Tag: Kensington High Street

Mermaid’s Purse – Viviparous – Generational Language Difficulties Dreams – 28-03-2025

~ quantumdreamer ~ Leave a comment

Here are last night’s dreams although not obvious they are somehow linked.

The dream starts with me looking down onto a white work surface. On it are two mermaid’s purse like egg sacks. They are shaped like ravioli, crimped and in quasi-translucent pink-yellow. They are very definitely alive and pulsing with a heartbeat. I cannot see the contents but I know they also contain parcels of knowledge. I have made them entirely hermaphroditically and must incubate them to fruition.

In turn I place one under the skin in my left arm pit and then my right armpit. There is a short umbilicus which protrudes into the arm pit. Otherwise, they appeared sealed into my body. The purse in my right armpit is more advanced and larger. It is this one which will hatch first. I know in the dream that I am now viviparous. The purses breathe through the umbilici. I must bear these and bring them to birth.

I wake for a visit.

The second part of the dreaming is set in a “trendy” clothes shop in London, somewhere like Kensington High Street. It is up market and youth. I have no idea how I got there. I am carrying an old pair of black Levi 501 jeans which have a few small holes between the legs in the crotch area. I need new jeans.

A young woman assistant comes to serve me. I explain that I need new jeans and show her my old ones. She leads me over to a display of jeans. The jeans all have stylised holes, rips and repairs in them.  I joke that I need not get some new jeans because mine are already ripped. She tolerates me. We look through the jeans and find some blue “baggies” which actually fit me. All the sizes are for skinny people. She takes the jeans with me to the cash desk.

When we arrive a young manicured and perfumed man is there. He asks me if I need anything else. I say because the holes in my jeans are where they are I might need some boxers. We all go to the underpants section. The array of colours is not to my liking, all colourful in autumnal shades and lovat. He leads me to the top of the range shelves and pulls out a pair of pants which have a “sock” or “willy warmer” for the penis. They look ridiculous. He is very self-important and praises them. I say that I do not like the penis pocket. It is stupid. He says that they are “punk”. I suggest to him that punk might have different generational meanings and that he has no idea what punk means. Real punk does not exist in his precious world. I say that it would be much more punk to wear no pants and risk my tackle falling out of or otherwise showing though the holes in my Levis. The young woman is both appalled and mildly aroused by what they both deem my gross comments. The man flounces off.

I go back to the till with the woman to buy the jeans.

I leave the shop and go into a boxing kit store. There one can buy normal black pants and ones with room for a plastic bollock guard. There is a sense of sanity there.

I know that the dream means my cultural refences are not transferable to the young of today and that I will have difficulties communicating with them. To them I am a crass ignorant dinosaur.

The dream ends.

Chemical Leak – Surgery – Padmasambhava – Floods – Drinks – Dream 18-03-2025

~ quantumdreamer ~ Leave a comment

This dream comes after many days with very unsettled sleep due to intensely painful gout(?) in my right knee. I had 60mg of Codeine in co-codamol in order to get off to sleep.

The dream starts in a very modern building used for chemistry and science. The building is unknown to me. It is in London. On an upper floor where there are chemistry laboratories with fume hoods there has been a major incident. There are youngish people lying on the floor wearing white lab coats. Some of them have safety spectacles and purple nitryl plastic gloves on. They are not moving and are dead. There has been a leak of gas a chemical leak. The gas is an organometallic tin compound, a stanyl. It is volatile. Apart from being dead they look well. I am alone on the floor and immune to the leak. Slowly I drag the bodies out on to the landing and start to pile them into a heap ready for collection. From the landing I can see the entrance atrium which is rather grand. There is a glass banister topped with a hand rail. The bodies are both female and male. They are still warm to the touch yet floppy and lifeless. The work is easy and they do not feel heavy. There are well over a dozen bodies. I pile them up easily.

The scene changes and I am with G, R and T all of whom were / are academic chemists. We are waiting in turn to be operated on. We are to have sebaceus cysts removed from our faces. The man doing the operating is completely naked and devoid of any bodily hair. His genitals are visible. He is wearing blue plastic surgical gloves and nothing else. It is my turn to be operated on. I ask him why he is naked. He replies that it is a lot easier to clean up, the blood washes off. I understand the logic. He starts to cut out two cysts from my face. One of them is deeper than the other and he makes a slight mistake. He is worried that I am angry. I say that I am not in the slightest concerned with my appearance and that a scar of the right side of my face will match the one from the basal cell carcinoma removal on the left side. I suggest that he stitches away. This he does with a dark-black thread of a thicker than usual thickness. I get out of the operating chair and leave. The others are waiting nervously.

I am now walking around London with Padmasambhava, Guru Rinpoche. The atmosphere between us is fraternal as if we go way back. He is in a dark royal blue manifestation. We get into a right hand drive old Mk3 Ford Cortina in white. I drive us down to the embankment then we get out. Rinpoche puts his right arm around my right shoulder. He points with his left hand at the Thames water level. He says that in due course it will flood London. The water level rises and as it rises, we retreat uphill. Soon large tracts of land near the embankment are flooded. We work our way up towards Victoria and then Kensington. As we get to the north side of Kensington High Street, he shows me how much of London has been inundated by the sea level rise. He comments that much of this might have been stopped but it was not. There is a feeling of bond between us as we survey.

The scene changes and I am in what once was the Norfolk Arms but now is a hotel. It is very late well after closing time. I am in the bar with G, R and T. There is a young woman decked out as a waitress with a white apron and a black waistcoat. She is drying glasses with a towel. T orders a round of drinks from her and brings them over to us. There is some conversation about the chemical leak. The time comes and it is my turn to buy a round. For some reason I forget G. He feigns upset. I buy him a drink and the woman asks if I have any change, loose coins. She says that we always run out. I pull out coins from my trousers pocket to pay for the round. Her colleague, a male comes over and counts them out. He adds them to a small metallic coin-change box. He gives me back three coins. These coins I/we know are antique, they have a patina of age upon them. The others then go off to bed in the hotel and I sit at the bar with the waitress and her senior colleague. The night is our time, we are creatures of the night.

The dream ends.