I just had a dream. The dream was this. There I was at mine, in my flat, and at my block there are five other apartments: my neighbour John, some muslims, some blacks, a family of five, and an empty flat. In the dream a fat Iranian lives downstairs, and so does John, and some Muslim bloke, and some others.
During the first few weeks of lockdown I was convinced I was the Christ. Something happened on television that gave me a message and convinced me of it. I got my crown, and cried tears of joy at the fact. Yet I was still on weed, and when that first clap for the NHS happened, I had missed the memo because I had switched off the television. And I was running out of weed. So when eight o'clock came and, having deliberated to go out to get some weed, I went into the forecourt, the clapping began. In my mind I saw everything. I saw the whole world, because I remembered the idea being put out on social media, and I saw them clapping, and I saw the world world clapping because I was the Christ, and I was going to give them a speech and explain to them everything I had learned by the media over the past few days, that Coronavirus was a 5G implanted chip that goes into your mind, and that you can control like some sort of iPhone technology, and that you will have advantages such as being able to switch environments and communicate mentally, using telepathy but a designed version, and that we were working to... do something... stop the devil... something... I can't remember... But I had to give a speech at this clapping, and the entire forecourt of my apartment block was clapping, and I thought it was me. So I had to give a speech. I was accepting the applause, as though having just come on stage to adoring fans, and something in me thought they knew what was going on, in a way. And then the clapping died down, and I began to speak, and my thoughts evaporated, and all I could say was, "You're as confused as me!" There was silence all around, and I sloped off, very, very embarrassed. So much for the end of days.
Later on in the week I was mightily upset at the embarrassment. The event had got to me somewhat, and also I had been unable to work on my physics module for three weeks due to being stoned and paranoid and mentally ill. And all that. I spent nights crying in frustration at my huge failure, and vowed to get myself put away. And the way I vowed this was to wake up the neighbours, with music, as though I had a plan all along. I still saw that I was the Christ, and I opened my windows, and it was five thirty in the morning, and I turned on my electric guitar, at full blast, and began to fill the neighbourhood with the loudest electric grunge concert ending I could, distortion blaring, feedback screaming, riffs chunking, the amplifier turned to the highest volume. At five thirty in the morning.
What I saw in my mind was that we were in a new world order, and that people needed to come to Christ, and also, that Kurt Cobain was in my soul, and he was in the highest level of heaven, and speaking to me, and all the world was communicating through this new 5G microchip technology. What I saw in my mind was that the people would gather, outside my windows, and see this modern day rock star playing the most beautiful music of Elysium that was stream into the streets, as I, the Christ, would be world renowned for playing these tunes and this sound. And I played, and for fifteen minutes, the sound blared all across the neighbourhood.
After that time, however, I suppose it was even a bit much for me, so I switched off the amp, having failed again to bring Earth to the highest level of heaven, and there was knocking at the door. I answered it, and my Muslim neighbours were there complaining and most angry, saying, "It's six o'clock in the morning! My dad works for the NHS." What I could hear him saying was, "It's beautiful music, my father is in the seventh level of hell." And I felt guilty for stopping.
The idea was that after two weeks of annoying my neighbours like this I would finally be sectioned and placed in a mental ward - Broadmoor or something - and that would be where I lived my life. So I played the next night too, and stopped, and there was knocking on the door, and it was another neighbour, asking me to keep it down.
In any case the dream was about those nights. Here, in dream, I was somehow ended up at my Muslim neighbour's apartment, and was hiding in the bathroom, and he had left a note with Arabic writing that told me everything about how beautiful he found my music and how relevant it was, and detrimental to life. And now, and I fail to remember why, perhaps because the music was so loud, the police were called, and the Iranian man was arrested, and I was brought out of the Muslim neighbours house, and the police were there, yet I was not arrested. Instead, a female police officer seemed to turn into a psychologist, and she took me back up to my own apartment, and we sat there and talked, in dream, and then we had sex, and I killed her.
And then I was on the run, but my amplifier was there, as was my guitar, so I played in the manner of those nights, and couldn't muster the noise enough to save everybody. Every time I turned off the guitar something new happened: I had to leave the flat, and go into the hallway, and there was my guitar and amplifier, and I would play, and time would be running out, and I would stop, and another level of the dream would arise, to a diminished effect. Then I was transferred to another part of the neighbourhood, and tried to save the world again with my music, again to a diminished effect, and another level of the dream. And, gradually, the effects being so continuously diminished, I ended up in some kind of bunker, where two young men, perhaps Dean and Lee (two from school days), would attempt to stop my efforts of playing beautiful, loud music on my amp, and in fact, the amp was losing power, and my leads would not connect to the fuzz boxes, and I could rarely get a sound out, and only revel in the glory of old days.
And then Charlie was helping me, in dream, by arranging things so that I could play, and yet there was always this looming threat of immediate death encroaching, and I was in the neighbourhood. And yet Charlie was only holding me back, although I could not escape the inevitable, and the effects diminished further, and I was losing my battle. Eventually, Charlie took me to a room outside of which there was a scaffold structure, and there were more people, maybe Sara, and Ryan, and Maddie, and Aaron, and I hung from the scaffold, and finally, the music was so diminished that I ended up in a parallel world, where there only my brother Ryan's friends, and the world was usurped and drenched with water, with little mountains being covered by the increasing oceans, and it was the end of time.
And it being the end of time, and my brother's friends being there, they were sympathetic to my plight, which really, in a nut shell, was to avoid being caught by the police for killing the female psychologist. And I had to go, and leave for the mountains, and on the way there was an old man, in his late sixties, who was sitting at the bottom of the stairs and congratulating me for a fine and wonderful music career, and Glastonbury loved you, make no bones about that! And there my brother's friends, all reveling in the joy of the end of the world. Then I went out into the mountains, and slowly but surely, the world was drowned in water. And it was the heat death of the universe.
But then I was taken in to a complex run by old friend Eugene, and he was showing me how to use his new gym equipment, and we spent the rest of the time climbing up ropes and across bars.
And it was the heat death of the universe.
That was my dream.