Turning Reality into Nightmares
I awoke this morning with a dreadful "nightmare" .
I dreamt I was trapped in some building somewhere in some Arab country - it looked like Beirut but could have been anywhere else . Three loud explosions rocked the whole building and the neighborhood . It felt like an eartquake . I looked from the window and I saw oil and blood gushing out, covering the asphalt street .
Then I saw myself running towards a very "modern" building which looked like the United Nations . I walked through endless corridors to be greeted by a corporate looking secretary. On the walls were posters of war zones and UN "relief" work. I met the "man in charge".
He was sitting behind an empty shiny polished desk in a dim dull room . All I remember seeing were high tech computers and several telephones. I tried to explain to him what happened . He kept cutting me short to correct my english pronounciation . I remember him telling me:" It is very important that our reports come out with no grammatical errors ".
I understood sitting in that office that this UN official did not give a damn about my plight, all he cared about were his "correct English" reports .
I saw myself again walking through endless corridors on whose walls hung endless posters of war zones , I kept walking and walking desperately trying to find my way out only to reach the same street covered with Blood and Oil .
I dreamt I was trapped in some building somewhere in some Arab country - it looked like Beirut but could have been anywhere else . Three loud explosions rocked the whole building and the neighborhood . It felt like an eartquake . I looked from the window and I saw oil and blood gushing out, covering the asphalt street .
Then I saw myself running towards a very "modern" building which looked like the United Nations . I walked through endless corridors to be greeted by a corporate looking secretary. On the walls were posters of war zones and UN "relief" work. I met the "man in charge".
He was sitting behind an empty shiny polished desk in a dim dull room . All I remember seeing were high tech computers and several telephones. I tried to explain to him what happened . He kept cutting me short to correct my english pronounciation . I remember him telling me:" It is very important that our reports come out with no grammatical errors ".
I understood sitting in that office that this UN official did not give a damn about my plight, all he cared about were his "correct English" reports .
I saw myself again walking through endless corridors on whose walls hung endless posters of war zones , I kept walking and walking desperately trying to find my way out only to reach the same street covered with Blood and Oil .
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