i dreamt the devil blew my horn while i was holding a cat and a birdcage...
on the rare occasion when our dreams succeed
and achieve perfection (most dreams are bungled)
they are symbolic chains of scenes and images
in place of a narrative poetic language;
they circumscribe our experiences or expectations
or situations with such poetic boldness and decisiveness
that in the morning we are always amazed at ourselves
when we remember our dreams.
we use up too much artistry in our dreams -
and therefore often are impoverished during the day.
text: nietzsche, the wanderer and his shadow
image: tintype, 1880's (my favorite of all that i own.)