What does a dream say about one’s state of mind; what can be gleaned from analysis of nocturnal nonsense?

I’ve lost the ability to fly.

I live in a house perched precariously at the edge of a cliff, the house is on fire and I’m being beset by alien robots.

Red neon tracers streak across the sky in huge arcs.

A dull ‘thud’ sounds nearby, I look to the front yard and witness mechanical humanoid forms emerging from a metallic canister half-buried in my lilac bushes and a digitized voice intones, ‘Evacuation imminent,’ but anyone who emerges from the nearby dwellings instantly disintegrates into a gray powder.

The robots keep coming and I’ve lost the ability to fly.

Somebody’s hanging a Baum suit on a Beckett frame.

The Matrix drops by for dinner, accompanied by Venus’ Three Daughters, and I imagine the fare will be a bland mix of Zeroes and Ones, but to my surprise, a sprinkle of Twos and a dash of Threes liven each dish.  The evening ends with a snifter of Five and, noticing my appreciative nod, the Matrix leans in close and says, ‘I’ve got some Aged Nine back in reserve,’ but I’m skeptical.

Random time travelers cross paths and ask, ‘When are you?’

The hounds are baying and no one knows why.

There are voices in my head and one of them is laughing at me.

Why can’t I fly anymore?