Tristan Hazell lives and works in the shadow of the Westway on Portobello Road. What follows is a collection of observations, reviews, social comment, fiction, poetry, art criticism and more. Much of it is fiction and some of it will offend someone somewhere, I hope.

Tuesday, June 27, 2017

Schrodinger's Nightmare. A post Grenfell Tower dream.

I don't sleep much these days... Haunted by a recurring dream:



I am standing beside a concrete structure, it is black and featureless, there are no doors or windows.  There are two tubes sprouting from it, one has a label 'IN' and the other 'OUT', a rubber bung hangs from a chain between them.

From this structure come the terrified screams of people in total distress,  I know who they are. It is unbearable to listen to but I am somehow rooted to the spot.

I have a choice, two options:

1. I can bung up the out tube in order to mute the screams from within. Condemning the occupants to eternal suffering in silence.

2: I can bung up the in tube in order to cut off the air supply. It will most certainly mean death to the occupants but it will put an end to their screams, their suffering, My suffering.

Thus far I have woken before a decision is made.

Awake now, 4.00 am, it occurs to me that I should toss a coin to determine my actions when next confronted by this nightmare and stick with that.

After all. I know that it is not real, no one will suffer. It is merely a subconscious philosophical exercise.

My inner child is shouting: 'Toss the coin'... His name is Kurtz and he is presently playing dominoes with Freud.


No comments:

Post a Comment