Cicadas Wish it was Hot all the Time

A dream:

The Emperor of the World is walking ahead of me and all I can think about is how his cloak drags along in the dirt. It's hot and the cicadas are roaring there approval in my ears. I've got a rock in my pocket and I'm wondering how I can throw it at the Emperor and pretend it was someone else. I look around but we are alone. I give up the idea and decide to talk to him instead. I hustle up to him and, though he barely acknowledges me, I ask him, "Why don't you just drop it, here in the dirt? You'll feel better." No answer seems to be his answer so I skip off ahead wondering if the sycamores ahead will provide enough cover for me to hit him with my rock and go unobserved.

The interpretation:

No secret here. I've always harbored a resentment for people in authority who carry on with pageantry in the face of obvious resistance. My recourse is ridicule and a strict refusal to be led. Giggling is necessary, of course, when someone who is apparently in control tries with earnest and stern pressure to make me do what they think is right. Not very mature, maybe, but neither is the human race. We take offense so easily and with such regularity to the most inane happenings that it molds a pattern in the psyche too easily filled the next time.

A sycamore grove is great refuge. Tightly wound and full of deep colours, it looks like imagination come alive and snapping. You can't see more than three feet in any direction so every few steps contain a new vista, wallpapered in another world, just a few trees away. Bursting from the ground cover at a dead run, you can spin around and view it all in one glance and know how inclusive it is and why it feels safe for rabbits and small children. And understand that claustrophobia is a memory of the womb. Nice for a short while but 'let me out of here', in the end.

This emperor keeps walking, head up, his bearing transitioning from proud to self conscious to ridiculous in a few short strides. Maybe I'll trip him by pretending I'm sliding into third and then apologize with my best look of contrition. Or I'll point at the sky and then punch him in the stomach when he looks up. Hey look!

I've been accused of being irresponsible but I look at it his way; if you're too tight assed and worried about good impressions and with pretending you're all grown up, I have nothing but pity for you. I am a child and there's too much to do before the sun goes down.