As the world skids out of control with the Endless War penetrating every corner of the globe, a Jewish friend texted that he expected an imminent nuclear exchange, because of The Gaza War.
I had been born with the Caul, the placenta, wrapped around my head. Celts believe it gives you the vision.
Despite the frenzied havoc in Palestine my inner sight doesn’t see such maddog destruction. Genocide maybe, but a world-wide holocaust no, but back in the 1970s I had several vivid dreams about nuclear bombs. Once in the East Village sirens sounded and everyone scrambled to the Astor Place Subway. A frenzied terrified scrum. I looked up. Saw the missile. White flash. Vaporized.
Second dream Moscow. Red Square. Sirens. Everyone filing orderly into the Metro. I look up. A missile. White flash.
The last was in the Nebraskan flatland. I was fucking this blonde. A schitzah. Sirens. She leapt up and dressed in a SAC blue uniform. Wished me luck, as she got into a B52 bound for the USSR. Mushroom clouds marched in my direction. A missile. White light.
I realized I had woken before the nuclear blast killed me.
I still see the bombs dropped on Manhattan crossing the Esate River Bridges, however never on my freturn to Brooklyn.
Lucky and I feel lucky now. As would someone who has survived the worst. The best is yet to come