Some nights, I have the most disturbing dreams.To describe them would be to concede that in my mind lies some form of insanity. Without warning, my dreams segue imperceptibly into grotesque displays of extreme violence from which I the reluctant voyeur, trapped in the dream cannot turn away.Scenes of outrageous cruelty, bodily destruction and horror are performed in front of me and I am not allowed to turn away, I am both a willing and unwilling spectator, my own face rubbed in these visceral, nightmarish extremities, bodies, flesh and bone collapse and re-order themselves like putty, characters split apart with their faces and limbs re-arranging. I am at a distance as a scene from a play, a film, a moment in my life plays out and then I am thrust into it, the horror escalating with the line between cruelty and passion, love and hate eradicated as I try to switch it off. But it goes on and I am complicit somehow to this barbaric grand guignol, powerless. I scream. I wake. I cry.