There’s an apartment in Seoul, down the trembling alleyways of Itaewon and beside unmarked graves of dust and clay. The apartment has a kitchen, a living room area, a bedroom and a claustrophobic bathroom.

Though the fridge is always stocked and the TV is always on, nobody lives here. The only thing that feels authentic is the willow-and-jade bed snugly shoved into a bedroom’s corner. Dreaming on this bed allows a dreamer to penetrate the milky membrane between here and Mars, who now sleeps in inhospitable serenity.

Often, a dreamer will witness Mars fossilizing their planetary memory—Mars’ great trees of magnesium march against the rolling icebergs, the green flames giving the giants their name; Lemon-colored electric pixies coat the sky and fill the world with a static symphony; Oceans of glass dance with the gravity’s rainbow—they are scattering the sun as they do so…

When Mars remembers going to sleep, the dreamer will awake in a dank apartment in Itaewon, drowsy, forgetful and also wandering away.