james_

Riding a bike, peddling fast as the wind across a wide green space, I head away from the trees. Fording the river next to a wooden bridge I kick spray up behind me. This world is painted with lurid primary colours, crayon blue and astroturf green. A few faceless people amble about, no direction in their movements, they exist only as props here.

A row of small houses, a muddy track leading past them. My aching calves the only reminder of the vanished bicycle. Turn a corner, I know this house. The ropeswing hanging from the tree, the climbing frame unused in years but standing nonetheless. Hop the fence and stare up at a tree full of apples, the summer sun rains down on me,
happy tears from a blissful heavenly sky humming with impossibly huge airplanes that leave no vapor trails.
This place has been forbidden me for so long, I had forgotten it existed. But the way has been cleared now, each night I come walk here in the unchanging daylight of the ever-summer, the land of the timeless ones, and feel comforted. If there truly are two worlds, then this is the less evil of the two. Certainly the internal logic of this place is different, but both are equally nonsensical when you really examine them closely. And what's more, in this place I carry none of the world of men with me, but upon waking I can feel the otherworld inside me, around me, behind the quantum D-membrane of one of those ultra compact foreign dimensions that exist beyond the four we are hardwired to process.


In other words, things are pretty good