Dreams

Once I dreamed about a Mongolian polar bear, but I could not prove to anyone that it was real. 

Once I wrote about a voice that I heard, but I must have heard it in a trance, because the words disappeared like smoke in the wind, and the voice was too beautiful to be real.
I am still seeking the path to the land where I can rediscover these wonders again.

Every music is remembered

Music is diabolically powerful.  Everything you have ever listened to is remembered, preserved somewhere in the ganglia.  Beatles music that I haven't listened to in 35 years has just emerged, perfect in every note, reminding me of this principle.  Does it mean that musicians are devils?  A working hypothesis, at the least.

A Google search on this leads to a lot of Robert Johnson imagery, so let me leave it there.

Looks like a happy dream, at least.