Ever wondered what happens when the world clocks out and dreams punch in? It's like a backstage pass to an alternate universe, where the mundane twists into the bizarre. Here we lie, thinking, dreaming... drifting.
I had a chat with a shadow the other night. Well, it was more like a monologue since the shadow seemed particularly quiet. But let me tell you, it had some profound insights about ceiling patterns. Basically, they all agree: ceilings are ultimately just walls that didn't make it.
As the sun dips behind the everyday, I find solace in the unorthodox. There's a park bench in these dreams I always sit on, under a flickering streetlight that hums an unrecognizable tune. I've heard tales of the bench being a portal, though details are fuzzy. More info lodged in memory: Portal or Perch?
Last Tuesday night, I was informed by an anonymous cloud that socks have secret lives. They hold council meetings and deliberate on important matters such as the ethics of disappearing into dryer lint. The official agenda was shared here: Sock Council Minutes