Oh if life were but a dream. A drifting delight slipping quietly away from our desperate, dreaming grasp.
Life is a dream.
And dreams are treacherous things. A dream of lush costumes, swordplay, original electronic music and lyrical prose. A dream where Post-modernism meets the Renaissance, and five television screens with gilded frames display the action as in a T.V. studio. The son comes of age, and the father has to do something with his son, so he drugs him and dresses him royally. He tells him his past life was a dream.