Political Dreaming

I had a dream about Sarah Palin last night. I walked out into yard of an old English hotels with halls like a palace into a fair American sky where an RV sat, as though abandoned. I checked. No one there. Door open. Turned to walk away and felt a tug on my shoulder. Initially I thought that I’d caught my jacket on the rear view mirror.
Then I looked and someone’s head darted back into the rear compartment. I looked in and there she was, Sarah Palin and husband sleeping on bunk beds in a meat locker truck, annoyed that I was on their property.
I hate it when I dream in political allegories.
I then dreamed watching a man jump from the thirteenth floor of a building, falling to the ground in an alley just by me to a chorus of screams, get up and walk away. No blood. Merely a perturbed indestructible peacenik born without an off switch.
I hate dreaming in political allegories. I hate it even more when they give each other equal time.
I blame Warren Ellis for this. I don’t know precisely why, but it feels right to blame an Englishman.

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