The Fantasist: A Psychedelic Fantasy

Does an insane man doubt his insanity like a sane man doubts his sanity? Is an artist insane? Can a sane man even imagine the trials an artist must attest to? What is it that makes an artist? An artist experiences weirdness so bottomless even his own mind cannot comprehend it. An artist feels strangeness in seeing things. It is like looking at a tree and systematically stripping it to its core or like looking into another person’s mind and understanding that person’s eccentricities. An artist is otherworldly. An artist is separate. An artist is separated from the lives and souls of normal humanity; separated from the realities that without the filter of normalcy mean full time horror and madness. The power of the light burning just outside my perception forces my spirit into ever deeper regions of desolation where the forces of evil and good battle for the beautiful golden diamond ring on the finger of the luscious shining Magellan in her amber beaded gown. Fantasies are all I have; life is a nightmare in the light; love is a specter in the dark; and I am but a caretaker of all that I know. I am the Fantasist. I am like a falcon diving into eternity.