“Your dreams never follow the chronology of history…”

Seeking complements and compliments, traversing into surreality, a world of zeitgeist where one would live if it weren’t already home, and by arriving, it becomes foreign to the eye. For ideal is never actual: we know ourselves too little and the rest of the world too well. All that is requested is one night to sleep in your bed; you needn’t to be there. Easy in third person; impossible otherwise.

“…You people are singing to me…”

Would you date yourself?

“…And your song says what it says…”

Would you be your own wingman?