I know what your thinking, and dont worry Im safe now but YEAH! wearing something that controversial living in Freshford where most of my best friends at the time were trees or posters of World Cup heros on a tree house wall , Im lucky I wasnt brought to town more cause if any fashion scouts had to catch me in their peripherals I would surely have been snatched by money making sticky fingers and shipped off to a life of cat walks and the front cover of Womans Way magazine.
So In my dream as I walked up Francis Street in this unreal sleeveless robe I started to notice loads of people pointing at me and whispering. I didnt feel uncomfortable as I knew it was my own wrong doing bringing the t-shirt to the streets in the month of March. As I got around the corner and moved briskly like a champ down Thomas Street I realised that some big shit was going down. 1000s of people flooded the street and they were all done up in their Sunday best. I was freaking! This t-shirt is going to get me killed. I started to run but the second I switched from girly sidesways skip to catchthebus sprint I had two lads run after me. I got past the Clock Pub and found that the whole street had been fortified by a 50 ft blockade. The two lads grabbed me and pulled me into a doorway. Out of breathe and crooked over they whispered words of respect to my t-shirt. I felt at ease for the first time in a minute in a half. It was the fastest slow motion dream ever. One dude who had a massive beard for a moustache told me I needed to get out of here and there was a Nissan train just up around the corner I could get away on. I didnt trust them as I know full well after an embarrassing encounter in a car dealership forecourt that there is no such thing as a Nissan Train...nor an OPEL submarine. They said if anyone had to find me with what I had on me I would be taken away. I tried to reassure them that I was merely setting a trend as drastic as it may be but its sure to catch on once someone cool wears it. They looked at me like I was in a different dream. "No! You total tit face",they said politely, its not your t-shirt its the bucket of Philadelphia cream cheese your carrying and the bunch of scallions you have strapped to your back. What an idiot! I should have know. I burst from the door like a well timed car bomb and tore up the street. Sirens began to build up tempo and I saw vicious dogs at the side of the road doing crunches and warm up stretches for the initial chase that lay ahead. I ran clutching my over sized tub of Philadelphia, the scallions on my back were trashing like Pepe Le Pew's tail luring angry mobs into the chase. I fuckin hoped there was a Nissan train up around the corner.It was here in the final moments of the chase when my girlfriend anne woke me to tell me she was off to work. What I thought was a towel to dry my sweating brow in the dream given to me by a lumberjack running for the same train, was actually a small pillow from Annes bed which she took away from my face to tell me she was heading off. I mumbled a goodbye and realised I was far too stinky for a hug...or was I ? Anyway I fell back asleep and SNAAAAARRRRRLLLL this dog was pulling the arm off me for my creamy Philadelphia. I tried to fight him off slashing his face my scallion whip. Then as if it were done in really dodgey 80s stop motion effects this officer in riot gear gallops up behind the dog on a giant horse but it was made entirley of shit. A shit horse! The horse would poo and little ponies would fall to the floor. The riot cop raised his arm and all I caught in the smokey dark light was the edge of a large baggette. He took me out with one blow. I woke up .
This dream has effected me hense why I have posted it on this here blog. I question its meanings over some tea and have figured that it means two things.
1. That cheese before bed DOES give you crazy dreams. Never eat or inject cheese before bed. EVER!
2. That I need to take down most of my artwork from my website.
I got thinking that I have commission work, personal work, college work, exhibition work, sketch work, bored on a bus work,flirting with girls work, good work and shit work all jumbled together with no selectiveness or reasoning. This makes for a carboot sale artist and also makes me feel very unorganised and unprofessional when it comes to my work. I realised that since I am doing so many different artistic projects and events it is hard to discribe what kind of artist I am. I have been asked that question a lot over the past few weeks and the first thing that comes to mind is Carboot sale artist. This is not good. It was Steve Macarthy who once said to me "Man never let anyone know that its me who makes all your artwork, if anyone ever knew you would loose so much respect from all the people on facebook who have never even met you. Its best you consider shutting the fuck up and doing what I say." So Im taking Steves advice and keep on pretending. Im cancelling my Myspace Account and any other rubbish I dont need and if anyone is wanting any old artworks I may have just drop me a mail and they are yours...or Steves. This is gonna be a refreshing clear out!!! 
For any artists out there who feel the same as I do and would just like to get their shit sorted and become the artist they wanna be, like Basquiat without the drugs, we'll I encourage the cheese before bed method. Remember to take a large amount whilst watching some dramatic late night movie, sleep with both shoulders on the bed so your spine is straight and let your dream take over. You will find all the answers here. Im still taking the odd Laughing Cow or Baby Bell trying to decode whats happening in this picture. If anyone has any info on the private lives of my girlfriend Anne and best mate Paul please send it onto me.
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