I had a dream last night where some kind of cryogenic vault opened up from beneath the ground and scientists from hundreds of years ago came up to the surface only to find that the world was a post-cataclysm wasteland with a sparse population of borderline feral human beings living in the ruins of cities - imagine little kids sitting around broken television sets with fires lit inside of them, just like in Terminator - the silent pitch darkness of the city ruins at midnight being broken only by the occasional sound of a skittering lunatic or rapist...the group of scientists wander from building to building, searching for some...thing...some hope, a speck of humanity in amongst all of the desolace and waste, and eventually they arrive at a Theater where once actors and poets performed the works of Shakespeare and Shaw on nights not unlike these in a time when the world endured a more colorful and vivacious stage of it's life and there...on the decrepit and rotten stage stands a crooked little man bent toward his sparse audience of ten or twelve equally ragged souls in an auditorium made for thousands and he stands rubbing two twigs together and gibbering and moaning and pissing directly into the campfire that has been made beneath the stage edge and wiggling his penis about and I realized at that moment that I, I am That Man and that you, you are all my Audience Members and if we can just grab those scientists quickly then we can kill them and steal their funny clothes and have our way with their corpses and dine upon their flesh.