(no subject)
The syntactical nature of reality is really messing with my head these days. I've realized and re-realized that the world is made with words, and quite frankly, that's a little disconcerting (unless you need to manipulate reality, which is pretty tempting). Just the fact that everyone has to make their own symbolic connections with these words just freaking boggles me -- so many connections being made spontaneously. It really brings home to me the tenuousness and utter futility of existing. Everything we've ever named we have created. I'm not talking about natural phenomena, of course lightning will continue to strike, fish continue to swim. But all these ideas about relationships, the meaning of home, just... everything, only really a figment of our brains, a trick.
Many days I wonder if I'm dreaming or waking.
And then I wonder, what "I" means.
Then the morning routine begins. It feels like automatic pilot, hurrying towards an inevitable end. Constant cycles of waking and sleeping, living and dying, Somehow that's the only truly common experience.
So, since I'm a part of this bizarre blip, I might as well play into it... full knowledge and all. After all, life goes on...
Many days I wonder if I'm dreaming or waking.
And then I wonder, what "I" means.
Then the morning routine begins. It feels like automatic pilot, hurrying towards an inevitable end. Constant cycles of waking and sleeping, living and dying, Somehow that's the only truly common experience.
So, since I'm a part of this bizarre blip, I might as well play into it... full knowledge and all. After all, life goes on...