Thomas the Jefferson's Train

In my dream Thomas Jefferson pops out a pilgrim in The Jeffersons family, proprietors of Chinese laundries on the best end of Main Street’s forested path emerging toward Sanford Sons and Daughters Recycling Dump. Here, midst polyglot stone soups both informing and deforming, occasionally reforming, Thomas declares revolutionary interdependence with Earth’s dignity as his senior honor’s thesis read out boldly to collegial students teaching cultural enrichment, hoping for co-empathic network surges of WinWin political ecological outcomes. Thomas, sometimes called Red behind his considerable backside, discovered repurposing as national economic thesis and recovering recycling paths of golden intentions as political antithesis of terrorist fascist Christians who had hoped to grow up to join SuperJewish kibbutzisms which was merely a more high-toned reference to the pilgrim’s village recycling crashdump of at-risk people looking for more inviting places with sufficient space for the entire upstairs-downstairs Jefferson Tribe of Arabic DayDream stews and stud muffins. When Red heard young Thomas hoped to revive Taoist MidWays all along pilgrim’s Main Street sonnets and plays he prayed to Martha Washington “My heart, my heart, I could not survive such disrational empirical deconstruction!” Somehow SuperHero Thomas the Jeffersonian Train regenerated a multicultural chain of fools to revolve this foxy precycling plant into a WuWei forest of sweet and sour bodhisattva delights, currency accepted up as down NurturingWay’s carnival street in Jefferson’s NoShirtTicket-NoLaundryService busy mess of humanity deforming Earth’s Rights to procreate recreation of poli-eco-normic education, schools of synchronic swimming Red Jeffersonian fish remembering how to pilgrim surf thru interracial plowing seasons to turn out hot melting stone soup feasts of uniting nation futures invested in laundering unhealthy wealth until Thomas redreamed rainbow cream. As Thomas this Jefferson Train pulled away from FlyAway pilgrimage station, he called out to all repurposing Foxes, Merry CoMessiahs to all nations and states of recycling benighted dreams. Now there’s a good night’s sleep you’ll never address backward inside-out again.