In my dream I fall into this photograph:

I see a white tornado in the distance,
a churning, whirling wraith intent on
savaging the idyllic scene I see before me:
deep slate blue sky and golden fields,
the pristine farmhouse stark and shivering..
I try to warn my companions, who are hazy
and faceless and who don’t seem to be alarmed.
I climb up on the hood of a broken-down car
for a better view, my only thought is that I
must stop this thing- somehow.
I hear a howling behind my left shoulder
and turn to see that another furious funnel
of white wind has begun to form behind me.
Without thinking, I reach into it and
separate it with my hands into two-
as you would a thick fall of hair for plaiting.
I take both cyclones in heavy handfuls
and crack them like bullwhips,
the way you do with rattlesnakes-
grabbing them by the tails,
shattering their spines
and whipping their brains out
of their mouths with a sharp snap.
Having dispersed these minor monsters,
I turn to intercept the juggernaut
rushing my way with the intention
of disposing of it by a similar method.
This may be the most intensely symbolic dream
I’ve ever had- entirely vivid, and visceral in every way.
In other news, I’m having a bit of a crisis of faith today.
No, but really. I think I need to move away.
Oh, but where? Suggestions, please?
The first thing I see today:
A black dog with pollen on its nose.
Then an extremely deformed woman (?)
with sweat beading her gray upper lip
in exceedingly tight pants who wanted
directions to the fancy shoe store.
I was happy to oblige her.
Quote of the day:
“Our target is a jet-black, pickle-shaped
icy dirt ball the size of Washington D.C.”
Eh?