I just now awoke from a series of several illuminating dreams. Let me see if I can get them down.
The first begins with my guitar - an Epiphone SG Prophecy - and my father, and we are in some room.... there is some concrete... there is another young man playing a riff... from Spinal Tap... and he's encouraging me to play, but my guitar has turned into a bass guitar... the strings are quite loose...
Then I am at a funeral. It is the funeral of a local guy. And here he is... Lee is here... and we seem to be watching a film or documentary the film maker has made. There are several scenes, but the most illuminating one is one in which we witness, at the end of the funeral, a friend of the deceased throwing away some trash, and doing so with the adopted characteristics of the deceased, in a way in which to suggest, that when we die we pass on our traits to our friends and family; they adopt our traits. The film is very beautiful... Lee has done a brilliant job. The deceased seems to be an avuncular man, perhaps an Edgware character, perhaps my uncle. Lee walks off into Edgware somewhere, and I try to follow, but go another way.
I find myself at home. My house is very beautiful. There are renovations going on, or the house has been recently renovated. The main room is my bedroom at the top of the house. I have a collection of little figurines. I decide to leave the figurines around the house. The figurines have an extra feature - say a small item that is placed on the base. I decided to place them around the house. And here he is... Scott is here. But Scott is nice... brotherly... the Scott we once all knew. My house is very nice and large... my guitar is in the bedroom. I leave the bedroom and go into the garden. Mother is there. There are a lot of people and a lot of rooms. When I go back up to my bedroom, which I must do because... here she is... Tamsin is here, I find the normal access has changed and I can no longer fit through the hatch. But I have given possession of the room to Tamsin, and she has been working on the decorating. I go in by another route, or do so somehow, and Tamsin has changed the room into a tearoom. By my recommendation, Tamsin has written a book. She gives it to me to read. I look somewhere in the middle of the book - she has amazing handwriting. But she urges me to read from the beginning, and I do so. The handwriting is worse. But the stories seem to manifest in the form of paintings on the walls of the tearoom, my bedroom. Tamsin loves me, it seems, and the painting depicts myself beneath a starry sky, reading a book, and we hear a bang, and I have shot myself in the head, and my soul has spread out - weakly - through the sky. Then Tamsin herself is depicted in the image, beneath me at the foot of a hill, and she is reading, yet her soul, while manifesting the same weakness, is smaller, more compact, and happier and closer to her head. The painting is beautiful. The book is really good. Tamsin and I lay on the bed, but we are not alone, it seems. Behind us, in the bed, is another man - a younger man - who seems like... here he is... Nick Warman... and Tamsin has been courting Nick for some time, and although jealous, I bite the bullet and accept Nick, and he seems like a perfect partner for Tamsin. When I leave the bed, I have his cum on my hands, somehow.
That's all that really happened in the dream.
Anyway, that's it.