I wrote Kief’s proposal of the raid, in
order to bridge to dream-stuff. I did
dream, though, of the fresh, steaming baugette laid out and buttered on the
table before Malcolm, and of Malcolm asking Sanzio, “Is this the one?” An admonition to me, to eschew the
consolations of projection.
Ah, the temptations of bread! In the slang of my youth it meant money. In my faith it can also mean communion, but
in this dream it could mean communing with one who does evil to maintain the
status quo—to become part of the body of the Antichrist, in the One World Religion
of Mammon-worship.
My
dreams exaggerated their case, but they did NOT want sold to an editor who
would change who and what they were.
So far my experiment in self-marketing has failed; only one person has
paid, in several years of posting my stuff online. The muse
doesn't care.