The Iranians Attack the White House on the Fourth of July

Another dream: ……..

We are at a festival of some kind — it’s in the middle of nowhere, just vast fields and emptiness, like North Dakota, but in the distance is the White House. And there is an old church, the congregation mostly black.

Some Arab or Middle-Eastern kids, thinking for some reason that it’s a Jewish Synagogue, destroy the church, shit in it, write angry and brutal anti-Semitic graffiti on the walls and slash all the paintings before setting it on fire.

I end up hiding in a storage closet in the church, and am trying to save the giant buckets of paint — either because they are flammable, or just because I want the paint and am looting it, I’m not sure.

Later there is going to be a large fireworks display around the White House, to celebrate the 4th of July. Somehow I know that there are bombs planted in the White House, and I try to warn people but no one listens. As the fireworks start to go off, I run as fast as my feet will carry me through the fields, away from the White House. But there is nowhere to hide, no where to go, just vast empty fields.

Now I realize that we are next to the ocean, and an endless string of ships is silently approaching, as far as the eye can see, one ship after another in a line. They start launching missiles. When the missiles hit the White House, the explosions are massive — there were indeed explosives planted there, but it’s like the rockets sort of set them off, as by remote control.

At first most people seem not to notice anything — apparently thinking it’s just a really extravagant fireworks display. It’s clever, I think: like that Alfred Hitchcock movie where someone gets assassinated during a symphony, but no one hears it because it’s perfectly timed with the cymbal crash.

Somehow I know that it’s the Iranians who are invading and bombing us from the ships. The missiles just keep flying in from the sea, raining down on us. I keep running. Now others join me. Some duck into their trailer homes for cover — but the trailers are quickly obliterated and the people burned alive.

There is nowhere to run.

I keep running.


(But, then, I should really just shut my bloody trap. Shouldn’t I.)

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