choose the sword and join me; choose the ball and join your mother in death.
come boy... choose life or death.
they say that there's always a price, but if freedom is the price i've paid for dodging the simple life... then whatever.
the more i think, read, and observe, the more i realize no one knows what they're talking about. it's all smoke and mirrors... glamour. an illusion with the intent to sway your opinion, your thoughts and your concentration onto their reality. the more focus dedicated to a thought, the more real it becomes and that's just what so many people want... they want their lives to be real.
i think what most people are missing: reality is a shared experience. to pin it under glass and staple definitions on it just fucks everything up for everybody.
maybe i've just been re-reading Doom Patrol too much... thinking about epistemology and this dissertation i'm reading called, "Contextualism and Skepticism about the External World"; thinking about being a brain in a jar.
when i was really young, i never believed in God. so, obviously, it moved me to question my exsistence.
once, long, long ago, my friend asked me, "How do you know you're real and not just something I've created in my head?"
i just said, "Then you've made me too well."
even if "God" did create me, he doesn't know what he's done. hear that noise? that's the door slamming shut, cuz i'm gone and no one is gunna catch me...
come boy... choose life or death.
they say that there's always a price, but if freedom is the price i've paid for dodging the simple life... then whatever.
the more i think, read, and observe, the more i realize no one knows what they're talking about. it's all smoke and mirrors... glamour. an illusion with the intent to sway your opinion, your thoughts and your concentration onto their reality. the more focus dedicated to a thought, the more real it becomes and that's just what so many people want... they want their lives to be real.
i think what most people are missing: reality is a shared experience. to pin it under glass and staple definitions on it just fucks everything up for everybody.
maybe i've just been re-reading Doom Patrol too much... thinking about epistemology and this dissertation i'm reading called, "Contextualism and Skepticism about the External World"; thinking about being a brain in a jar.
when i was really young, i never believed in God. so, obviously, it moved me to question my exsistence.
once, long, long ago, my friend asked me, "How do you know you're real and not just something I've created in my head?"
i just said, "Then you've made me too well."
even if "God" did create me, he doesn't know what he's done. hear that noise? that's the door slamming shut, cuz i'm gone and no one is gunna catch me...