Dreams

He started dreaming. One night he dreamt he was enveloped by a giant winding tube that pulled him through the cosmos in an ecstasy of feminine loveliness, as in a Salvia vision… The next night he dreamt he was playing some new sport of incredible brutality, captaining the team that won the World Cup… The dreams started spilling into each other and into his waking hours. Ordinary tasks mattered less and less. There was too much pleasure in following the tows of dreams into their endings and beginnings. He felt bound by fewer and fewer ties. As the imagination takes over, the visible world is reborn and grows large and vibrant. He was already half-buried under the weight of it all. He flicked off his doubts like peeling skin. Let them cling to some other mind. This was how the eunuch dreamer of his past life had imagined it must be like. His stingy island started budding with words and images.