Alice dreams of Xenu

Crossing the city (in a dream), I saw a billboard for the Yale School of Scientology. It was a squat, tin-roofed, brick building, something like a factory or warehouse, and I realized I could cut through it to get where I was going (though I was worried that the Scientologists would object, or, worse, kidnap and brainwash me). Inside were tiers of old theater seats with brass railings, and a fussy-looking woman at a wooden desk who snappishly gave me permission to pass. Pass to where, I wasn't sure — the exits were difficult to find. I finally spotted a small, horizontal door, about the size of a glove compartment, among the seats, and pushed my head and shoulders through.

On the other side, my head poked out between rows of blue gel-cushioned seats trimmed in white plastic, stretching off into the distance above and below me. I smelled new carpet. Cool air washed past my face. The seats all faced a titanic silver movie screen, and seemed to be mounted on rubber rollers and belts. I realized, then, that the conveyor belts could scroll different parts of the audience up or down to different parts of the projection screen, which was nearly close enough for them to touch. I thought that sounded like a hell of an interesting way to see a show, and wondered, with some disquiet, what the Scientologists used it for.

I withdrew my head before the great machine started up, afraid of decapitation.