What lies asleep, tousling beds in all these stifled rooms? What dreams displace the town's quotidian routine? Mayhem, madness, wild debauchery, inchoate desires and fears made manifest in bleeding urns, coupling dogs, faceless figures, gaping doors of deserted buildings, disembodied whispers stirring dust motes down corridors sunlit by no more than firing synapses? The disordered night of the mind is a sea boiling with serpents. The waking see the silent town overlain by ordered, slow changing constellations. As much a part of the world of dream as of the starlit woods that wrap it 'round, these ordered streets and houses are grown of those passions and desires that lurk, envenomed and coiled, within the pulsing brain. Bound to earth by gravity, trapped in time, the town yet sways like a balloon, tethered by the thinnest line to an unsteady hand.