The best thing to do - always, always, always - is to write down your deepest dreams of alien technology from the future.
As I lay there in my bed, trying to ignore the door-knocking antics of my drunkard neighbour at twelve midnight, I began to feel guilty, that I might not be paying enough attention to his life and topics of life content. And went deeper in dream.
And I went deeper in dream, as Johnboy went further downstairs, and I could begin to hear his voice in my head as the well meaning sweetheart made his way, with dog, round the external vestibules of this estate. I could hear him say, "Oh, it's one of those ones, is it now?" And I knew what he meant - he meant that we are at battle!!
So later, when he knocked me up a second time, this time the door was unlocked, and John entered, this time with a hammer. Yet at least it was a small hammer. But in no danger was I, because he apologised profusely when he realised that I myself was trying to sleep and was in bed, and he busied himself in my bedroom, as I went to address the other situation, that was that my Indian neighbours, the ones who own the convenience shop over the road, had also taken advantage of my open door and had entered and were inside the kitchen.
So I went to see about the situation, and there was a lovely Indian woman, her husband, and daughter, and it transpired that we all began to have sex on a mattress on the floor there.
Then, when we had finished, I went to make a cup of tea, and this time the situation was that Sid was at the counter, chipping sections off my favourite tea mug with a tile cutting device, to the point that said cup was now damaged in the shape of a castle, and was ruined. I told him to stop, to salvage the item, and Sid was indifferent, and went away. Then there was a knock at the door, and a very nice lady was there, whom had heard that there was some good sex available in this apartment, and yes we had sex, and it was very nice, having sex with this lovely white woman.
There were also two others here now - a man and a woman, and they stood beyond the stairs, and waited patiently.
Then, when the sex was done, I found myself milling around in the darkness of the apartment, in a wing of the building where, were the lights to be turned on, I would be exposed to the entire neighbourhood. I could see, from my darkened viewpoint, the existence of other members of the estate, and saw a woman at her desk, writing on the internet, or reading, or in any case working at the computer, and I was hid from sight.
Then I found myself careening up the A41 in my old grey Ford Escort, and found myself coming to a junction, at which there was some Jaguar in front of me, and to avoid crashing into it I pulled into a driveway where I thought I could catch a shortcut back through Hendon and home again. Yet there was some sort of children's party going on there, and I had, at the instruction of an over-riding adult, to perform a U-turn and pull out, and I did so barely missing a small child. Yet I niftily missed the child and was home again.
Now, inside the apartment again, I began to notice strange things, but not notice them such that they could give me a lucid dream, no - this was not a lucid dream. But I noticed small things, such as the existence and presence of a small piece of graffiti, that looked like a blue third eye, written upon the ceiling of the kitchen. And I wondered how on Earth it could have gotten there since I had not let anyone inside the flat, and concluded that someone, some strange spirit or woke individual, had access to my flat. How many other people had access to my flat? It was a strange circumstance. Yet I accepted it, and went to sleep.
And I went to sleep in the dream, in my bed, and dreamed lucidly of a friend of mine, Mr Warman, and told him, in dream, to give me a call on the phone as soon as possible.
So I woke up, from that dream, to a phone call from an unknown number, and answered it. It was someone asking to speak to Daniel Best. "Who is this?" I queried. He gave me a name, and suggested that he was responding to a request by some authority to give me a call. I realised that this was the result of my request that Mr Warman phone me, and that something special was happening. As we began to speak, like unto the manner of a phone call that I received from a fellow student at the OU quite recently, my apartment shifted and changed, and I realised I was atop a great bridge that overlooked a motorway or river far, far down the side of a mountain, and at one stage or other it seemed like I was the king of the seventh level of heaven or hell, for my abode was a shifting and changing mansion, and the man spoke. We spoke, and chatted, this new acquaintance and I, of the content of courses, and in a strange language that we both knew, and which deepened our understanding of matters, and it may have been Steven Hawking.
Then, towards the end of our conversation, Steven mentioned what course he was on, and I knew it, and I said, "Watch out for such and such items of interest; they are very striking."
And then Steven said, "Look out for something called the 'One-form Syndham' and the 'Identity bending algorithm.'"
So then I woke up into this reality and google searched these subjects, and only found an item called, "Bent functions", which has something to do with cryptography.
I wonder if Johnboy really did knock on my door earlier on, or if I dreamed it. It certainly felt real - nevertheless I ignored it, no matter how persistently he tried.