कालो ऽस्मि लोकक्षयकृत्प्रवृद्धो

Dream - 24th March 2014, around 5am: In a dressing room, a team of sweaty men, maybe footballers, have been cast out of their space to accommodate the "artists". A brooding feeling, even relations with bandmates feel distant as they make cutting, cynical remarks. A deeply sunburnt priest with a gold band gripping the folds of his leathery neck, white teeth and eyes like swampwater looks in on us. I sound an impish "hello father" which I knew would backfire before the words even left my lips. He sweeps in, Cheshire cat grin and his influence is the darkest globe as it fills the room. He stares at me fixedly and everyone in the room (which now feels like every speck of void in the unified field), follows suit. He was Kipling's Kaa in ugly ecstasy. He breaks into sermon, I push him out and he overpowers me, which I knew he would. I'm bending to his will. His atavistic mutation begins as his pupils disappear and the innerconda entity emerges through the eyes and around the tonsils. The room is now passive as if nothing untoward is taking place. Slow, seeping, blind, consummate energy. Collective paralysis, irrefutable and unchallenged. Possibly relates to performance anxiety.

Below is Tarka dreaming, dream character on the pyracanthas, a sketchbook automatic from this evening and a quick photoshop collage of a cosmic diorama around Jupiter's living moons.

Bear with him.

DOS, 28th March 2014.