巫师w
love
我曾无数次无意识的让自己沉入迷梦之境，像个自愿迷失的旅人，追逐着那些比现实更真实的幻象。每一次吸入梦境中那神秘的烟雾，我都像只飞蛾，义无反顾地扑向那炽热而超现实的火焰。起初，我以为自己是探险家，是敢于叩问意识边界的先锋，但渐渐地，我发现自己更像个被困在荒诞剧场的观众，目瞪口呆地看着一场场永无止境的怪戏上演。
迷梦之境是个贪婪的怪兽！它啃噬着我对现实的最后一丝依恋。它比任何梦境都鲜活，比任何清醒时分都要诱人……每当我从迷幻的迷宫跌跌撞撞归来，现实的模样就愈发变得模糊，像一幅被水浸湿的画，色彩斑驳，边界尽失。我开始怀疑，究竟哪一边才是真的？是那光怪陆离、满是奇异生物和包含无尽智慧的迷梦之境，还是这个平庸无趣、塞满了琐事和责任的日常？
我向来不会粗暴地管那些旅程称为“创伤”——不！那太简单了！它们更像某种神明赐予我的诡异礼物，虽裹着超凡的体验，却在心上刻下抹不去的痕迹。每每归来之时，我都像从另一个人生中被强行抽离一般，身上还带着淡淡的余辉，可现实的冷风却毫不留情地扑面而来。我发现自己越来越难融入这个所谓的“正常”社会，像个被放逐被抛弃的无助灵魂，只能游荡在人群当中，却触碰不到任何“真实”。
我见过太多同路人，那些曾与我并肩探索的旅伴。如今，他们大都变成了只会喋喋不休、自命不凡的空想家，嘴里念着从迷梦之境剽窃的“真理”，他们像是被那超现实迷宫诅咒的囚徒……
可笑的是，我竟对这种与现实脱节的状态生出一丝病态的快感。就像个自虐的艺术家，明知每一次沉沦都在割断与现实的联系，却还是乐此不疲地跳进去。或许，我早已成了个黑色幽默的笑话：一个自以为窥见宇宙奥秘的智者，其实不过是个在迷梦里的可怜虫。
有时候，我怀疑这一切就是一场荒诞的闹剧，而我只是那个在舞台上滑稽摔倒的小丑，引得观众——也许是某个更高维度的存在——发出会心的嘲笑。至于长期浸泡在迷梦之境里，心理上会不会与现实脱节？这是必然的！因为那超现实的空间太过于真实，真实到让你开始鄙视这个乏味的世界。代价是什么呢？是变成一个只会空谈“真理”的废物，还是彻底把自己献给那贪婪的梦境？我并不知道。但我知道，每次我再迈进去一步，梦境之中的超越体验和创伤经历就会在我身上留下持久的痕迹……看我多荒唐～多可悲～多有趣哈哈哈哈～
MODERATOR EDIT: TRANSLATION
I have unconsciously let myself sink into the realm of dream-illusions countless times, like a traveler who willingly loses their way, chasing visions more real than reality itself. Each time I inhale the mysterious mist of the dream, I become like a moth, plunging without hesitation toward a burning, surreal flame. At first, I thought I was an explorer - a pioneer daring to knock on the boundaries of consciousness. But gradually, I realized I was more like a spectator trapped in an absurd theater, staring wide-eyed as one grotesque play after another unfolds endlessly.
The dream realm is a greedy beast! It devours the last threads of my attachment to reality. It is more vivid than any dream, more seductive than any waking moment... Every time I stumble back from that psychedelic labyrinth, the shape of reality becomes even blurrier, like a watercolor soaked in water - its colors mottled, its edges dissolved. I begin to doubt: which side is real? The dazzling, bizarre dreamland filled with strange creatures and boundless wisdom? Or this mundane, tedious world crammed with trivialities and responsibilities?
I've never crudely labeled those journeys as "trauma" - no! That would be far too simple. They are more like some strange gift from a god: wrapped in transcendent experience, yet carving indelible marks into my heart. Every time I return, it feels as if I've been forcibly pulled out of another life, still carrying its faint afterglow - only to be struck by the cold wind of reality, merciless and sharp. I find it increasingly difficult to blend into this so-called "normal" society, like a helpless soul exiled and abandoned, drifting through crowds without ever touching anything "real."
I've seen many fellow travelers - companions who once explored at my side. Now, most of them have become pretentious dreamers, endlessly parroting "truths" stolen from the dream realm. They're like prisoners cursed by that surreal maze...
The ridiculous thing is that I've developed a kind of sick pleasure in this disconnection from reality. Like a masochistic artist, I know that each descent cuts another thread tying me to the world, and yet I eagerly plunge back in again. Perhaps I've already become a dark joke: someone who fancies themselves a sage glimpsing the secrets of the universe, but in truth is just a pitiful creature trapped in a dream.
Sometimes I suspect this is nothing but an absurd farce, and I'm the clown slipping and falling on stage - drawing the knowing laughter of some higher-dimensional audience. As for whether prolonged immersion in the dream realm leads to psychological detachment from reality? That's inevitable! Because that surreal space is too real - so real that it makes you despise this dull world.
And the price? Perhaps to become someone who can only talk emptily about "truth," or to give myself entirely to the greedy dream. I don't know. But I do know this: with every step I take deeper, the transcendent experiences and traumatic imprints of that realm carve ever more lasting marks upon me...
Look at me - how absurd, how pathetic, how amusing! Hahahaha-
迷梦之境是个贪婪的怪兽！它啃噬着我对现实的最后一丝依恋。它比任何梦境都鲜活，比任何清醒时分都要诱人……每当我从迷幻的迷宫跌跌撞撞归来，现实的模样就愈发变得模糊，像一幅被水浸湿的画，色彩斑驳，边界尽失。我开始怀疑，究竟哪一边才是真的？是那光怪陆离、满是奇异生物和包含无尽智慧的迷梦之境，还是这个平庸无趣、塞满了琐事和责任的日常？
我向来不会粗暴地管那些旅程称为“创伤”——不！那太简单了！它们更像某种神明赐予我的诡异礼物，虽裹着超凡的体验，却在心上刻下抹不去的痕迹。每每归来之时，我都像从另一个人生中被强行抽离一般，身上还带着淡淡的余辉，可现实的冷风却毫不留情地扑面而来。我发现自己越来越难融入这个所谓的“正常”社会，像个被放逐被抛弃的无助灵魂，只能游荡在人群当中，却触碰不到任何“真实”。
我见过太多同路人，那些曾与我并肩探索的旅伴。如今，他们大都变成了只会喋喋不休、自命不凡的空想家，嘴里念着从迷梦之境剽窃的“真理”，他们像是被那超现实迷宫诅咒的囚徒……
可笑的是，我竟对这种与现实脱节的状态生出一丝病态的快感。就像个自虐的艺术家，明知每一次沉沦都在割断与现实的联系，却还是乐此不疲地跳进去。或许，我早已成了个黑色幽默的笑话：一个自以为窥见宇宙奥秘的智者，其实不过是个在迷梦里的可怜虫。
有时候，我怀疑这一切就是一场荒诞的闹剧，而我只是那个在舞台上滑稽摔倒的小丑，引得观众——也许是某个更高维度的存在——发出会心的嘲笑。至于长期浸泡在迷梦之境里，心理上会不会与现实脱节？这是必然的！因为那超现实的空间太过于真实，真实到让你开始鄙视这个乏味的世界。代价是什么呢？是变成一个只会空谈“真理”的废物，还是彻底把自己献给那贪婪的梦境？我并不知道。但我知道，每次我再迈进去一步，梦境之中的超越体验和创伤经历就会在我身上留下持久的痕迹……看我多荒唐～多可悲～多有趣哈哈哈哈～
MODERATOR EDIT: TRANSLATION
I have unconsciously let myself sink into the realm of dream-illusions countless times, like a traveler who willingly loses their way, chasing visions more real than reality itself. Each time I inhale the mysterious mist of the dream, I become like a moth, plunging without hesitation toward a burning, surreal flame. At first, I thought I was an explorer - a pioneer daring to knock on the boundaries of consciousness. But gradually, I realized I was more like a spectator trapped in an absurd theater, staring wide-eyed as one grotesque play after another unfolds endlessly.
The dream realm is a greedy beast! It devours the last threads of my attachment to reality. It is more vivid than any dream, more seductive than any waking moment... Every time I stumble back from that psychedelic labyrinth, the shape of reality becomes even blurrier, like a watercolor soaked in water - its colors mottled, its edges dissolved. I begin to doubt: which side is real? The dazzling, bizarre dreamland filled with strange creatures and boundless wisdom? Or this mundane, tedious world crammed with trivialities and responsibilities?
I've never crudely labeled those journeys as "trauma" - no! That would be far too simple. They are more like some strange gift from a god: wrapped in transcendent experience, yet carving indelible marks into my heart. Every time I return, it feels as if I've been forcibly pulled out of another life, still carrying its faint afterglow - only to be struck by the cold wind of reality, merciless and sharp. I find it increasingly difficult to blend into this so-called "normal" society, like a helpless soul exiled and abandoned, drifting through crowds without ever touching anything "real."
I've seen many fellow travelers - companions who once explored at my side. Now, most of them have become pretentious dreamers, endlessly parroting "truths" stolen from the dream realm. They're like prisoners cursed by that surreal maze...
The ridiculous thing is that I've developed a kind of sick pleasure in this disconnection from reality. Like a masochistic artist, I know that each descent cuts another thread tying me to the world, and yet I eagerly plunge back in again. Perhaps I've already become a dark joke: someone who fancies themselves a sage glimpsing the secrets of the universe, but in truth is just a pitiful creature trapped in a dream.
Sometimes I suspect this is nothing but an absurd farce, and I'm the clown slipping and falling on stage - drawing the knowing laughter of some higher-dimensional audience. As for whether prolonged immersion in the dream realm leads to psychological detachment from reality? That's inevitable! Because that surreal space is too real - so real that it makes you despise this dull world.
And the price? Perhaps to become someone who can only talk emptily about "truth," or to give myself entirely to the greedy dream. I don't know. But I do know this: with every step I take deeper, the transcendent experiences and traumatic imprints of that realm carve ever more lasting marks upon me...
Look at me - how absurd, how pathetic, how amusing! Hahahaha-
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