Starlight split open his mind

He started having tremendous dreams. One night he dreamt he was enveloped by a giant winding tube that pulled him through the cosmos in an ecstasy of feminine loveliness, as in a Salvia vision… The next night he dreamt he was playing some new sport of incredible brutality, captaining the team that won the World Cup… Simultaneously, he was a degenerate who provided girls and other pleasures for the players… The dreams started spilling into each other and into his waking hours. Work, though he did what he had to do, mattered less and less. Ordinary tasks mattered less and less. There was too much pleasure in following the tows of dreams into their endings and beginnings. He felt bound by fewer and fewer ties. As the imagination takes over, the visible world is reborn and grows large and vibrant. His ego was already half-buried under the weight of it all. He buried the worm with it and flicked off his doubts like peeling skin. Let them cling to some other mind: there wasn’t room for them, and he’d known enough of them for one lifetime anyway. This was how the eunuch dreamer of his past life had imagined it must be like, in the only story he ever wrote (pinched yearnings on a stingy island). Now, his stingy island itself started budding with images. The mortuaries celebrated rebirths. Time leapt back and forth and fractured with delight. Starlight split open his mind. He realised he was happy.