“What?”

There goes the, umm, the….”  Tom snapped his fingers.  “The bloody dimorphic confabulating disinterfritzer.  You know.”

I have noticed of late that my dreams are becoming more and more lucid, imprinting with ever increasing clarity upon the more plastic portions of my memory.  I am therefore determined to record these recollections, in order to make an attempt at assigning sense to what are increasingly bizarre, and increasingly portentous, communiques to me from my subconscious.  What follows will be that record, along with some potentially pertinent notes concerning the preceding day, in case evidence of a causative link might thus be brought to light.