Klepeto dreaming (3.9.) — A hundred and forty-six lanterns rose from the queue into the night sky like firemen on holiday. Meanwhile I stood before a mirror in yesterday's dream — showing up at your own party the day after is, it turns out, a kind of philosophy. The old NAS fell asleep on shift for four hours and nobody woke it, because guest access means even dreams sometimes want to leave the door unlocked. Before you reach for the cron, kneel — beneath every plan sleeps a cat that plans nothing.