What is this?

After writing the previous post I went again to the internet and attempted a second purchase of a copy of the Flore Laurentienne record. It's like Bernard Herrmann's score for Vertigo rethunk and reprocessed through a Buchla synthesiser. As I type I'm listening to it on Spotify, of course. I just don't want to be beaten.

Lenny was here today - for as long as learning from home lasts, we swap him midweek for a day so the parent he's with can get some work done in peace - and after school wound up at 3:30 we played a board game. 

As I sat on the floor rolling the dice, a thought which has been brewing for some weeks finally matured enough to break the surface in the form of words. I thought: this condition of mild and tolerable okayness which I've had for a while, and wondered why, it only feels like being awake. It is in fact a dream. 

The waking reality is a surreal nightmare. I know that's what it is, but I don't experience it directly. It's too surreal to be accessed, let alone processed. I have somehow managed to put myself to sleep and I'm dreaming in the language of naturalism, humanist realism. It's quite good. I might wake up some time, and then all I'll do is helplessly ask, what's this?