From Blood To Dream (Dal Sangue Di Sognore)

Part One - The Blood Cats

Deep in a vision of uncontrolled nightmares came a wave of madness so fierce that I almost drowned in the sweat on my pillow.
Lying naked on my bed, my magic carpet, I sealed my eyes with gallons of cider. But not before opening the window to let the demons in.
Soon the singing from the radio was dulled, I was in a field full of market stalls and drunk people collecting stray, hungry cats.
It reminded me of a funfair; mud, cheap smells and greasy rides. I knew no soul and after I had gathered four cats soaked with oil an overgrown cottage caught my eye in the far corner of the field, and I went to it.
There was no door, I had to tip the cats and myself through a window which ripped my sides, bouncing the ribs.
The cats scattered in all directions, under beds, chairs, one even crawled under a corner shelf. As I peeled myself off the sticky floor I felt at home, I belonged in this rats nest. This eerie yet cosy cottage was my castle and me not being quite myself was its ghost.
Obeying the theme out I went again in a mad hunt for cats. Drug pushers tried selling me different states of mind but it was no use, I always declined. The one I have now is too unique to allow a foriegn buzz.
I found cats and kittens everywhere; some were stuck up to their stomachs in mud, a few were on hot bricks in fish & chip stalls, and the scruffy ones were smoking knackered joints behind the PET MICE FOR SALE wagon.
After rounding up eighteen cats and caging them in clouds I sat down to dinner of chips, peas and a book of Coleridge's letters. The racket of the funfair outside rolled on, a mixture of mud slaps and battered pop music.
It was a grand meal, chips a little thin and some of the poets words hard to swallow but it sat fine in my gut. When it was over I crawled under a bed to feed my feline herd, then went over to sit in a plush red armchair to try and escape. I felt peace here but if I stayed too long it might trigger insanity. And dreams move like fire over a dry page.
Suddenly a machine gun-like RAT TAT TAT from the window pulled me from the lullabies core, dashing escape. I walked to the window, faintly I could hear the sound of giggling girls in the darkness. Instead of opening the rusted latch the glass pane simply shattered as I got nearer.
Outside bathed in fairground lights stood three smiling young girls begging to be let in. They were clutching pebbles, ready to assault my window once more.
My first thought was to try and rouse myself quickly but before I could sober my head the girls were already clambering and clawing their way through the exploded glass.
They lead me to the kitchen and introduced themselves in turn. The first was called Thea Pierrepont, in her spare time she loved to sit on top of Christmas trees spreading goodwill and cancer. The second girl was Clynde who had teeth like a typewriter and razor blonde hair. Sable Mable was number three, she had four eyes and smashed bloody fingernails.
In a matter of minutes they had prepared another feast, a banquet of venison, goose, rabbit,fine wines and the best gin. I was told to eat and share my thoughts and fears with them. All eyes on me, I sat at the table, ready to pour vinegar into my wounds.
I sensed Thea Pierrepoint wanted to slice open my eyes and soak in the stories they contained, instead she sat crossed legged on the floor, probing.
The flame of a black candle in the center of the table warmed my cracking face. Me the prince lost for words! Clynde passed me a pint glass filled with wine to loosen my desert lips and I emptied it in one.
I was on the third bottle and fifth chicken leg before regaining any sense of sanity, and always the eyes drilled into me.
Sable Mable put her cobweb like hand on my arm as if for comfort. Madness coiled slumber. Were the demons in girls clothing going to cure me of my fears? Or were they going to alter my thoughts, twisting them into mutant, cruel ideas? Was I going to awake utterly mad, forever writhing inside a strait-jacket, brain fried asleep in my skull?
The food before me had began to rot. The girls getting restless.
A cat filled with cannabis smoke made faces in the window.
I told them about drowning, oxygen starved, kissing Death. An agony, a horrid way to exit. The girls nodded together as if agreeing and a baby unicorn drowned in my wine glass.
Another terror was clowns. Nothing sinister but I couldn't face being laughed at whatever the reason. And painted smiles are dishonest. Cowardly even. Parade emotion, however sad.
The same as the unicorn, a clown appeared in the cottage and was hung by the tubes in his heart.
Clynde told me I was safe from anxiety then offered me sex in return for the chain of skulls tattoo on my arm. I looked at the damp patch between her legs and declined. Sable Mable offered me the chance to have alcohol run in my veins forever without being poisoned. Temptation almost swayed me but no! I had to wake from this bizarre outing in my mind.
Thea Pierrepoint was different. She wanted me for destruction, killing for the pleasure of killing. She wanted entire species slaughtered; animals, plants even mankind. A sadistic orgy of razors and torn flesh.
I got up and managed to walk over to the broken window to see if the carnival of intoxicated cats had gone.
Thea and Clynde swapped evil stares with each other. Sable Mable covered her eyes with lipstick.
There was no funfair anymore. No stinking, twinking mud nor drugged cats but there was an atmosphere that could have filled a hundred asylums. I asked myself 'have I died in my sleep? Is this hell?'
Suddenly as if to answer my question, the girls crumbled like dried leaves, leaving a velvet pile of dust where they had sat.
The stones of the cottage fell around me in dreamstate, yet I was unharmed. Where the mud had been was now a mist which smelt of burnt flesh and every light that had crazed the funfair flew and smashed in the air.
Finally I got the feeling that I might be awake but alas chains and shackles arrived next. A terrible world of madmen and mouth restraints.