Like A Desert Mirage

I had a nightmare that I’d stayed another 40 years there in the capital shitty of Brownbakistan.  The Donald was still president. The rich never died. They just kept up the greed forever. Intellect rarely gets inside the perimeters of Topekatentiary.  If it happened and they aren’t my immediate family, I’d sure like to meet them.

When I woke from the nightmare, I looked out the window. I saw smart people having deep conversations totally drama-free.  I threw on some clothes and ran out to welcome them and make myself available to any demands they may have as incentive to stay.  But before I could get the second syllable out of hello, they turned to glitter, giggling as they turned to dust and disappeared amongst grass and weeds.

Is life in hell really life.  Is the death of sinners another conspiracy. With no smart people to talk to, overgrown toddlers running the government, could the entire past have been an illusion.

Where’s David Copperfield when I need him so?



    • Thank you. That line formed straight out of a vision in my head in which a four-year-old Donald was stomping on a kitchen chair tearfully demanding a cookie.

      Liked by 1 person

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