Mentors from my psyche visit in the night.

Becoming aware as the fogs rises around you. Becoming aware of where you stand, of your posture and your purpose, although paths are as yet untrodden. Decisions seem easy to determine.

A recurring dream character put his hand on my shoulder and said "You are the self loathing man, you must realise that path leads to nowhere. Son its a road to regret, protect the boy, the innocent child from the mob. Use the anger that thrives in you productively, let us see what you can achieve. If only for inner peace you must start listening to your inner speech" And that blonde haired child was by my side looking up into my eyes as we walked down Victory road in late September the leaves fading to brown as the oak tree filtered shards of light from the slow orange sunset.

Figures loomed shadows all around as the sun went down. Dream characters that always tell you their name but you never remember. Less the face, more the feel of them that remains familar. So they become our subconscience symbols. The angry man, i forget his name, approached us. I just knew to be afraid from the last time, unbeknownst to me his role had changed, and this time he came to save us. Running past us oblivious, headlong into the sillouette of a man emerging from within the oaks darkness.

I saw that tie dyed junky face lurching over a fence on the outskirts of town and with my new lease of life helped his child over, engaging him in conversation, thus began a battle for the bottom feeder. As often in our circles the search for validity comes from true depravity. Talking debt drunken motives, the cloud like haze of drug desperate situations, each point raised led to another dead end. Another morning coffee forgetting. Another now from then. "But you get fed, we are not the same" It was goldings lane, muddy puddles like sinking stairs in elm street nightmares, engulfing my struggle to run. He crashed a bottle on my crown "it cannot hurt if there is no blood" and there was no blood, like my body was in shock. It just took time to sink in, what was truly happening, for my skull to start bleeding. With Skagface screaming, "I am leiston"

Steven's suburb seemed different as i stumbled towards its sanctuary like the morning after the night the moon rose and blood played on the stereo. Except his hedge was a fence and the back gate was at the end of the drive. I still don't know if he was in. I awoke with a start and went in search of caffine.