For the past four weeks I have been experiencing a reoccurring dream, well not so much a dream as a pre-sleep train of thought that comes as soon as my head hits the pillow. When all I seek is sleep and instead I have these concise, crystal clear visions darting through my mind. Unlike a bad dream, I can't simply awake and clear my head, these thoughts are there in purest clarity as I lie, awake and in touch with all my senses. It's quite alarming and very depressing. Here is a brief summary of the story that unfolds in my head everytime I switch the lights out and lay down to sleep.

It's me, walking around with tears in my eyes and a black cloud over my head. I have lost everything, my girl, my friends, my family, all of my possessions and all of my money. I have nothing in the world. I am in debt, people are after my blood and I owe money to the kind of people that you don't want to be owing money to. I am hounded wherever I go and can't find peace anywhere. It's dark and it's raining, I am cold, hungry and destroyed. The lights are growing dimmer by the second and despondency rules every thought and motion.

Suddenly, the solution hits me like the spark of a great, but obvious idea. I will end my life. The only logical escape, the easiest way out...the answer to all of my problems. But I'm a coward, sober self-destruction is a daunting task. So I go see a friend, borrow a twenty and buy a bottle of Jack Daniels to accompany me on my quest for personal annihilation.

I walk around poorly lit backstreets, drinking the harsh golden liquid and slowly, but surely, my courage is beginning to build and soon the ideas for my suicide come flooding to me. But like the Wile.E. Coyote each plan is put into immediate action with similar results to the cartoon character.

My death has ultimately become my own personal "Roadrunner", I get real close to it, I touch it, I have it within my grasp and then something goes terribly wrong. I go to the highest level of the multi-storey car park. I stand on the wall looking down and as I begin to lean forward to my impending doom, someone jumps from the level below and within a split second they are face down on the ground level, limbs in perverse positions of unnatural posture and a dark stain slowly creeping out from the shattered skull, spreading outward like ink on blotting paper.

I turn around and walk all the way down through the car park levels, hearing sirens and a commotion from the front of the car park. I get to ground level, walk out the back way and head off into the night, cursing the motherfucker who scuppered my plans. Ten minutes later I'm thinking that I should've gone over the edge and followed this person down, things would be over and I would be free. I decide to walk across town to the motorway, try my "luck" there. Thirty minutes later I'm scrambling up the embankment until I'm crouched down behind the crash barrier. I look toward the oncoming traffic searching for the lights of a big truck. Yeah, I'm going to walk right out in front of one of those big motherfuckers, no chance of surviving that. I guess your standard sized automobile would do the job, but that could cause the innocent occupants to crash themselves and I don't want to hurt anyone, a truck will do the trick just nicely. Also thrown into the equation is the fact that someone, as a result of effectively "Killing somebody else" could suffer certain psychological problems having to deal with that, whereas truck drivers are a pretty heartless breed and two days after running someone down they'd be in some grotty cafe just off the M5, eating a greasy bacon sandwich and slurping down a mug of tea whilst joking with fellow truckers about events 48 hours previous. Truck drivers are thick-skinned, they'd get over killing another human being pretty rapidly. I see the lights of a big rig coming towards me and I hop over the barrier and walk into the middle of the road, smiling with fingers still gripping the JD bottle which holds a quarter of it's contents. I close my eyes and hear horns, screeching tyres and suddenly "Whack", I'm hit in the shoulder and sent spiralling across the road, landing heavily, eye to eye with the cat's eyes. My eyes are open, I am still alive-Fuck!

I hear voices, alarmed voices and then as I sit up I notice the alarmed voices have now transformed into angry voices, I get to my feet, my shoulder hurts but I realise that I was just clipped by the vehicle. I am still holding the bottle, good. I run to the side of the road chased by several individuals who are after me, shouting abuse, I pick words out from the air like "Stupid","Cunt", "Police" and "Grab"...I dive over the crash barrier and find myself tumbling down the steep embankment through the long grass. I come to a thudding stop at the bottom as I hit a wooden fence. I get up and run away as quickly as I can, I still have hold of the bottle. So where to next? I decide to try hanging and I head home to find some rope. En route I am chased by people who want my blood, in big black cars and I'm running down alleyways and across gardens to escape the threat. I get home shaken and head to the garage for some rope. I can't find any so I head to my bedroom for a thin leather belt, this will have to do. But where can I hang myself? I don't want someone who knows me to find me, that's more than just a little cruel and heartless. No, it'll have to be done someplace where a stranger can find my body. I know of a small wooded area a mile or so away where I can select a tree with a nice strong branch to take my 12 stone in weight and hang until death brings about my release from this hellish life. I make my way to the wooded area and I find the tree that I seek, I climb up and shimmy across the selected branch. I tie the belt around the branch and slip the buckled noose around my neck. I slide from the tree and kick at the morning air, I feel my eyes bulge as the pressure applied to my neck takes on it's stranglehold. I can feel the gravitational pull and feel like an alternative Isaac Newtown suddenly discovering the realisation of a scientific fact, trading my body and ultimately life for the apple. I feel my life-force drain and I drift towards my end, my last vision is of an old man walking a dog, scuttling towards me, he tries to scale the tree but to no avail, all he can do is stand there and watch me die. I force a smile and blackness comes to me forever.

It's at this point that my eyes are ripped open and I discover myself shaking, lying in a cold sweat and finding a black depression gnawing at my mind. It ruins any chance of sleep as I know as soon as my eyes are shut this dream will return. So I remain awake until morning comes. The dream haunts me throughout the day, I can't shake off the depression and despair, I want to break down but life goes on and I have to hide how I feel to everyone. I do tell some close friends, I try to inject some degree of humour into the story for my own purpose, but for me there is no humour, it's just dark, disturbing and so, so real. I don't know what to do, this re-occurring nightmare is with me wherever I go, no matter how good my mood as I go to bed, whether I be sober, drunk, alone or with my partner, this nightmare will creep into my head. It's scary, is there a reason? A medical explanation for it? Am I going insane? Am I suffering from depression? Am I witnessing future events? Like I say, it's disturbing and if the story of "DS kills himself" filters it's way through the punk rock grapevine, just remember, you heard it here first...another scoop for Happy House.

So everyone's having (had?) babies-that's cool, when I spoke with my girlfriend on the phone and said "Everyone's having a baby!" she replied "I'd rather have a kitten" which was just the answer I would have expected from my Mrs. Perfect Girl. But I wouldn't be totally against the idea of having a child someday. But I do have guidelines for when the time comes. I will be the house husband, it will be me who stays indoors with the young one whilst my partner goes to work. I will do all the household chores and care for the nipper everyday. Obviously I will not insult my partner with stereotypical attitudes. I will not have a dinner ready for her as she walks in from work at 6:00pm, that's just so old fashioned. I want to watch daytime TV, Jerry, Oprah, Jenny, Ricki (Go Ricki go!), eat snacks and get fat. I wanna spend hours doing nothing except build up some bullshit argument so when my partner comes in from a hard day at the office I can get in her face, tell her I'm breaking down with the monotony and boredom and demand to be taken out, a nice meal, the cinema. I want to put on good clothes and aftershave, I don't want to wear my white T shirt with the olive green baby poo stains again, I don't want to smell of sick and diapers loaded up with poo from Hell. I need to get out. "Find a babysitter Goddamnit!". I need some attention. I will also need a car, all those doctors visits, supermarket trips cannot be done on foot. I will also reserve the right to deny you of any sexual activity whatsoever, unless I feel like it, but no, even if I do I will bite my lip and deny you. In the end you will go and seek relief from elsewhere. I will discover this, my sense of smell may be dulled from the baby poo, but I'll smell that other guy. When you crawl into bed after coming back late I will smell the sex, rubber and lubricant combined with those natural bodily odours, that aroma which gives all affairs away. I will confront you, kick you out of your house. I will claim more benefits and be stable. I will never forgive you, in fact I will divorce you and make sure I get the maintenance and child support. You will be living in a cramped bedsit whilst I retain the house, you will never have money whilst I pay for babysitters, go out, get laid and go on expensive holidays abroad.

I'm getting carried away there, I think that parenthood is maybe something I'd best avoid for the time being. For information on the Coolsville mail order scam and the book written by Tony Suspect & myself, write to DS c/o 26 Union lane, Cambridge, CB4 1QB. At the time of writing I haven't gotten my e-mail address yet but I'm sure Rick (I reckon Sam's gonna be busy gal ya know, up to her elbows in that green baby poo! Hey Rick, the vomit on the shoulder is the easy part, just wait for that sludge train to start a-rollin') will include it if I send it up after this. Hopefully I'll have it all sorted, up 'n' runnin' and stuff before the week's out, but the deadline for this issue is four days away so I really should shut the fuck up, get this on disc and send it to the Happy House crew a.s.a.p.
(email Mr Stuart at: DS@coolsville.demon.co.uk)

As always, thanks for reading, take care and enjoy the rest of the magazine.

Later.
DS