Ou Ou Ou?

In my dreams I was driving pillows that became canoes. I was attending parties where time stood still. I was vaulting buildings with ease.
In reality I was searching for clues and opening safes. I was surrounded by stranger strangers. I was wasting my day.

Is the phenomenal world really just information that is projected from our minds?
What is time?

I am haunted by the idea that I may never accomplish all of those things that I say I will.
That maybe I will spend my life on a piece of art only to realize that it isn't art.

And in that time, reality will slip away from me and I will become the walking dead.
There will be my body, and inside there will be me. From two empty sockets I will look upon the world and observe the very nature of purgatory while my body toils away on what used to be art

"Imagine being sentient but not alive. Seeing and even knowing, but not alive. Just looking out...Sometimes what looks out at you from a person's eyes maybe died back in childhood."
Philip K. Dick

In this world, what we create will outlast us by generations, and will be more important than ourselves. Well...what if all we create is trash and more trash. What if the cumulative effort of our life is a slightly above average heap of waste?

This probably applies to more people than we even know.

Can I recognize suffering?
Can I end suffering?

Apologize
Pull out his eyes
Pull out his eyes
Apologize

We are still protoplasm...drifting within the microcosmos...stretching to evolve...to escape.

Or Or where?