... we [seem to] leave the body behind us and sail away into one strange scene after another, like disembodied spirits...

All this perpetration: What's it *for*?

Every institution is made of text — the text *is* the institution. Civilization is [only? merely?] a network of interlocking institutions, of interpenetrating texts.

Text is [all] about transport [—] away from here and from now — "we... sail away into one strange scene after another..."

Noooo... we *live* in one strange scene after another, only snapping back to here and now when the meat needs some attention, but that takes only a moment, and then we're off again, sailing....

No wonder some say life is like a dream, it *is* a dream, the one our ancestors built for us to inhabit, and which we're constantly, restlessly renovating, dolling up, elaborating, building out wings, piling story on story(!), adding room after room and filling 'em up with furniture & gewgaws.

It makes for a lot of noise, everything being under construction all the time. Noise & blinding light, pushing back the darkness, the silence — the here and the now haven't got a chance, nothing stands still, it's like being in the middle of an explosion, except the center is everywhere.

I can't get my bearings, I can't get my breath, I can't hold it together, everything's flying, sailing away... one strange scene after another... like a dream...