I sometimes dream of reading a book.  It's a poetic, insightful, vastly important work.  As I continue reading, I begin to become lucid.  At first, I think myself capable of remembering this dreambook upon waking.  I vow to memorize the words and transcribe them.  Then, as consciousness slowly refracts the light of the dreamtime, my comprehension of the text begins to slip away.  Sentences that made perfect sense moments ago now seem cryptic or utterly indecipherable.  Finally, I realize I've lost all grasp of this vital dreambook's meaning, and I reluctantly open my eyes.  Elusive though it may be, I've never given up on one day remembering the dreambook or, perhaps more extraordinarily, stumbling upon it in waking life.  I'm gratified (though admittedly astonished) to report that, in a roundabout fashion too complex to detail here, I have finally located a physical copy of the dreambook.  It will come as no surprise that the author is an avant-garde artist and a literary savant who possesses a direct line to the unconscious mind.  J. Karl Bogartte's prose is so imbued with dream logic that the conscious mind is initially mystified, then simply enchanted and drawn into a vision.  The reason the physical copy is decipherable by the conscious eye is simple: physical pages don't tend to display the volatile calligraphy of dreambooks.  In the physical copy, we can read the same sentence twice and nothing will have changed (save our appreciation of the text's resonance).  If you've ever regretted forgetting what you're certain was a marvelous dream, it may be time to (re)discover the work of J. Karl Bogartte.