It produces stories. My conscious and subcounscious mingle, and from it flows lives I may live once I finally leave my mortal shell. These kinds of things would drive a man mad if they were forced upon him, yet I freely accept that my life is but a trial before my true happpiness. I let my mind wander over the life to come, what it is like, though if you saw my dream, you would only laugh... but this matters not, for that is a story for another time. My main point is thus: existance tells many tails, we must but open our eyes.