I was flying to the site of the sinking of the Titanic. I asked them if they knew where it was, but they didn't, and so I volunteered to go down and search for it with them.
The ocean, cold, big waves, dark, it's night, and sliding beneath the waves...
They must have a pretty good idea of where it should be, because were in an inlet, little harbour, and shortly beneath the waves there is a layer of ice, and we can see where the ship slid in, beneath the ice, and skidded along the bottom, coming up to break the ice (still under the sea) on the other side...
The ice, it's a flat layer, it's why they couldn't find it....
And now I'm on the ship, bright, cold, fluorescent lights, there's still atmosphere down here, it's like an abandoned - ? - place, there are beds, rusting, rotting under cold fluorescence, and there are people here I know, that must be why I came...Don, the old alcoholic chef from the restaurant, and another kitchen staff member, Dave, and maybe there are more, the paint, white and peeling to rust, too-bright fluorescent lights, and I'm here to rescue them, perhaps....
***
That's it. My dreams have been shit lately, lacking purpose, plot, meaning, merely discomforting, unquiet, restless. At first I put it down to my excessive drinking - but, cut back on that, and the dreams remained the same. Short and fragmentary. Sometimes several in a night, none memorable. And I tried Pot, a little hesitant to swap one vice for another, - and a few nights of that - the pre-shows were great, but I'd never find the energy to write all the images down, and ... well, no dreams remembered. And the dreams the same, cryptic (they were always, but I could decipher, now they are more so...), and so this is the best I can remember and it isn't much, still dreaming, but they've lost a lot....