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.