Sometimes, the world around me seems like a reflection on water. Insubstantial. I'm not sure why this is. The people aren't insubstantial. The trees, the mountains, the rivers and waterfalls and oceans, don't seem insubstantial, but they all seem to be connected to whatever lies beneath the surface, what is hidden by this reflection, yes, including the people, whether they are fully aware of it or no. Like undersea mountains that break the surface to form islands. Walls seem insubstantial. Carpet and computers and shelving and chairs and lamps and tables and washers and driers and towels and clothes and television and and and... these are what seem insubstantial. Not that they are bad. Nor good. Perhaps they provide comfort, warmth, a way to nourish one's self, convenience when writing or painting, but they are not Real. Only reflections. I don't really understand it, I'm not trying to be metaphorical or deep, but this is the way my mind perceives things.