[image title=”Just a boy upon a page – only time will tell if he has a story worth telling.” size=”large” id=”864″ align=”center” alt=”Just a boy upon a page – only time will tell if he has a story worth telling.” linkto=”viewer” ]

In a world turned upside down, where bananas ate monkeys and monkeys ate cheese, there existed a man named Poe. He wasn’t an especially exciting man, so far as men go, but he did live in an interesting world. That was enough.

That is a little line or two of nothingness and nonsense just for you, dear readers. The picture doesn’t actually accompany them: they just exist side by side as two little snippets of ‘something’ born from the half-awake state of post-sleeping wakefulness. It is a comfy, fuzzy existence in that place – not quite fully awake, clinging to the bliss of total relaxation, not wanting to pry yourself loose from that dreaming moment – eventually letting it trickle away, bit by bit, until you’re finally claimed again by the staid and stale existence of ‘reality’. The made-up world is just so much better some days, isn’t it?

Do you dream?

Not just those little, boring flashbacks and reworked memories, but actually dream? I do. In vivid brilliance with tales and story-weavings full of wonder and intrigue… adventures and mayham, heroines and villians just as heroic and villianous as a hero and villian can be. They are not always epic, but they do tend to have incredible depth and detail. So much so that I can turn to my poor, long-suffering husband and assult his ears for over an hour just recounting the things that occurred once I’ve dredged myself up into a state of full consciousness. Logic is not necessary, though it doesn’t entirely hurt to fill out the gaps and connect the dots between here and there. That is one of the wonders of dreams: they never have to make sense. They just have to be.