My unconscious is unruly from time to time. Always been that way. I've had some extraordinary memorable dreams over the years. Nothing surprising there, we're all like that, if, of course, we remember the bizarre, baffling film strips that run through our sleep.

Mine usually have some sort of soundtrack accompaniment, and always in colour. Editing, well that's another matter, there is n't any. It's jumpcuts, time lapses, slow-mo, sometimes auteur led, sometimes I'm not featuring, but still there watching.

All of this though is another story. What's the very unexpected fallout from my nocturnal cinema is that I'm literally dreaming up new words.

Happened to me once, and I thought nothing more, other than the sheer randomness of the unconscious, after all why would a word that sounds like a French verb - Rorgner - come to me in a dream and refuse to leave?

No idea. And by the way, there is no such verb, no such word in fact.

Is twice a developing a pattern, or just coincidence? Because the new word coining machine stamped something else out last night - hyperkinaesthetics. Again. no such word exists (or not in Google at least)

I know broadly where the origins of this lie, or probably, you never can be too sure what's going on whilst you're supposedly asleep. It must be related to the talk on David Foster Wallace I went to last night at Foyles with a friend.

David Foster Wallace's was an unknown force to me until yesterday. I left the talk with the intention to read whatever I could get hold of. It's his style that rugby tackled me: fast, meticulous, highly, highly detailed, frantic, tumultuous , baroque, flamboyant, up to the minute. The style that looks as easy as it is magnetic to readers and tyro writers, but deep down, it only comes with monumental effort, discipline, and patience.

That, all of it, every vowel, consonant, verb, noun, soaked into me and the reward bizarrely: hyperkinaesthetics. My mind must have been slaving in it's workshop all night to come up with something to encompass the effect Wallace has had on me.

The unconscious. Got to love it.