Rupert Murdoch's 142nd Dream in Asia Minor.

The heavy, heavy tread. The dense, blanketing cover of noise. The close pressing outside upon the vaccuum of empty disinclined minds. On it goes...flashing repetitive graphics, the senses are dulled by the unremitting images of crushed and exploded bodies- there were no reasons and there are no reasons and it isn't about hating Mondays anymore but pretty much every day of the week.

The repellant nausea inducing sight of the pretender in chief. The very scary thought that this... is leading that... where? This hollow man and his band of awesomely indifferent sycophants. Yes Sir, No Sir, three bags full... I can't get my head around it. I feel like my ship crashed on a planet thousands of years in the past. In any town on any street there's this same general theme done in a different language...eat, drink, sleep, shop, fuck, watch TV....go on....fuck, shop, sleep, drink, eat....blink...live, die, live, die, fight, bleed, fall down, get up, fall down...what? what? I don't understand.

I'm looping, approaching the same problem; is it a problem? from different sides, different angles...tiny flashlight moving across unchanging dark terrain. Get a gun? Get a new car? Get a clue? Get a life?

Thudding, numbing incessant and unceasing repetition of obvious lies...all too many too quiet or too loud about some kind of personal problem tied in with something the guy is doing on stage....it's bush...getting closer now...he's...he's got his dick out and he's pissing on the heads of the people in front. They're...they're laughing? they're shoving, pushing...trying to get under the stream with their mouths open, some of them are jerking off while their friends work the video cameras. Hi Mom.

People in animal masks are having sex in the crowd. Others are eating big greasy sausage sandwiches. People are throwing up and it's very slippery. bush is saying something about "staying coarse." dick cheney is cutting the heads off of school children and throwing the heads into the crowd. rumsfield is sticking firecrackers into the asses of house cats and then drop kicking them into the crowd. There's hysterical laughter. A big fat clown just ran out on stage and is firing a nail gun into the crowd.

The stage is huge! There's a mariachi band over in one corner and Condolezza Rice is doing something with a donkey. You can't hear much because they're playing Otis Redding's, "Dreams to Remember" at about 140db.

What's this? There's a big push coming behind me. It's about 50 middle aged white guys in suits. They look frantic. bodies are flying, their shirts are open and their ties askew. They're sweating like pigs, they're screaming something. It's...it's..."four more years!" got to get out of the way....they're crushing people...ah no, some little girl just went down...brutal.

They've reached the stage now. the entire bush family has come out of stage. all of the bushes have dropped their pants and they are....yes they are shitting on these men. the men are in an orgy of religious frenzy...cheney and all of the rest are shitting too. The men are rubbing it on their faces and bodies and grabbing at each other. It looks like a bunch of Rasputins in mufti at a mosh pit. Brit Hume and other broadcasters have come out on the stage, they're ripping their clothes off and slashing themselves with razor blades. "I Want It All" by Queen is playing. Jenna and Barbara (Senior) have joined Rice over by the donkey. I can't really see what they are doing.

The crowd is suddenly pressing back in a rush and I've been pushed, I'm struggling to keep my feet and I'm stepping on something. It's the little girl. She's got to be dead. She's holding a crumpled and torn 'bush-cheney' sign in her hand. matt drudge is there. He's got a mike in his hands and he's trying to talk to her. Some of his people are taking photo's. I'm shoved into drudge and I take the opportunity to drive an elbow into his kidneys. drudge goes down. It's really close here. I lean down and work drudge over with a wood chisel. There, that's much better. I fight my way to the side of the hall.

I'm kind of in the clear right now. I can see huge forms of what appear to be demons from the Tibetan Book of the Dead dancing and swirling in the air above the crowd. The pounding sound of the music is batting the demons around in the air like those mylar balloons you see at the carnival.

Some kind of middle eastern rock band has come on stage. They're setting up their instruments. They're firing into the crowd! The crowd is going nuts! It looks like Jenna is wasting barbara and rice with a baseball bat. She's got the donkey all to herself now. Ain't love grand? A huge gas tanker has just driven into the auditorium and is spraying petrol out of a water gun. I'm heading for the exit. Behind me the entire room goes up in flames.

I come back a couple of hours later. Oh, the stink!! Oh, it's dreadful. The doors have been blown away and parts of the walls are missing. There's a huge black mass of fused bodies cooling. Workman are spraying some kind of lucite crazy glue compound on to the heap under the direction of curators from the Museum of Modern Art. Cranes are being erected. Stairway to Heaven is playing.

I see former members of the administration wandering around. There's colon powell, somebody put his eyes out. He keeps bumping into things and falling down. The smell is just overpowering. People are still laughing, what people there are; though a new crowd does seem to be building. Every so often you hear an attempt at a collective, "four more years." it's ragged, like running into some World Cup fans at 5:00am the day after in the Munich underground. They're game though. They remind me of a bunch of total drunks trying to do 'the wave' at a baseball game. Well, the floor is very slippery, even if you're sober. This is just great. This is what needed to happen. There's a sense of catharsis in the air. I don't know where it leaves us but I can feel a nervous 'can do' energy building. It's definitely time for me to leave.