I remember scraps of poetry whose reality I can no longer determine.

“Lost, dreamless, fairyland lies a forlorn sight” does not yield up anything on google. Did I pretend I read it in a dream and that’s why I only remember one line?

I read a poem translated twice, or at least that was what the title implied. It was very swoony, about a funeral procession in Rome on a rainy day and thus my teen-aged self loved it. I only remember mentions of the rain and leaves on the ground, No phrases.

I read the quote “All my life, my heart has yearned for a thing I cannot name,” and it was the only sentence that meant anything to me for quite some time. It was only recently that I finally figured out that it was Andre Breton.

Touched by a Surrealist! The indignity of it all.

At least I remembered it was da Vinci who asked, “Why does the eye see a thing more clearly in dreams than the imagination when awake?”

Some buildings in Las Vegas from the 19th floor of the Bellagio

Ip Man 2

Sleep at the Wiltern

The Man from Nowhere