A man's demolishing a home in a hot flat Texas town. Not that hard when your sledgehammer is a train! He laid track right through the house. Crazier yet, he's not at the throttle--set it somehow, and now he sits up front on the cowcatcher, laughing insanely. I wince and blink; don't want to see him pulped!

When I look back, the train's smaller, with a cockpit like a jet fighter's, though open to the sky (well, not sky--falling beams). He's in the pilot seat, a black woman just behind him as co-pilot. They pull down a hinged steel & glass roof, forming, with the small cowcatcher, the shape of a goose head! Now they can ram with impunity. The bill crashes through the house... and brings it down.

The jeep driver slows, the train pulls ahead, rolls on toward the downtown flats, still a mile away. We wave at cars a bus behind us, yell "Turn off! Firefight ahead!" We know it's still true because smoke rises downtown. Where there's gunsmoke, there's gunfire.

Meet an old woman I know, a local. She has a microplane, and flies me over her old homestead for an overview of the land today. Looks like the Sahel. "I can't live off it now," she says. All red dust.

Or is that red paint? Ruddy clay sculptures dot the hills--lumps tubes cubes, domes & drums. Ruins or art? If art, ugly art.

Oh, the world's not dead. Not even culturally dead. Just... Texas. Global Texas.

NOTES IN THE MORNING

• Homewrecker: Note the date! Dreamed this the morning of January 6th--the anniversary of Trump's 2021 coup attempt.
• Bill destroys house: A bill/debt? or a legislative bill? And is it a house, or the House?
• Black woman as co-pilot: suggests Joe Biden & Kamala Harris. So it's clearly about the upcoming election.
• Jeep driver warns that train riders'll fire on civic center: in Wen Spencer's novella Bare Snow Falling on Fairywood, gunmen attack downtown Pittsburgh like this; local government's asleep at the switch, and it's two alert citizens who derail the attack.
• Attack shops to left: Trump targets anyone even slightly to his left (that is, damn near everyone)
• Lumpy ugly forms in Texas: today I read a book on dream painter Forrest Bess--a gay artist trapped in small-town 1940s Texas. To me his art looks drab--limp lines, dull colors, flat shapes (my sketches mimic his style as well as I can)--but his miserable lonely life looks even worse.
• Epilogue set in the future, the land in ruins: I fear it's literal. The next coup attempt could lead to civil war--and leave us in ruins. We're all gonna be Forrest Bess.
• ACTION: Buy a gun? Flee the country? Run where? I don't think New Zealand can hold us all.

'Drawings' by Forrest Bess, 1967. This, then, is art.

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