Every night, everyone loses conciousness for around 8 hours and has profound hallucinations, then goes back to their routine as if something amazing didn’t just happen.
Every night, my mind creates a new world. A city inside a giant tree, with elevators reaching up to a space station, and libraries and archives down through its trunk, and at its base, endless gardens and ruins - on a vast levitating island. The roots of the tree hang from the island, with giant and tiny glowing creatures harvesting and recycling energy. Inside the archives in the trunk of the tree, I climb down a ladder into an artist’s studio/workshop and I see endless rows of open drawers, full of endless types of pens, pencils, paper, brushes, measuring instruments, and more - every single item a different colour and size - brand new or with wear, arranged in patterns and rows. And I see the tiniest detail on the earthy-brown floorboards, and the golden light streaming in the window. I see every detail simultaneously, and remember the details of the labyrinths above me and the endless worlds surrounding this giant tree on a flying island. Castles within space-age orbs within a jungle within an organ of a giant within an amoeba.
Organic fractals zooming at break-neck speed. Riding a bicycle from the roof of one pagoda to another, down a mountain surrounded by mist. A two-legged horse-robot being ridden by a giant praying mantis - and the painting on the wall next to it comes alive. Jumping from stone to stone to cross a creek, after escaping from a prison camp. Punching a speeding train into the ground. Watching a metropolis engulfed in a mushroom cloud with my new blue, floating newt-slug friend. Walking through an abandoned hospital, the windows smashed, curtains blow in the breeze, and blue moonlight draws him to the window - a lone sniper prepares for a suicide mission. The aspects of my psyche split and go walking around an abstract landscape of coloured shapes. My old workplace morphs into the hive of a malicious alien. Morbidly obese people in hospital beds being experimented on by secretive government agencies. A colloseum the size of a large stadium, with a sculpture of a roaring lion, carved out of a single giant rock - ten stories high. A romantic poem on bloodstained paper, found in a trailer park in a Bolivian city. The sky fills with black ghouls exploding from a mountain, like a volcano - and my army is prepared to fight them. A vast, endless white spiral that I descend, and lined up on a shelf the whole way, every object I have ever seen, one after the other.
And we wake up and continue our routines. Life is crazy. Dreams are crazy. Existence itself is bizarre. And no-one talks about it.