The isle is full of noises,
Sounds and sweet airs, that give delight and hurt not.
Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments
Will hum about mine ears, and sometime voices,
That, if I then had waked after long sleep,
Will make me sleep again: and then, in dreaming,
The clouds methought would open and show riches
Ready to drop upon me, that, when I waked,
I cried to dream again.
The Tempest (III.ii)

1.  Lottery dream where I win, pay off all the debt of everyone I know (because I think my brain runs a balance sheet each night – and every single person in my life who has money trouble is part of it – that way my subconscious will never forget who needs to be part of the  distribution when the big jackpot happens) and then I fulfill my dream of opening a laundromat/car wash/bar/movie theater right where Baja Bean is in the Fan.  Sorry, Baja.

2.  Honorary PhD dream for writing a book full of words.  Words that don’t have anything to do with one another.  Words like this:

angel purebred firebrand reverend.  fragrant flaming piles with daggers.  honest earnest danger platinum boogie.

3.  Sitting at the bottom of a well, people throw down coins that I eat.  I astral project into rehearsals of Guys and Dolls and cause mayhem.

I could be bounded in a nutshell, and count myself a king of infinite space, were it not that I have bad dreams.
Hamlet (II.ii)

1.  monsters

2.  monster monkeys

3.  monster monkeys who steal my typewriters

4.  being tied to a boulder while people from school throw handfuls of cold hummus at me

5.  Alligator Fish Pig makes a cameo appearance wherein he talks (in addition to stinking really bad) and understands structuralist literary criticism better than me.  So he mocks me while he tries to eat my toes.