“So, in my dream, we were at the airport, and it was in the future. And in the future, they had this thing that told news from the future, but only about an hour. The thing was, the news never changed what was to happen, no matter what the news was, so that when we heard that the plane we were about to board was to explode in the air shortly after liftoff, well, we boarded anyway.

I remember sitting there thinking about how weird this was. That we all knew we were going to die on this plane, but for now everyone was acting normal. Even me. I felt normal. But still, I began to think about what it was going to be like to be blown up, hundreds of feet in the air. I didn’t relish the thought.

And I felt a little bit confused, as if the understanding that the plane was going to blow up should have caused everyone to do different things, but it didn’t. I mean, these were our lives, our children, our families. Our luggage. There was the plane, the relatives, the pilots, crew, and future… all actively working toward being destroyed together. Everyone gave the impression that they were oblivious.

I don’t want to take you with me into the apocalypse that happened in the dream. It isn’t necessary. My point is this. Later, I recognized the uncanny resemblance between this dream and my experience of living in my own culture, the American culture.

The metaphor remains so perfect as to be almost magical.”

— an anonymous informant