A bizarre three-part dream ran through my sleeping mind the other night, the loopy kind that keeps repeating with only slight differences the same general plotline, then looping through it again, and again, pretending to change and faking the dreaming self into believing the changes, only to fiendishly return with the same damn problem embedded in the style/text/world of the dream.
The problem that kept recurring was, simply put, that changing the style - the presentation or appearance of the work - doesn't necessarily alter the actual text - the content of the information in the message of the work - that the style is intended to shape; and even when you succeed in altering the style in a way that makes it possible to convey a change in the text that actually says something differently, the disparity in the world that the text refers to remains untouched.
It wasn't a restful night, and it took a while to get myself in gear the next day, but function I did in the two-dimensional space of writing words on pages. It did help to sort it out in this space, however, to put into words the multivalent experience of what can't be done with words. Then at lunch it was very therapeutic to describe the dream to my favorite intern in the universe, who understood what I was talking about. A miracle.
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