Last night, I tore down all the wall decorations in my room and hid them behind a bookcase. The walls giggled with obvious pleasure, grateful for the extraction of golden pinnings and paper masks. I, on the other hand, exhaled slow relief; the gamut of colors had been like an energy sink, a distraction to my astral projections. No wonder I had languished these past years: my subconscious was mired in the ever dissipating streets of a water-colored Paris!
As I slept that night, my life-essence refracted into prismatic beams and slow-danced across pristine plains of reflected intensity, as if a celestial disco ball rebounding through all points of time. These chaotic patterns must have channeled out my eyelids, which explains the terrible headache that besieged me upon waking this morning. I didn’t sleep a wink, having been too busy pirohuetting across the walls! Spiritual ballet sure is tiring.