Right now it's like a dream. Right now, right this minute. It's more like the memory of a dream, actually...
That's so weird, how I get these feelings. It's surreal, like this
moment is a page out of a children's book. Not a book written for
children by grown ups... this is more like a story that has sprung
straight out of the mind of a child who has yet to develop the idea of a
reality that's more than a few minutes
to either side of now; where the substrate of existence is so simple
that concepts like good and evil can find nothing tangible upon which to
take root. There is only the pure interest of being, and a strong will
to continue being, according to the natural rules of movement along the
zeroth dimension of the absurd simplicity of now.
Dang, don't I turn into a convoluted windbag when I start thinking about stuff.