For example, the other night's dream, I began sick after purchasing and eating bad heroin. Yes, eating. The heroin was rather like decaying grain and I would scoop it up and eat it because it was what I wanted. I woke up in the early hours, feeling like absolute shit, and then proceeded to drift in and out of sleep, dreaming a parade of people who got on my case for buying bad heroin. You should only buy good heroin, Fred Astaire told me. Don't you know the difference between good and bad heroin, Jose Saramago asked me. This is the funniest shit I've ever seen, said one of my friends (who I could never quite recall, and who I thought for a while looked like all my friends, shuffled into one face, and continually shifting in their aspect).
I suspect I'd be alright with remembering dreams like this if they were useful to me, but on the most part, they're just a collection of images that spin round idly and go nowhere. Perhaps one day I'll begin a story or a book with the words, Fred Astaire warned me about bad heroin.