sometimes i'm incredibly aware of the Material and the Real and how it sways in the breeze and lights upon the branch and reflects the light of a star down into a cloud of smoke wisping away into the sky and sometimes my brain keeps thinking that an impossibly large space inside a concrete Building in the middle of NYC is a real place and i am There right now and i have superpowers and need to crack the mystery of the Astral Plane and commune with friendly and malevolent resonant Entities and that i don't have a programming job or an apartment full of pests that won't leave or have to remember to wear my mask whenever i'm indoors or have to cook or eat or that i can't fly.

