I was a little feverish last Sunday, and I woke up remembering this dream.
Overlooking a city from a top floor balcony, in the shimmering heat of the noon, I saw an Apollo rocket rise into the sky. But it slowly and elegantly turned around and crashed into its launching pad. Out of the boiling cloud a huge zeppelin emerged, changing its form like a huge blob, and hovering above the city. Wherever the zeppelin would descend, the buildings would slowly twist and deform. Whenever it rose the buildings would reshape again. It was very quiet all around; not even a sound from the birds. You would only hear the soft moaning of the wood fibres of the doors, as they were deforming.