Getting those dreams again in which I never came to the UK but instead went to study (and stayed) in some town in Northern Italy. I'm never actually there in the dreams -I'm always somewhere else (normally Caracas) and something prevents me from going back -and my guitars, my computers and my books, as well as my working life, are all back there, so it is almost a nightmare although not quite. But I could describe in detail my room in the house I share there (in the dream) with another musician, the little balcony, the battered garden set in it, the plants, the old music stand I have (don't know where that comes from, never had a wooden music stand). Like peeking into a world that could have been, or into that multi-dimensional shift-space of possible lives that never were....
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