Random Boo

“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?

The mind is eternal, infinite, and spiritually potential. Unlike the encompassing body, it exists outside space and time. The body is not eternal and infinite, but instead decays and is webbed into the delusional reality matrix of now and here.
My reflection incarcerates me, envelopes me in a nauseating consciousness. Why? It nauseates me because I’m no longer free; I’m no longer infinite. Infinite means having no limits, and having no limits means beginning and ending nowhere, encompassing everything everywhere always. Therefore, from the point of view of an infinite being, nothing exists but it; it is totally, absolutely, and unconditionally everything and all that there is. To an un-reflected me, there are no others, not even the concept ‘others’. No ‘me’, no ‘you’, no ‘we’ no ‘they’ no ‘this’, no ‘that’, no ‘these’, no ‘those’. There is only ‘I’. In the entire Universe, there is only one identity, and it is ‘I’. It is that, no matter how many things may seem to you to exist, from the point of view of an infinite me, there exists only one thing, in only one place, at only one time, and all of that is and always is wholly itself, I.
By definition, I is mind and mind encompasses, or includes, or is, everything that there is, and therefore there exists — there can exist — no thing, no where, and no when, which it is not. Whatever is, it is. That is what being infinite is; living in the mind, means: Having no limits of any kind. No beginning and no end, no fixed centre and no circumference. No boundaries of any kind, neither in time nor in space, or in any other dimension; no specific form, either physical or conceptual, no name and no shape.
In order to make proper use of a mirror, a viewer must be able to distinguish himself or herself from everything else reflected in the glass, not to mention from the glass itself, and the room in which it is located, and the time and the space in which the reflection is occurring. It’s this reality that troubles me, bounds and limits me to self. I become no longer infinite; I’m dying.