I have solved the riddle of existence, and it’s like this: life is, in the most literal sense imaginable, what you make it. There is only a ghost in a machine and it is us; there is no other.
Everything is inherently completely hollow. Everything is made of information, which does not really exist. Nothing is real. We’re all just making this up as we go along. I shit you not. Things aquire energy according to the energy which is afforded to them by the perceiver(s).
Voila, the world is over.
Whether this constitutes a tragic or a happy ending – or just the ‘meh’ to end all ‘meh’s – is, most appropriately, left as an exercise for the reader.
Good afternoon.
Typical of me to get someone else to remind me that i’m not real… or rather, I am and no one else is.
Either way, I wonder why I chose you to remind me?
Damnit, why did you have to go and end the world *before* the season premier of Lost?
Adam – I don’t know but I expect you had your reasons.
hitshermark – Sorry about that. If it’s any consolation, the season premier of “Lost” has never existed, except in peoples’ minds.
I know this is a big bomb to drop, but the fact of the matter is, all television is made up. TV itself is an invention.
God damn I’m one inventive son of a bitch.
Next, define real. 😉
We are all inventive sons of bitches together. That’s how I look at it. I think. There are other ways of course. So very many.
I can define ‘real’ if you can define ‘definition’. Get back to me.
*picks up phone*
*disappears*