Less real than red lips and cancer-breath. Nuns in Aderral-blue habits broadcast psychic hymns. Lavender smoke, cigarettes, Morgan, Me, We sit atop a dream-drive exhaust silo. Silhouette sleepers pulsing through appliances like electricity. A quantifiable amount of ENERGY, one which is released upon death and may share some similarity to the material which it inhabits. How do you make everyone equal? Morgan disrobes herself for the kiddies and somewhere a blue nun goes blind. Where we search for clouds we find billowing space platforms, exposed white bellies, silver trim. Grand-dads old Lincoln has sharp chrome lining sketching a frame for white-wall-rimmed glasses. New ZONING POLICY: cells will divide using uniform and efficiently-patterned permutations. The chairman wears a monocle. COMPLAINTS of not having a purpose or direction much lower when compared with similar catalogued civilizations. Morgan says, Forever and its more permanent than til death do us part because dreams are more real than cadmium rods but less real than cigarettes, always with the cigarettes. Politics conducted at the end of a lottery ticket, where the jackpot is a cynical omnipotence as a roommate. Stainless steel cathedral walls, holographic floating stains, ATHEISM in a world where the living are well-acquainted with the after-life. We blow into the lavender smoke and smile back at ourselves as we float away. Dreams juice your oranges, heat your home, run you car. The chairman is schizophrenic.
As real as money and more frightening than an old man in a powdered wig.