poison increasing the evil in the world.
My dream, like all my dreams, was real. I was there and I knew it. I
was in it but not of it.
My dream didn't tell me the solution only the fact.
Prisons and detention camps do not a higher pie make, nor do they make
the world safer or better.
The real dreams I remember vividly from this morning are dissolving as
I look for words to tell them. Perhaps as I love words and stories to
tears I have been born mute deaf, no what is the word for someone born
incapable if writing?
Subway
Rush hour
Travelling companion
Companion man
Companion similar age
We are students?
Mid twenties
He is ahead of me
We are just about to enter underground
The last windows are above us
Sunlight streams in
Must be morning
Clothing and architecture unfamiliar
But dusty and sand feel
Aged
Italy? Spain
South
Cell phone rings
A man I know as hard to believe us talking
I knew him
What he says is likely true
But how he knows things is impossible
Is he insane?
He is saying something about signs
I stop my friend from continuing
If I go underground my call will drop
He leans impatiently under the last window in up above and right near
the stairs
He pulls a book from his backpack and reads
The guy on the phone is hard to understand - sounds of fireworks in
the background
"I wanted to be there, but the fireworks got delayed, and I didn't
want to miss them"
Disgust - how can he really be a psychic and not now that?
"why call me?" I ask
"you are there."
He goes on about signs and things and Its impossible he should know
and I am find myself believing what he saying - but not in him - but
the words are true
I know what I have to do
And I get the book out of my backpack
The thick blue one
I start reading it aloud
The passage that he said
My companion is shocked
Will not make eye contact
He stays but not he is not with me
Why does he watch?
I try to get the commuters to stop and listen and turn back
I read to them quotes from the fanatics
I implore them
It is so obvious
Why can't they see it?
Why must they go?
Today there will be a bombing in the subway
It's dusk
I am outside
Under the sky turning orange
It is hot
There is little wind
I have pale skin and by myself
I am in a uniform but I am not a guard
I am surrounded by brown and black skinned people
The ground is dirt
Again no edits
I am outside
The sky is high
The sunset is warm and red
I am surrounded by prisoners
I am not a prisoner
I am observing
The prisoners are black and brown and poor
I am not black or brown or poor
Again
I am in a yard filled with men
Old men, middle aged men, young men
I can see men as far as the eye can see
In the horizon a city sparkles in the dusk
I turn my head to look behind me
There the concrete cell blocks wait
The sounds
Laughing, shouts
Singing
drumming
perhaps someone is playing the guitar
everyone is talking
the sky is now dark blue
classical music is now heard over the loudspeakers
it gets louder
everyone stops what they are doing
all around me people are turning to face the city
the only sound is the music
everyone is quiet and in formation
hands at their sides
evenly spaced
looking straight ahead
invisible in the day when not illuminated
a sign now brightly lit with LEDs
hang huge logos of coke and mcdonalds
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