Without much of a point
Aaron sits lucid even as the dreamy plane around him makes it evident that he is particularly far from Kansas, in the most Dorothinian aspect of the word. No doubt he is still snuggled deep in the checkerboard quilt wrapped around him and his sleeping skin, tossing and turning a never ending game of chess with cold slithering night sky. He made certain to hie away to this sleepy landscape as often as possible, now that he could control the on/off switch to make himself consciously aware even while dreaming. Here he just need to wait until some stranger from his past might come calling from deep inside of Id or Ego or Oz or wherever old memories dig themselves out of, so that he might shed his reservations and pronounce a requiem so elegant and befitting for those past lovers, dreams and puppies what had strayed just too close to the tempting spinning rubber of speeding vehicles passing. All the habiliments of daily life was clean from a man’s hands and face once he’s in his dream, no nicks on your knuckles from the wear and tear of daily use, no lines around your mouth from frowning, smiling or otherwise. Just you and your Saturnine simplicity desperately grasping around at all of the absurdity and bliss, lined by a hazy black outline of cloud and mystery. Even in nightmares we are more happy.