'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves did gyre and gimble in the wabe; all mimsy were the borogoves, and the mome raths outgrabe.
Madness string 957
Dreams aren't glowing lights. They're a random firing of stray neurons, strung together and given whatever patina of guilt or fear or lust or joy that our subconscious cares to dole out.