You grow to expect the pattern of statement and counter-statement, a litany of contradictions. And then the series knots upon itself.
It was so loud it was so quiet we didn’t sleep we slept.
We didn’t dream. We dreamt of panthers and hatpins, orchids
There were no dogs; no dogs were there.
Even so, sleep was impossible —
All that howling! We dreamt of panthers and hatpins, orchids
“The Howling of the Gods”
The impossibility of sleep gives way to the waking dream of the impossible.
And so for day 2147