Posthuman Blues

I had a horrifying -- yet oddly beautiful -- dream a couple nights ago. I was in a city watching some sort of climate disaster unfold. The sky was a seething rust-red; epic winds lofted debris and furniture through the air while people hid beneath inexorably crumbling buildings.

There was a sudden, intense flash of light on the horizon and I knew intuitively that a nuclear weapon had detonated. I watched dazedly for a moment and waited for the blastwave, which arrived several seconds later, rocketing me into the sky.

I awoke impressed by the dream's clarity; despite the violence, it had the contemplative stillness of a painting.