... that I was sitting on a stage ... in a circle with others sat in the gloom, who's shape I can barely make out ... an audience far off is hushed ...it's the World Championship... I lean forward and say hushed tones "Belsize Park and placing a blue token on Golders Green to initiate Parks and Greens cascade as the mmmmmmmm goes up from the audience I rest back on deckchair, close my eyes, smile and dream that...
...with torch in hand i am venturing down into the catacombs to consult with my muse whom has become tardy in his contractual correspondence from the crypt there is no light burning in his chamber and not even a scarab is moving about in fact the dust has lain so long undisturbed atop his work station it affords no evidence of activity the candle on the desk has expired beyond its usefulness and the inkwell whar reclines a writers quill has dried completely what parchment thar was is become so brittle it crumbles like ashe as i lift it to read the indelible scribblings disintegrate before my eyes and the only disturbance of the earthen floor in manner of tracks is my own entering and no others leaving what perplexes me to no limits for how did he abandon the chamber without making an impression in the loose textured soil but if he did not leave and is still here then whar i ask myself as i scritch at the crawling rash newly born on my naked ankles what is spreading like a plague of fleas upward beneath my nightrobe which as fact presents itself it is fleas centuries in hybernation emerging from the sand at my feet and more voracious than locusts ascending upon me in a black death and i am become consumed in a suffocating cloud of insanity from whar i cannot escape till with a climactic bloodcurdling scream i am sucked dry to the marrow and come unglued to expend as a thin layer of ashe that drifts throughout the chamber till with my last sentient thought as atom parts way with atom settling atom among unfamiliar atom i thinik how deserved is my attrition that i should at last be one with my muse - amid the ensuing limbo i dream...
That I am soaring through the freezing Scottish air on a broomstick. Ron is there flying with me and up ahead of us is Cornelius Fudge, who looks rather like my friend Ken. He is casting spells but we can't hear what they are because of the wind and his broomstick has go faster stripes which mean that we can't catch him up to ask him exactly what he's doing. Suddenly we are flying close to the ground and, striking a rock, I ricochet straight upwards, which causes the broomstick to stall. I'm falling hundreds of feet toward the ground, but I realise that Cornelius Fudge has bewitched it to become soft, so I know that I won't come to any harm. I fall into the pillowy earth, which gives way beneath me, covering up the light as I fall deeper and deeper, suffocating in the soft duvet of grass and soil. Consciousness slips away just as I spy the snitch, which has fallen into a corner of the duvet, and I dream...
...I was a cockfighter! Only I wasn't a regular cockfighter, who battles his animals against those of an opponent. It was with turkeys instead of chickens, and rather than fighting each other, I raced my own turkey around the countryside. Halfway through the race we started fighting - I would punch and the turkey would hop up and peck me. I remember holding back my punches a bit because I didn't want to be known as the kind of dude who would punch out a turkey... ...so the turkey clobbered me with a right hook. As I passed out, I dreamt...
...that I was a rock. I lay on the bottom of the Pacific Ocean being carried inexorably towards the Marianas Trench. Nothing much happened for several million years. Then I found myself being carried deeper and deeper as I reached the Philippine Plate, forcing the edge of the Pacific Plate down towards the fiery heart of the globe. As miles of rock ground above me, the heat remoselessly increased until my consciousness began to flicker and dissolve...