Archive for November, 2003

Backpacker

This morning I dreamed I was staying at a backpacker’s hostel in Sydney. It was a tall rickety building run by a group of Buddhists. The ground floor rooms were mostly empty except for the odd makeshift couch, piles of cushions and randomly strewn blankets and curtains. The staircase was thin and on the first floor a sheet of plywood sat in vertical grooves acting as a makeshift upward sliding barricade.

I spent one evening there I went out the next day, leaving my guitar, sleeping bag and backpack. When I returned my room had been rented to someone else, even though I had paid for two nights.

There was a pile of personal belongings at the bottom of the stairs, coming from all the rooms that had been rented to other people. I was unable to find my luggage and became distressed. The hostel staff tried to contact the new occupant of my room, but he was not in. I began worrying that he had taken my stuff and was hocking it. I got into heated discussion with the staff about my missing belongings. On the verge of tears I pleaded that I didn’t care about the room, but I just wanted my guitar back. At that point one of the Buddhists walked around the counter and gave me a hug.

Bike Thief

I was riding my bike around the suburbs looking for interesting plants. I stopped and locked it to a railing so I could venture on foot down a path through a large open tract of land. It appeared to be a paddock laying disused in the are between the back of several housing estates.

The path was well worn and people occasionally passed me going the opposite direction. In the middle of the paddock there was a decrepit building, where I sat and took in the surroundings.

When I arrived back at my bike someone had stolen the wheels. It was chained against the railing of a staircase inside a shopping arcade and was now sitting on its forks. I began asking people in the shops if they had seen the person responsible. Eventually someone told me they had seen a teenage boy taking them upstairs.

On the first landing I found the boy dismantling the wheels. I grabbed him and began yelling abuse at him. In his fear he offered me his other bike, which folded up into a briefcase. I let him go and examined the shiny steel frame of the fold up bike.

Tuppaware city

I was wandering through a city with an old school friend. All of the buildings around us appeared to made of giant pieces of Tupperware, different sizes and colors balanced on top of each other to create giant plastic skyscrapers.