The place where the world comes together in honesty and mirth. Windmills Tilted, Scared Cows Butchered, Lies Skewered on the Lance of Reality ... or something to that effect.
Often, we wake up certain of two things: 1. We slept, or at
least we think we did; and 2. We had dreams. But DID we dream? Why does
remembering our dreams feel a bit like trying to grab wisps of
dissipating smoke?
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