Random Boo

“But why?” she said, “why not?” he responded, “if, as I stand here, in line, waiting to be served at the ASDA checkout, I decide to rub my fingers in circular motion around my nipples, then I will” well what could she say; he had a point. You can’t derail yourself from the tunnel, but when you see the light, you can make sure you’re brighter. A ghost has no concept of time, correction; a ghost has no concept of our time, but then time is relative to everyone anyway. The corpse is nothing more than a husk with the spirit elsewhere, the ghost is the spirit, the ghost is living, or an echo, but we’ll conveniently avoid that bit. Death is nothing more than a transition, and thus you live forever, that is, if ghosts are real. Unless your husk once housed a nut, then you believe in religion (same thing), and therefore believe in heaven, even though it clashes with the ideal of every other living organism on this hanging sphere; I bloody hate harps, and discussions on the calories in Philadelphia light. I don’t want to be rewarded for my inhumane ignorance and arrogance by a creative version of Mussolini. “Is this banana flat?” pondered the monkey on drugs “let’s publish a seven hundred thousand word essay about it” said the other monkey, which had an empty wallet to fill.
Now do that tie up, otherwise you’ll trigger the disapproval of our leader *points at sky whilst doing a woo noise* No; you refuse too? Then I’m afraid expulsion is the only answer, it’s the opinion of the entire staff that Dexter is criminally insane!

A sphere of cheese illuminates the darkness of night as the piercing beams of dreams of light stab the sky like an invasion of glittering monster thingies with the waving things and err, whatever. “What time is it?” said the cat in a box whose survival had just become that little less-questionable. Suddenly, or a little time after suddenly, the sun fell off the sky, and the worms took over.
I hate people; I hate people that leave the cap of the toothpaste thus leaving it to go hard. I hate people that tie the plug chain around the tap fingers. I hate people that say things like “I tell it as it is” or “whatever” whilst attempting to create a double-u sign with their hands. I hate people that re-use teabags. I hate people that shop in their pyjamas. I hate it when people use Metaphysics to assist them in labelling their beliefs as scientific theory. Metaphysics will never be regarded as a true field of science, as Metaphysics appears to be nothing  more than a very large bucket, for idiots to vomit their views into, with little, if any, requirement to scientifically justify their incoherent dribble. Thus, I’m leaving you Metaphysics, it’s not you, it’s me. (Meaning it is ‘all’ you, you bigoted hermit)

“Yes,” I said, trying to sound as convincing as possible. He sort of smiled, and I could tell that he was genuinely pleased with my response. I didn’t actually have a clue what it was that he was trying to say, but in my years as a person, I’ve learned that people prefer the response “yes” to the response “no”

From the Big Bang to Quantum Physics, all the consciousnesses in all of times and spaces, are one! Can you not feel it? No? It’s broken, like a dead cat, a dead cat late for tea, I might add, I might not. Independence is the key here, six and a half billion people are trapped here, and you’re alone? The connection is jam bread; you killed it! You desired this and now you desire that. Desire is a paradox; you desire the option you didn’t take, regardless of what option you did? But, do you want to be connected anyway? I’m a bad person; I’m self-centred, and thus have little, if any, interest in the world that, from my position in space and time, does not exist. Alas, people as generalized, tend to willingly follow, in believing, what they believe, should be believed. The problem is society has progressed no further than the days of the witch hunts in the sixteenth century, like a mob in search of Frankenstein’s monster. A person has a mind, but a mob doesn’t. Home sweet home is like a dentist’s waiting room, Death is just eating his breakfast, climb out the bathroom window! Time is elusive. I, us, you, them, is best ignored, a swing is made for swinging, but don’t expect to be pushed.

He didn’t look happy.
I have stuff to worry about, he said.
He then furrowed his eyebrows.
Sh*t, he said. Fuck*ng sh*t.
This went on for a while. And then:
Oh no, he said. Oh no!
What? I said.
Sh*t! he said.
He was really into it.

So I was hula hooping naked whilst singing Surfin Bird by The Trashmen, just like I do every Sunday morning, when a woman started staring at me from across the street. Seriously, she just stared for a good 10 minutes, with a face like a bulldog licking p*ss of a nettle. Why do people have to be so weird? When children are young, they learn what it means to be inside or outside of their home. Food can be inside or outside of the oven. Dogs can be inside or outside of their kennels. It occurs to them that “inside” and “outside” are terms with wide applicability. So what is outside the universe? There are monsters, hungry monsters, which eat little children who ask too many questions. And rightly so, children are horridly spoilt now, new car, caviar, what did I get as a child? Chicken pox is all I can recall.

My religion says you have to conclude that your own ability to conclude things is faulty, she said.
That’s the only way any of it makes any sense.
I conclude that your religion is faulty, he said.
She concluded that too, but she concluded that her conclusion was false.
So you believe in it too? she said.

In the words of I, even a stopped clock tells the right time twice a day…

Time, and the very existence of everything that is the human concept of reality, is the measurement of what is potentially, immeasurably potential.  Emotions, fear, hate, pain, joy, love, and so on, are conceived to sustain the organism’s existence, and are required to develop what is better known as ‘experience’.  Consciousness is the ability to observe what you think is reality. We’re intimately hooked into the very existence of reality, without observation there would just be, this, expanding superposition of possibilities, with nothing definite ever actually happening.  Every attempt spent on studying particles beyond a certain level, is flawed by the very act of studying. There is no one electron; an electron or any elementary particle exists only in relationship to other particles, or even the universe at large. This means that deeply enough, when you dive down into the nature of matter, everything we know about the everyday world dissolves. There are no objects any more, there are only relationships. There is no locality anymore; there is no time anymore. The more you look at something in detail and what we think of as solid matter, the less solid it begins to look.
The only realities we know are the ones our brain manufactures. A brain receives millions of signals every minute, and we organize them into holograms which we project outside ourselves and label reality. Everything you smell, taste, feel, and see, are simply electrical signals interoperated by your brain. However, it is this very said ‘hologram’ that creates what is, although not, essentially real; what you see as existence, is so because you observe it as, what is, existent. The fabricated reality is reality because you defined the observation that you have presented yourself with. A spatula has the ‘potential’ to turn into a pink elephant, it doesn’t because of consciousness and its perceived concept of the reality it is presented and is collectively responsible for. So, more interestingly, what is then the raison d’être of our consciousness? Is sustaining the existence of what is existence to us the meaning of life?