It's just some mind, some life, this little knot of destiny woven out of common stuff, constricting lens for awareness - that always passes from there to there - to focus to a here, yet always comically beside the point. You exist in the garden of wonders but can make no more out of it than some dim shadows, a toy world of thrice-told tales and stale horrors and jumbled dreams, which is in itself the very wonder, the very grain of sand in which the universe blossoms, like every single in itself, if only you could see instead of staying stuck to the screen because you can't let go before finding out how the episode ends, before the dull satisfaction of another cliff-hanger and yielding up the day to sleep.