During this morning’s nap, I dreamt I was inside a giant lawnmower, the blades of the lawnmower swirling around me.

I awoke as the sounds of the lawnmower receded (a helicopter flying past?).

In the leftover grass clippings of the dream, I heard the last bit of a talk show host and his guest discussing a pet theory of the guest — the prevalence of tattoo/ink reality TV shows was to increase a desire in the public for tattoos and thus hide the real tattooed criminal gangs from the police, gangs who had funneled money to film production studios for the express purpose of making the reality TV shows.

I enjoy my dreams for, without them, what goofy ideas in reality would I find to entertain me any better?

In the post-dream silence, the hum of an aquarium filter and the snoring of cats/raccoons serenade me.

The bright reflection of water droplets evaporating from tree leaves leaves me happy, content that blue skies fill the frame of my visions of a planet that bears me no ill will, knowing my existence is but one miniscule drop of life on this orb.

For that is all I am, all I need.

Planetary exploration is for the rest of you, if you desire your species a chance of surviving the random clanging of metal spheres hanging from a mobile attached to the ceiling of a museum containing meaningless money-laundered investments “works of art.”

Humour me.

Give me comedies and tragedies in your haste to go nowhere fast on the same planet that thousands of generations of your species have crawled and walked upon.

I will look for patterns that do not exist, patterns given to me by my grandfather and others before him who knew that repetition is frequent and originality a trick of the eye.

Alakazam!  Alakazoom!  إفتح يا سمسم!  Let the mischievous spirits walk the earth and provide me seeds for the next serialised tall tale!