|Why set fire to their little genitals?|
I opted for both because I can't work out which is more real: the unconscious world of dreaming or the conscious world of toil.
Each night for the last week, I wrote in my little dream diary, "Tonight, I will meet my spirit guide," as a prompt and, of course, nothing happened. Was this 'dream guardian' or overseer being withheld from me because of my 'lack of faith' in a spirit world or 'life after death'? Can we be considered as too cynical to be allowed into this spiritual fold? All sounds rather petty. Punishing.
Anyway, I persisted, and last I had this dream about 37 Elizabeth Road Haydock ... yeah, again (raises eyebrows). This time I was packing to leave. I was upstairs in the room that used to be mine. I'd brought a certain number of bags of luggage with me on arrival, but realised that I had far more bags of luggage upon trying to leave. I just kept filling bags. I do remember dreaming that there was a gun battle taking place, and maybe I got to this place as a refuge.
Now, I've no idea what all this means, "Can I be dreaming about a SAFE HOUSE?" in the sense of covert operations, where (when the shit hits the fan and the operation falls to pieces) one can escape without fear of discovery, recoup one's strength or cobble together an escape strategy? Can a residence or building be a 'spirit guide'? Or is it merely the conduit where 'spirit guide' interactions are allowed to take place. Maybe I'm the dangerous element in this, not them. Maybe I'll never meet this 'spirit guide' as it's too dangerous for them, for some reason.
Remember, this place has deep and lasting memories, for me, as I was always round there when I was a child, with my Aunt and her husband. The upstairs back room, where I did most of my 'slaughtered paintings' was a workshop full off shelves holding all sorts of tools and equipment, when Harry was alive. I remember the oily smell of the room. I remember the skin of Harry's face. But I don't sense any spiritual connection to this person, nor his wife Nelly. As I've said before, I'm not a 'spiritual person' nor have I ever had any 'conscious contact with the dead'.
I got to thinking, this morning, that 37 Elizabeth Road is the only place I've lived where the warmth of an OPEN FIRE is the dominant memory. And I flashed upon a memory of a scene at the end of my 2008 novel Bukkakeworld where the fireplace acts as a portal, even while it roared with flames; a hand reaching out from the roaring fireplace to pull one to salvation. Then my Electric Universe mind told me that all fires, like the sun, are electric and we are electric and maybe there's really some way through to what I call THE PLANET OUR DREAMS TAKE PLACE ON.
I (obviously) still have no answers, nor have I physically met my 'spirit guide'; but there are always possibilities.