[lone journal fragment, author unknown]

In enclosing comfort of hypnogogic sprinkling droplets, I happened
upon a small golden key.  By the rules of that plane, a chest I had
long forgotten packing came to be before me.  The spelll had set; the
key turned and opened the chest.  As such in the pastel constellations
of hynogogia brightening towards the asymptotic descent to the
severence of conciousness is likely to contain, the chest held bottled
contemplations from the past, unresolved, marked as to return.