams.

Happy New Year. Well I must say we had a good time seeing in the New Year, being the poncy lot we are we dressed up as famous paintings. We won the most innovative award and created a small stir:

new year

Must have been something I ate because I’ve had the most vivid and slightly disturbing dreams these past 2 nights. It’s relatively rare for me to remember dreams and these were of a rare quality. The first was me still working at Purbeck View School which many who are also x-workers might consider more nightmarish than dreamlike. In the dream I still seemed to know what I was doing and there was no overt “what the fuck are you doing here” from others but also very little interaction. There were no recognisable folk at the school, either staff or students and everything was slightly different; decor, doors, rooms. Was slightly discombobulated when I woke, and it was one of those dreams where the slight uneasiness remained with me a while.

Then last night I go and have another weird dream of being in a particular place, this time with some characters I know. It’s a get together in a very grand and rambling house owned by 2 old friends of mine but they are the only ones I really know. It slowly dawns on me that I’m being ever so slightly shunned by everyone, making me feel I don’t belong. Despite my bumbling efforts at bonhomie I eventually decide to leave and go to get my bag, except I can’t find it, instead coming across a different bag with my stuff inside. Being the twat I am I don’t go quietly and realise that a haughty, snidey, contemptuous type has taken against me and orchestrated an effective campaign of ostracising me. As I walk through the grand house the wife, who’s working with a group of children (all the other guests are male), asks what’s up. I tell her and she then treats me with some disdain, how dare I suggest that others might behave in this way.

Being a bolshie twat I then confront my nemesis in front of all the other cowardly men, make a pretty brilliant speech and walk off alone, with my new bag, which I later discover has been pissed in.

It’s 2018, I’m 60 and maybe the dreams are just the aging brain twitching.

And yet the aging brain was stimulated excitedly by an essay it read yesterday that not only provided a very cogent analysis of where we’re at but also a very cogent case of how things can get better:

Must check this Seymour Melman out.

Here’s a Kliban for New Year:


Keep on keeping on, love Duncan.


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