This is a recipe. Kick at your glass house while singing old Scandinavian folk song. Add an optical splinter, image of circus elephants lumbering down main street. Throw in a pearl. If you have a leftover memory of teenage glory, toss it in. I remember dancing with a mannequin after hours in a shop, just for the amusement of my friends. Stir the odd angles of existence with a thermometer. Invite your ancestors.
Notice if your sleeves seem longer or shorter.
Planet of the Blind 