Future Headspace And The Discovery Of Existentialist Buddhism, Or: How I Learned To Love The Topical Pain Relief Of Tiger Balm!

However they feel, memories are not real. The cheekiest remnants of reality is its ability to question its own existence.  Facade and masquerade easily slip in through the back door of wishes and dreams to cloud the exactness of experience. The murky liquidity of biological information retrieval is as valid as a cheque made out to a girl named Reality. A girl I at once remember and forget, stored in an internal network of chemical reactions for (re)collection at some point in the future of the real. The unreal manifesting through atomic exchanges into a state of being which, although ethereal and untouchable, physically influence, alter and potentially control the realness of experience… and even the experience of realness.

My dreams feel so real, yet I know they are not, I know they are visions of what I’ve forgot. Ten men stand on the shoulders of four horses; each man a dimension of experience, each horse an element of the real.