For it is but a divine awakening in an utterly surreal sense. Linings of reams of pages of books awfully dense . Only to assuage ones subconscious from the pendeleum and pit in which we call being atop a fence. Dearly so one must come to terms as they are alligned in such a fastidious row. The task at hand we shall commence, and come to simply know. To plant your dreams and slumber as they grow.