the older i get, i'm learning that reality doesn't exist so much as our dreams. the distinction of the two is a line that is blurring more and more into less.
as far ahead as i am able to see, i can only see in dreams- and as far back as i can remember, everything is too.
which must mean right now we are flying, or suspended somewhere between the ground and sky- in and through a pink cloud, outlined with the setting sun, draped by a flannel blanket of gold flakes. a vignetting aroma of everything beautiful, bad, delicious and familiar surrounds us. our eyes are shut, but everything is clear- like the forming constellations in the maroon sky of the back of our eyelids.
things sometimes get dirty, but all in a dream.