dreams from my dreams

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Discouraged not to have yet made the Enemies List, a dream I had last night has given me an idea. I’ll pen an autobiography: “Dreams From My Dreams.” (or “Father From My Dreams”)

Here’s an excerpt from my time as a skipper:

(nautical laced prose…)

My boat came upon the survivors of a sinking cruise ship, the U.S. America. I could only fit a few of them in my small craft.

“Who did you vote for?” I asked each drowning passenger.

Obama voters floated away, before the sharks or “the earth” they so wanted to save, swallowed them up.

I spotted John McCain in the water, but I pretended not to see him.

An earlier excerpt from my college days:

thumbnailCAQHJO8TI chose my friends with no particular care. Ahmed was a medical student addicted to heroin. Ono was a Lesbian Marxist Performance Artist. There were the Chicano Marxists Performance Artists, who I bought pot from. I sold it to my Marxist Professors who I was also quite friendly with.

When the tide came in, I would sit on the beach with Muhammad. (If you weren’t a Marxist, you had to be a Muslim to be friends with me.)

We would smoke heroin and discuss all the injustices around the world. He would blame the Jews. Being born into that tribe, I would tell him it’s only those lousy religious Jews. Most of us are ‘Down With The Struggle.’

This is only a rough draft. I plan to give it to Ayers (or Jack Cashill) to work on.

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