I awoke this morning from a dream about a Hollywood cult that was planning to bring about the end of the world. They were Muralists, and worshipped Diego Rivera. Their plan was to ignite a nuclear war, thus immanentizing the eschaton. In the mean time, they were dropping broken clear glass into hotel swimming pools and similar such mischief. I'd infiltrated the cult in an attempt to stop them, but then found myself seduced by Muralism. As I exited the dream, we were all gathered to watch the suns rise over the cities of the world.