He was comically nattily dressed in a pastel striped seersucker suit with a broad solid scarf

I realized I was dreaming when I encountered a group of people familiar in dreams. Their presence signals depravity and betrayal. 

They were walking towards me nattily dressed just having enjoyed breakfast arranged by some mysterious but banal group. Their own special group that I do not belong. Their dress was a sort of holiday costume, summer seersucker pastel stripes and solids that you wouldn't be caught dead in ordinary circumstance. They were having a good time and I am the fly in their ointment. They were not pleased to encounter me out there on the street.

I had just learned that the principal had failed in his official duty to protect an incoming ship. It was a wooden sailing mercantile ship, a barque of some kind. I learned of it but did not actually see it. The ship was damaged and docked. Badly damaged, lain asunder by mismanagement right there at port. Its goods pilfered and spread through the city, the profits unrealized, capital squandered, its crew of questionable origin dispersed. Derelict in duty but here he was  enjoying base entertainments such as amusing colegial breakfasts immune from prosecution protected by his station started at birth, protected by his class. Walking toward me then passing by.

I was hungry in need of a meal. Every place I looked at was closed. Except one that I found.  Inside, a woman is yelling a repetitive song announcing her breakfast fare. She looked like a cafeteria employee. Chopping large trays of prepared food with a large spoon and slopping it onto plates. Her song did not match the food she was shoveling. Now I am in a line. I ask her why doesn't she sing about the food she is actually serving and not another unrelated song? She takes umbrage with my questioning something so simply understood as that. It should make no difference to me one way or another, she insists. We argued. "Why don't you just sing cockles and mussels alive, alive ho? It would make as much sense as this." The line is pressing. I move along. But I still haven't sorted the whole misalignment of the entire activity as I reach the cashier I am still in discussion when the people behind me move ahead of me as a group and as if it is my choice to step behind them and not their aggression in moving ahead of me and then I had enough of the whole thing and open my eyes to leave the world where I dream and enter the world where I live. And it is dark outside and I am fully awake.

And then I realized. Oh, that came from this, and they are them. 

It is a daunting at first 67 page PDF Minority Staff Report by U.S. Senate Committee on Environment and Public Works titled Chain of Environmental Command: How the Club of Billionaires and Their Foundations Control the Environmental Movement and Obama's EPA.

Written in the government style, so, turns out exceedingly easy to read. Lots of white space between pages and plenty of simplistic charts, it is mostly scroll, scroll, scroll, so, the whole thing goes very fast. Fast as an unsettling dream. And I realized upon waking, they're only people. People with a whole lot of money. Money to toss all around, and they do, and with a lifetime to devote to their money-spending hobby, their obsession. A reason to be. A reason to fly all around and to confer. A reason to socialize.  It's all about who to give money, how to spend it and why. And the why turns out to be all NIMBY, that's it in a nutshell. Everything else is cloaking and subterfuge and socializing and doing what they naturally do. They are no better, no smarter, nor better informed than you or I. What else is there to do? All is vanity. The product is subterfuge and dissimilation and that is all. They literally purchased the EPA. But they're still only people, and it's still only government departments that are purchased, and those things can go away as easily as they arrived. POOF Gone, just like that. Government departments gone exactly like waking up into the real world, and the playgrounds the rich use for their own purpose taken away from them just as toys are taken from naughty children. 

[How is an entitled privileged naughty child dealt with? Their toys taken away, that's how. I learned this from the masters. Ed's twin, Doug, has a naughty teenage boy. A very difficult child. Doug sought professional help before things got out of hand. One by one the toys and privileges are removed. With a good deal of discussion and upheaval between. First the freedom is pinched. Then the car is taken away. Then the flatscreen is removed. Then the computer is removed. Then the cell phone is taken away. Then the bed is removed. Then the mattress. Then the pillow. Then the blanket. And so on until the lad is left with a sheet and hard floor and one change of clothes and his attention is finely focused and behavior is changed observably.]

So much inherited wealth. It was the item on page 33 that triggered the dream. I recognized the connection immediately. The bit about Adelaide Park Gomer and her Park Foundation out of Ithaca, N.Y. Look at her in Google images and see an ordinary woman that you might encounter buying a single flower at a garden center. That is her fortune to spend inherited from her father Roy Park that she uses to collude with Cornell and with Duke University and others who then produces studies connecting fracking with greenhouse emissions. The reports then receive attention from Park funded news outlets. Then the attention is shared between leftist blogs and other data bases and websites. But she is just one such example. She is just one who veritably owns our government and foists policy through government department and government agencies. She is the man in the dream. 

PDF:

http://www.epw.senate.gov/public/index.cfm?FuseAction=Files.View&FileStore_id=8af3d005-1337-4bc3-bcd6-be947c523439