Real acutely, are we dreaming the life we smile.

Dreams are acutely real. The sensation we can rate against our home world, is far from dimmed down, or constructed. Streaking into the upper atmosphere in a next-generation jet as an especially-esteemed, lucky passenger, I thought : I can feel the magnitude of the afterburners. We are going straight up, mach 3 full power and the cockpit is starting to roast. The sheer caloric burn (and molecular friction) is cooking the plane. I begin to get queasy; don’t puke. My limbs are lead weights, I’m passing out. So this is why they wear CPR suits! The sky is dark; I see stars, ever too faintly. Suddenly, we slow. It’s like hitting the brakes yet all we’re doing, is hitting our limit of thrust. I sickly slide into real-world perception; I’ve got to return. I’ll never have this ride.
Relax! [I seamlessly drop through sleep.]

We’re following a meteor down; the front of the jet is flowing into dawn, glowing violently red. I am totally weightless, and survive a crunching wound in my ears. We begin to rotate as we jab the needle of the plane back towards earth, as I feel like puking again. The speed is unbelievable; I watch the earth’s curvature dome, and flatten to a dim topographical map, as the pilot heaves a hearty yell, and arcs parallel to the ground. My body is squished to mere atomic thickness, and it blacks out abruptly. It comes to at level flight; we are next to a massive sub-orbital plane, undergoing testing of some kind. Sorry about that, the pilot says. Sorry about what? I mumble thickly, though my lips of ill-inflated inner tubes, poorly-nestled in a cheap re-tread tire of my face. That was … my brain wasn’t working right. He seemed to understand. Watch this. He says thought the headset, which feels two feet from my ears. His play-by-play is a tinny gramophone record, a scratched wax cylinder running around the outer surface of my brain. Nevertheless, it is miraculous. You are seeing the future of planes. Its skin changes shape, to accomodate emergency needs.
[Yesterday was terrible]
Perspective is smiling on you.
How else could it arrive so elegantly? Perspective can be a curse. That’s what they all say. Well isn’t it true? Deep in your heart of hearts, you know it’s not. Perspective is a gift we shun, to preserve our ignorance, which makes life seemingly easier to live. In reality, ignorance is your curse. Even children live the open fields of unbridled perspective, though they may not verify this state, in actions or words.