As my senses collect, my mind filters and selects elements that form my perception.

But this process, imperfect, fails to properly intercept the makings of a potential misconception.

In creeps the feel that scenes observed are not real. The sensation of unreality at its inception.

In this movie reel, my individual existence seems repealed, as I experience a universal connection.

I take a toke to accentuate a state of mind to which others cannot relate. An ineffable high arrests my attention.

On transcendence, I meditate, but for distortions, I’ve failed to compensate, as I insist on a cosmic deception.

In the midst of derealization, I conceive of a new nation, a place where the fantastic and the inconceivable persist.

From my psychic station I ascend to a new location, as I inquire could a land so strange and utopian exist?

I envision the bizarre and the impractical merged with the ingenious and tactical in a space that’s impossible to resist.

I disregard the factual, focusing on the imaginary with contempt for the actual, while on dreaming I firmly insist.

As mined ideas are refined, I’m transported to a place, absent of time, in a space reminiscent of the abyss.

I’m transfixed by neon outlines of lustrous purple trees with glistening red pines, as I ponder: On what do they subsist?

My eyelids diverge and from this trance I emerge. My thoughts still occupied by the fantastic, the peculiar and the surreal.

Sight lines replicate and merge while radiant lights splinter and surge, as yet another layer of my reality is unpeeled.

The realm of the detectable is penetrated by the once imperceptible. The veracity of other dimensions revealed.

If my experience is this malleable, why’s the consensus believed infallible? Settled assumptions must be unsealed.

The walls slither and wriggle as I receive the impulse to giggle. My amusement cannot be concealed.

The ceiling ceases to jiggle and my visuals subside a little, as my surroundings sluggishly start to congeal.

My environment no longer deforms, as to the typical it conforms, but of the usual I remain severely skeptical.

I’m tempted to mourn my eyesight’s re-incarceration by the norm, as I long for a reunion with the vividly perceptual.

I become slightly disconcerted, by an existence perverted: one lacking the weirdly imaginative and the spiritual.

Could this matrix be reverted, upgraded, or converted? I ask a question of significance metaphysical.

I resolve that it’s deranged to remain levelheaded and tame, in the aftermath of an experience so transformational.

I raise my head and proclaim the creation of a new sane, standing in awe of the immaterial and the supernatural.