Crumbles

JT seems to have CORNWALLED me into being his resident expert of dreams, as it were. So, "Here goes nothing!" as Birchman Russell famously wrote on the wall in the bathroom of the San Francisco State Gushy Factory.

Dream Sequence #!
Driving down a road in the right lane, it's dark and stormy, white lightning highlights the dark blue clouds, brown and gray fields, trees. See two eagles, as wide as the road, proportionally tall. One closer than the other. Try to stop, can't, Oh God You're Afraid, hit the one in the right lane, !crunch! How guilty you are!

Dream Sequence #!!
In Greek auditorium-esque place, stone steps, like you'd imagine a Greek tragedy or comedy would have been performed, with a group of kids in the seats (college students?). It's dark all around, but the floor is visible, although there seems to be no artificial light. A woman, naked from the waist down, holding a small child in her hand, lowers it down below her legs, it crawls into her vagina. Students studiously observe, take notes.

Dream Sequence #!!!
Walking along a country road, with a ditch on the left. Turn around and look behind, see a hippy bus, decorated with peace signs and lots and LOTS of color, mostly greens and blues and browns, but everything else as well, and the letters ERIC IDLE. Approach, with a modicum of excitement, see Eric Idle and a woman, presumably his wife or girlfriend, smoking marijuana out of a very long bong, reminiscent of a vacuum cleaner, decorated in the same colors and peace signs as the bus. See the door, lime green, opened by Eric, who offers a hit, take one, euphoria. Get in, drive around, but you're no longer in the country, but the city, endless neon lights all around, long curvy on-ramps and off-ramps.