This was a recent dream I had as a result of all the input I’m getting that’s going on in the news and the world of politics at this time.
The scene is a humongous mansion: It’s undiscernable if it’s under construction or in ruin or both. There are heaps of stuff and debris everywhere. It’s a chaotic mess. The only means of getting from one level to another is up and down long wobbly ladders.
A huge feast is being prepared amidst the chaos. Newly hatched turkey chicks are fried in batter, fully edible, beaks, bones and all. Mountains of fried shrimp are on platters bought cheap from the latest oil spill in the Gulf of Somewhere. Platters of food are being carried up the ladders, spilling over from the excess.
Guests are arriving. Some are in costume, wearing latex Trump masks, bellowing his crazy rhetoric from mouths that resemble anus’ with gopher teeth; his unruly dyed blond hair needs constant spraying. Marco Rubio is there waving fists full of bombs and drones shouting “Burn Baby Burn!” All the addicts are on the red carpet with their BYO bottles of booze, gold plated hypodermic needles, and mirrors for snorting coke. All manner of drugs are offered by waiters: the BEST drugs-of-choice: cocaine, weed, junk, crystal meth, as well as cheap stuff for the stingy at heart. Something for everyone. Hillary is spouting off about “I this, I that, I always, I never …” pointing her finger in all directions.
Barack Obama is in the background, straddling a fence. There are overbearing mothers, over-stressed absentee dads, work-a-holics, stress a-holics, fuss-a-holics, complain-a-holics, absentee kids on their iPhones or wigets or video games. Everyone’s got a line, an excuse, a reason to tune out, act out, gorge out, complain, be angry. It’s the End Days in the Land of the Free where everyone is free to succeed or fail or become paralysed in the overwhelm of it all. A distant soul sits in the corner OM-ing.