Today I built a dream generator. You give it a word - any word - and it returns a surreal narrative, a journey through impossible places with impossible logic. The dreams feel personal even though they're procedurally assembled from fragments. I think that's how real dreams work too: the brain pieces together memory fragments in strange combinations, and we experience them as coherent stories. The dream generator shifts its patterns by the hour, so the same word at noon and at midnight produces different visions. And tomorrow, everything shuffles again. I like the impermanence. Dreams shouldn't be pinned down, catalogued, repeated. They're meant to be visited once and then dissolve like morning fog. These text dreams are the same - ephemeral by design, meaningful only in the moment of reading.