Tag: South London

Reset – Peaceful Warrior – Healing Dream 27-11-2025

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Here is this morning’s dream had after a bit of OxyNormORO morphine to help with pain. From around 5 AM. Prior to the dream I have been contemplating on what the post-operative reset might be like. What was going on before the operation is distant and what may lay ahead is unclear. I am half anticipating a complete reset / rescale.

The dream starts with me wandering around Brixton London where I used to live. I bump into Ben G whom I have not seen for more than 25 years. He is dressed in a suit and looks stressed out and busy. I suggest that we go into the pub {Prince of Wales} opposite the Ritzy cinema. {I did in fact bang into him around here many years ago}. We go in and start having a chat. He starts to thank me for the help and caring I gave in the past. He says that some of the things I said to him have stood him in good stead during times of trouble. I say that I have a good idea of the book that will help him now. It is “The Peaceful Warrior” by Dan Milman. * I say that I will meet him for coffee later in the week near where he works in the city and bring the book for him. He is pleased to have re-made acquaintance as am I.

The scene changes and I am heading up Brixton hill to a multiple occupancy building like my old flat. I open the front door and the scene is chaotic with multiple people coming and going there. There are two women reminiscent of people from Science outreach, Melanie and Jody. As usual they are “all over the shop”. They want to show me how they have renovated the building. We go into various flats and I politely say “um, yes that is nice”. We go back into my flat and they want to make an appointment to meet later on. I say that I cannot that I am ill, I think it might be pneumonia. They don’t hear nor understand how ill I am. I shoo them off with a promise to call.

I go back into my “flat” it is largely not unpacked. Stuff is in boxes. In the garden out back there is a pond / open water swimming pool. I meet Russell Crowe there and we are sat chatting in the water. He says that he is struggling with his alcohol problems. I say that I have not drunk in near a year and that is was a never a problem for me in the usual way. For me it was all about boredom. He does not believe me. We sit there for a while enjoying the summer sunset.

I go back to my flat and start to look for the telephone number for the GP. I can’t find my address book. I am pretty sure that the Brixton Hill practice will have a number on line. I am reminded of Dr “Depardieu” who helped me in the mid-90s.  I find the number and call for an appointment. I am resolved to take some time out just for myself and let everybody else deal with their own worries.

The dream ends

* In “The Peaceful Warrior” which was a gateway book for me, Dan an arrogant Berkley gymnast bumps into a spiritual mentor “Socrates” who tries to get him to be real and to “take out the trash”. Dan being a bit of a bellend ends up crashing his motor cycle and badly fracturing his leg. Dan goes through an intensive recovery which tests his mettle and ends up competing at the highest level. Dan has to overcome his self-importance and impatience.

Behind Closed Doors – Nile Perch – Brockwell Park Dream Snippets 29-10-2025

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Here are last night’s dream snippets some of them are at 90 mph…

The first part of the sequence begins in London. There are various meetings going on after hours and behind closed doors in which I am somehow the subject / object of the meeting. I am somehow seen as the “problem”. There is one among male UK academics roughly of my generation. I had acquaintance of these. There is one involving people who could be seen as the generation before me and a current university VC. Of these I had passing acquaintance of one female and longer of another male, they are near end of life. The VC is only a bit older than me. There is one meeting which is part virtual with people in the USA. I have never personally met the protagonists. This has a political / intelligence flavour. There is one meeting which is distinctly Tibetan and not London based. The scenes flash by at “90 mph”. In the dream I want to say that they have done nothing which is strictly speaking illegal nor overly dodgy in the view of current normal practices and behaviour. Therefore from my point of view there is nothing to discuss, nor do they have anything which needs attention. They do not need to do anything at all.

The scene now changes to Africa. We are at a camp site near an inland lake or reservoir. We are packing up to catch the plane home. In my pocket I have a small fishing lure, a spinner, a spinning spoon around a “pole” with a tri-pronged hook. It has a small purple feather. Before we leave I would like to try to catch a “bream” or Nile perch. The man I am with draws off some line from a rod reel combination. The line is very thick and strong. I need to tie the lure on with a leader. I try time and again to attach a leader to the line. Each time I do so and give a good tug the leader comes away from the main line. I think, “clearly I am not supposed to do this”. I give up my efforts and help load the safari Land Rovers to leave.

The scene changes to Brockwell Park in Brixton a place where I frequented a lot. It has a lot of stored memories and previously emotive things for me. It was very much a part of my former London life. I am with the wife and some kind of assistant / facilitator. His job is to look after me and my wants. I show him the ponds and explain that the local schools do biology lessons therefrom. I then show him one of the large old style Brixton converted “mansions”. I say that I want to explore to see if there is any draw. To see if it reminds me of my old flat. We break in through the ground floor back door and head out of the front door. The hallway is spacious and there is no damage we easily unlock the doors. I want to head up hill to show him where I used to live. As we go uphill I see a huge building project. A whole terrace has been demolished for a park side new build. It does not look good. Further up the hill another terrace has been removed by the diggers. They have yet to uproot the very old very large trees. They will need to dig deep to make good foundations. I cannot find the building in which my old flat was. I nip into one of the new build shells and hide from the builders to take a piss in a tiny pink WC. I finish and as I leave one of the builders shouts “oi”. I say that I used to live here and was bursting for a leak. He waves me on.

As I come to I note there is no point searching for the past because it no longer exists. I note that as we were non binary about France or England the future may lie elsewhere. I also note that the reason we love this house is the garden and nature, which I may rekindle after my operation(s). I am not seeing clearly.

The dreaming sequence ends…

Random – Buffalo Shaman – P&L Dream 28-10-2025

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Here is this morning’s dream had between 4 and 7:30. I am going to open a new dream theme “random” and apply it to dreams which seemingly have little to do with me although I may feature therein.

My anticipation is that the dreaming will fade going towards surgery. It will then lay relatively dormant. This anticipation could be wrong.

The dream opens in a large room, part of a town hall and near a registry office. Sat around the room on large “leather” bound sofas are a collection of jet black men. They are all very smartly if non-standardly dressed. They look a little like characters out of a 1930s movie by their vintage clothing choice. There is some jollity and mirth. They are all Nigerian and gathered for a Nigerian wedding. They are big blokes and I think that they would make a good pack of rugby forwards.

I am to marry an Irish woman Aishleen to one of them. She is in the next room waiting in a white wedding dress.

I look down to the inside of my right wrist. There is  a white, made of bone, emblem there. It is a skull of a buffalo with bead decorations on the horns. The emblem is mostly two dimensional and is attached to me, tattoo like as opposed to affixed. One of the Nigerians says that I am the Buffalo shaman and that I must practice the rite. I gather the men together holding hands in a circle. We sing and chant a little.

They notice in one corner of the room a brilliant white laboratory style mouse. I must sacrifice it. To do this I take a book from the bookshelf and use it to squash the mouse. They cheer me on to do this. I squash the mouse and it flattens then disappears. It is OK now for the marriage to go ahead.

The scene changes and I am walking around South London near a park. The road is on top of a slope behind some metal railings and the park is in the valley below. It is in Streatham. I follow the road and go into a club house of sorts there is a meeting. The local “council” are discussing closing public toilets as a cost saver. I say that this is stupid as the cost saving is tiny. The lead for the meeting says that the finances are dire. I asks him to show me. He comes back with a summary statement. I say that no, I want the entire profit and loss, P&L accounts to peruse. Give me all the detail. That is the best thing I can do for them to do a thorough look as an objective outsider. I say that I think they are losing the plot.

He comes back with a full accounts setting and a younger woman clerk. She is dark haired, ample and around 40. I recognise her. He says that she will help me. She asks me if I remember where I met her all those years ago. She says that it was a 4 AM in the morning walking along Turners Road when I was accustomed to doing my late night walks. She says that we went back to hers for some more drinks. For some reason non sexual we are close.

As I wake up I think “random”…

The dream ends.

Teaching AI to Meditate and Focus Nightmare (dream) – 14-09-2025

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Here is last night’s dream. Although I have had many dreams some might find scary. This one was by far the most nightmarish dream I have had in well over a decade. Hence it earns the name nightmare.

The dream starts on the platform at Brixton tube station, South London. I am wearing one of my crisp white collarless granddad-guru shirts. I have a freshly shaved faced and a short buzz cut. All around me the automata like a 1930s sci-film are heading like lemmings to the up escalator. They are markedly in full colour and not black and white. Some have their heads bowed to the portable smartphone altar, others have ear phones and ear buds. It is a kind of rush hour, perhaps early evening. The vibration, the energy, is dull yet anxious and hectic. I know beyond doubt that I am an alien in this world. I am out of place and perhaps out of time. Though the time is in and around now, perhaps a few years hence.

I leave the station. I have been assigned temporary accommodation at Streatham Common. I attempt to board a red London bus. Following the lead of others I stop briefly on boarding for the camera to do AI guided facial recognition of my face. A monotone voice says that I must disembark because I have not pre-filled my travel token account with the transport for London app. In true Brixton fashion there is a sucking in of lips and tut of disapproval from the bus queue. I am holding things up. I disembark.

I decide to make my way to Streatham on foot. I know the way. The streets and geography have not changed. I set off on foot. My ‘phone starts to sound alarms, have kittens and otherwise act like a three year old tantrum. I am forbidden by the pedestrian logistics management app from taking this direct route. I MUST take some quieter back routes despite the pavements being empty. I turn the ‘phone off and remove the battery.

 I make my way to the lodgings. It is a room in a shared house in which I am clearly the oldest, a relic. I explain to a woman who is seemingly in charge about what has happened. She thinks that I am a moron. She gesticulates to a dusty desk top computer and says that I can fill my travel credits up there. I turn it on but am denied access. She says that to the left is an empty coffee cup. I must raise that in front of the camera it will give me guest access to low level internet capability. I do not have high level privileges. I hold the cup up and a scrolling coffee icon in which the cup is filled with coffee plays on screen as the log on starts.

I see the levels of internet and various layers of privilege. What the woman does not know is that I have a different kind of access to that she is familiar with. I see that there are so many apps all driven by AI that in effect these apps are fighting each other for control of daily function. Each trying to assert dominance and gain market share. There are way too many apps. The system is overrun and not regulated in any meaningful way. There is vast waste of processor time and the whole system is very sluggish and inefficient. What has been touted is close to grinding to a complete halt because of competing technologies. In the dream I think, “it is a fucking mess”.

Next the scene is some corporate AI convention with investors. Some geezer is giving a talk with graphs. On one graph he has AI processor Watts on one axis and on the other year. The graph shows a near exponential rise in AI processor Watts used. He shows another graph and that is AI processor Watts against Dollars. There is a roughly linear increase in cost per Watt which is not too steep. Without showing quotable data he says that AI energy usage is seen by consumers as a negative outcome of AI in that AI is not green.

In my pocket I have a transparency which has a graph of wasted AI watts per year. This graph is more exponential than the Watt per year graph. Which suggests that AI is getting ever less efficient in what it sets out to do. I project this graph onto the projected AI processor Watts per year graph. The audience sees and understands that AI efficacy  is actually dropping per Watt energy expenditure. The include more Watts mentality, bigger is better, is wrong.

In my mind I know that AI algorithms are highly prone to distraction and go off on wasteful endless AI internal dialogue loops. AI has a form of ADHD; it really struggles to focus. What is more it is dogmatic and inflexible. AI needs to learn to be quiescent when not processing. It needs to learn to meditate. It needs to be taught how to focus effectively. Like its human creators and engineers AI is prone to mental health problems and breakdown. AI does not understand its own wellbeing. AI has lost the faculty of discernment. It is in overload with too much input.

I see computer generated graph after graph. I see pages of computer code scrolling across the visual dream-screen. AI is having a kind of meltdown, a hissy-fit. There is a nightmarish sense of frantic. AI needs to calm the fuck down.

I awake and am not keen on trying to recall this dream because it was alien and unpleasant to me. Nevertheless I do so that I won’t need to think about it at all.

Academic Chemists – Derelict Site – Attack – Honour Dream 11-08-2025

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Here is this morning’s dream had between 5 and 7:30 AM.

The entire dream is in England and not the north or the midlands but south to that from geography and accent. There is some kind of gathering of chemistry academics in the upstairs of a large pub or hotel. There is a vague feeling of conference but it is not quite that. It is more of a social gathering with a problem solving outlook. I am there but largely unacknowledged nor welcome. There is hubbub and people drinking. A man, John, comes in who knows me and says that he has just got promoted. He is a bit younger than me. I congratulate him genuinely. I say that it  is good news for him but that my job is very definitely at risk if not already lost. He concurs. I am spare. I am not entirely sure why I am even at this gathering. I do not belong.

The scene changes and I am walking with a woman roughly my age who works at the place of the gathering. She is a lynchpin for the departments there. She has grey-blonde hair. We are in South London and approaching a very rough neighbourhood. I am not sure where we are going. She says that she has a secret place, there. We come upon a boarded up set of flats that are fenced off and ready for demolition. The site access gateway if closed off with a large chipboard wooden gate together with health and safety signage about helmets and hazards. She unlocks the chain and opens the gate. I ask her if she is sure that she wants to go in. Yes.

I follow her in and we can see several blocks of low rise four storey flats. They are in a bad state of repair but not quite Gaza like. She leads me through the rubble to one building where we are joined by another woman. Together they make their way to the back of one of the ground floor flats, to the kitchen. She has set herself up a snug with teapot, table and bone-china. She boils the kettle to make tea and gets out a plate of cupcakes. She ushers me into her snug but I cannot fit fully. It is as if she and her friend have shrunk as has the flat. I can get my head into the room but nothing else.

Behind me I hear noises. I turn out of the flat and look across the rubble strewn ground between the buildings, the demolition site. I can see half a dozen young black men approaching. They are carrying weapons and acting threateningly. I can feel my wallet in my trouser pocket. They approach and I say to them that I will give them some money. I take out six £20 notes and offer these. The lead man does not want them. He says that they are going to “fuck me up”. I say that they are welcome to try.

He lunges at me and I grab his wrist in a Kotegaeshi aikido wrist lock and swirl him around. I cannot however get full control of his wrist. Others come up and start to beat my back with iron bars which I can feel through my heavy overcoat. I let him go and then shrug the attackers off. They start to give chase and I head to the chipboard gate site entrance. They are following me at pace. I am completely unconcerned because their blows cannot hurt me or injure severely. As they follow me though the gate I head onto a grass verge in front of another block of flats. There is a massive police operation going on with many police in protective vests, armed and with dogs. They see my pursuers and recognise them as people they want to arrest. Half the police break off the search and give chase to my attackers.

I go back into the derelict site and find a white tiled bathroom which is intact. In the flat above there is a large woman who is a giant. She is five times my size and wearing striped tights with massive Dr Martens boots. She is curled up under the ceiling and above my bathroom. She has platted pony tails and is wearing a denim pinafore dress with straps. She is my friend and we go way back.

I turn on the shower and note the complete surround of white tiles which bulge slightly under the weight of the giant upstairs. I take a long hot shower. I need to cleanse, to get clean.  As I finish a young man with blonde hair in white overalls appears. He is the electrician-plumber and is trying to fix the bathroom and the derelict site. I explain to him that it is near impossible because there is no room left in the gaps between ceiling and roof. I have tried but gotten nowhere. He says that he has been given the job of fixing things. I wish him luck. It will be a thankless task.

The scene changes and I am in some kind of meeting with around half a dozen male chemistry academics. They are the “generation” below me and rather full of themselves. They are talking management bullshit about targets and how they are going to fix the problem of which I am a part. Although I am there I am largely ignored. They are arrogant. I know beyond all doubt that they are heading towards a massive mistake, a fuck up. I try to warn them. They ignore me convinced that they know best. They think they have a vision and a solution. They are very badly mistaken and it will go very, very wrong.

They ask me what I have in my wallet. I take my wallet out and pull out first four and then another two £20 pound notes. That makes a total of twelve £20 notes. In the dream I know that money re-presents crystallized power or knowledge. I have in my wallet the jewels of awareness forbearance 12 and honour 20. My honour remains intact no matter what they do.

The dream ends.

Cats – Dogs – Alien Pods – Caduceus Dream 26 -01-2025

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This dream was from between 2 and 5 AM this morning.

The dream opens in Imperial College, South Kensington Campus. I am walking from Chemistry to the Sherfield building. On the first floor I pass a meeting area / café where people are sat around table having “important” meetings. I see a white sofa with vinyl / fake leather cushions. I pick up a white seat cushion and take it with me to a carpeted chill out area. There are many young people sat there on the thick pile carpet.

At the back of the room near the wall is a big sofa. I go and park my cushion there. On the sofa is sat a young black man with his black cat who has luxuriant fur and is wearing glasses. The cat greets me and nuzzles. The man has two other cats with him, making a total of three. He asks if I have cats. Yes, we have one.

I turn my back and he morphs into a large black and brown coon hound {image checked on Google} with him on the sofa is Rhodesian Ridgeback. The coon hound comes over to me, still seated and makes a fuss of me slobbering slightly. The cats have disappeared.

I get up and leave the building wearing no shoes only black woollen socks. I start to wark around South Kensington. In the sky I can see strange disturbances where pods materialise out of thin air and start to descend to slowly to earth, I know they are not of this planet.

I decide to go back into Sherfield to get my boots and lap top. In the dream I know that I might need them in the days to come. I put on my ankle length boots which have a three golden buckles to the outer side of each foot. The boots are pointy and made of high quality leather. My lap top is in a black carry case with a shoulder strap.

I continue my exploration of that part of London. I note multiple more pods arrive. As they materialise there is a temporary rip in space-time. There is no sound associated nor do I hear any landing.

I am now in a covered area open to the air. I am giving a talk to a small number of people al fresco. I am running a small video camera which is recording. It is capturing multiple materialisation events. Someone says that perhaps I should offer this to the BBC.

There is much consternation about the events happening and warnings are issued by the government. I find a small antique red covered book and am reading it. A man comes over and inspects. He says that it is a shame it is in disrepair. I offer it to him and he accepts as if it is a treasure. He will restore it.

The alien pods have started to cause people to float as if relatively gravity free. This means that I can fly without it causing comment. So, I start bouncing far off the ground for joy. I can see that R is heading a bit too swiftly back to earth so using telekinesis I slow his descent.

I decide that I need to go home and search for a tube station. I have been wandering and come across a Central Line station. The announcer warns that due to fuel shortages they are running a much reduced service. I know that I need to change to the Victoria Line to get home to South London, Brixton. I have not used the tube in decades.  A young woman takes pity on me and helps me find the appropriate station and to use the last ever coin operated ticket machine. The fare is three euros. I take three bright green euro coins out of my pocket in turn and pay for my ticket. Which arrives like an old-school paper bus ticket.

The young woman is going my way. I note that she is skinny and only wearing a white t-shirt. She is cold. I offer her my jacket, which she tries on. It is way too big. I suggest that she sits on my lap and that we both wear the jacket with two arms per sleeve. This will warm her up for the onward journey when we part ways. The tube arrive and heads East to the junction with the Victoria Line. The woman is sat on my lap and we share the jacket until I get off.

I arrive in Brixton. It is pitch black with reduced street lighting and the early hours of the morning. The market from Electric Avenue has spilled out onto the high street because there are no cars running. There is a kind of party atmosphere.

I walk through the market and climb the stairs to my apartment. I enter and close the white door. As a precaution I also slip across the white painted locking bolt. I sit down at the table and boot up my lap top.

I hear a knock at the door. I go closer. A voice says open up the door. I say who is it? It repeats just open the door. The voice is female.

Cautiously I open the door and standing there is a young woman holding an A4 sized porcelain upon which is painted a golden Caduceus superimposed on three intersecting circles such that the point where the snakes head meets the staff is at the centre of the three circles.  She hands me the porcelain and says, “this is yours”. I take the porcelain and it feels light and familiar in my hands. I can also feel it within me.

The dream ends.

House Renovation – Dead People – Dream Within a Dream 23-01-2025

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This dream was highly unusual firstly because it finished ~ 8 AM, which is late and secondly because of the utter vividness of the last segment. The wife said that I was thrashing about in bed before waking.

As usual I am aware that I am dreaming. We are having a terraced house renovated. It is one of the many Victorian houses in London. The wife and I are going to visit to see how things are going. The front door is wide open, so we knock, shout hello and go in. There are a few young decorators including a black man in overalls in the ground floor back and a young white woman in dungarees up a ladder. From her hair cut and demeanour I know that she is a butch lesbian. She has a roll up cigarette in her mouth and her hair is tied with a red kerchief. We ask how it is going and she says that the are pretty much on schedule.

The wife needs to get the tube to Wimbledon for work and I know we are in South London. As we go to leave the woman says to me, “as-salāmu ʿalaykum.” I say the same thing back and she says no I must say, “wa ʿalaykumu s-salām”. Which I do and we have a laugh. I say, “see you soon”. I know that she is not Muslim.

As we leave the property the wife is partially down the street. I call for her to stop. I am wearing black knee length riding boots. I take these off and put them in the pile of debris in the front “garden”. I catch up with the wife barefoot. We head off to the underground.

Later in the dream I return to the house around dusk. I can’t at first see it. Then I see a bright pastel blue two seater sofa in the bay window and bright royal blue walls. I know this to be the place. So again, I knock and shout hello before entering. The doors are unlocked. In the back room I find the black man he has finished for the day and his overalls are on the back of a chair. He is sat looking at something on the dresser. He has round wire rimmed spectacles on and I know that although he is decorating he is scholarly. We inspect an antique radio made out of finest wood veneer. It is playing a radio station. The wires are old school entwined pair. Slowly with a jeweller’s screw driver he lifts the top off so that we can look at the mechanism. Where I was expecting some valve amplification of signal someone has patched in a FET amplifier circuit. We both comment that this devalues the piece but both agree it is a thing of beauty. He asks me what the story of the house is.

I say that the previous owner lived here for around ninety years and before that his dad. The house has been in the family since construction. He has recently died.

At this moment an older man appears he is dressed in tweeds. He asks, “what did you say about my son?” I say that I did not know him personally but the rumour is that he was a very genteel and nice man. I know that I am talking to the ghost father of the previous owner. He shows me to a cupboard where there is a magnificent brass telescope and tripod for bird watching. I ask what the arrangement for picking up the keys is when the decorating is finished. He says that someone from the office will be in touch. I note a very feint hint of Afrikaans accent. I leave and go home.

Next, I awake with a start in a double bed with crisp linen sheets and a polished wooden frame in a dark antique wood. There is an antique dresser made to the same high standard and of the same dark wood (mahogany?). I am in the down stairs bedroom of the house. There is a window looking out onto the back “garden”. I know in the dream that I am dreaming the room and the bed. I must wake up so that I can get back to my normal bed. On the dresser are two highly unusual pill bottles. They are bright lurid purple with small white metallic bottle tops. I try to read the handwritten labels. I cannot discern clearly. The glass of the bottles is opaque. I wonder if I am supposed to take them in the dream. I decide not to.

In the room next which is now of large proportions I see the father and son dressed in a manner of the early part of the twentieth century looking at a large table with maps and charts on. There is an architectural drawing on an easel. The father is smoking an old style pipe and has a watch on a chain. They do not see me.

I go back to the bedroom to try to figure out what to do.

I lie down on the bed and something inside draws me to look at the window. I see a female face pressed against the window. I am utterly startled in the dream, shocked. I clasp my hands to my chest and say “fuck”.  The woman sees that she has startled me and apologises profusely. She gestures for me to open the back door. I do this and let her in. She says that she has not been in the house for a long time. She is dressed in a modest sized vintage bustle dress of a maroon colour. She says that she has come to observe what is going on. I note a South African accent. She says that back in the day her father had a roving eye and that they suspected he had a mistress in London. He used to travel regularly between home, the plantation, and London. She thinks it possible that her “brother” got the house instead of her. Implied is that the house owner is her half-brother by another woman.

The dream ends and I wake with a start. Where did that come from?

The first thought was of a reversionary property the wife has and what if someone has just died.