The dreams are creeping back in. Neon lit, expansive, epic dreams. Undercurrents of love, sex, and violence twisted together with beauty and monsters. The whole thing studded with touchstones to the past and present. A rich hallucination, haunting and enticing. Granted this minimal degree of freedom, they're determined to put on a hell of a show. Is their purpose to inform, warn, or possibly enslave? Why have they returned? An indication that something is going wrong inside my skull again? Is it just not possible to chemically restrain them anymore? Such lovely sharp white teeth to devour me while I sleep. Such boundless joy to depart me when I wake. Faceless beauty and formless fear ebb and flow in the tide of the night. A chorus of dark whispers from the brightly lit stage. Cries of lust from shadowy corners. Familiar yet foreign. To dream, or not to dream; that is the question.