Thursday, 30th August 2001
The What Ifs Remix
Hello Cunts and Cuntless, today I want to type about parasites…
What if we weren’t who we thought we were..? What if all our thoughts, emotions, interpretations of bodily sensations were not ours? What if we were nothing but host bodies, just flesh and flesh alone, for a parasitical organism? What if the 90% of our brain that we do not appear to use was in actual fact reserved for the home of a parasite?
What if as a species, Humans were abhorrent, murderous, heathens? (And I think we are.) What if all the good things that we have ever done were not a product of our godliness, but a direction of the parasite that may, or may not, dwell within us? What if we are innately wondrous godlike beings, (and I think we are), and all the bad things that we do to each other and think of each other were the direction of that said hypothetical parasite..?
“Who can deny that the 20th century was entirely of my creation?”, said Al Pacino as Satan in the movie The Devils Advocate. What if we were taken over by parasites and so the 20th century was all their design..?
What if the people that have / do design / make nuclear bombs are maintaining some unknown symbiotic relationship with some crazed parasitical race and their master plan is for us to blow ourselves and the world inside out so that the parasites can be blown into space to find some other place to colonise as they are bored with us and this planet..?
What if you have never had a private thought in your life and inside of you someone else is laughing at your life..? What if the conflict between emotional / heart thought and logical / brain thought is a conflict between yourself and the inner parasite..? What if all the different voices in your head are the parasites communicating..? What if schizophrenia was simply an ability to tune into the things that may, or may not, live inside of us..?
What if we will never know if they do live inside of us because they will not let us calculate if they do exist in us..? What if they are hiding everything from us..? What if the parasites are the mythical ‘They’..? What if the parasites are the Illuminati..? What if the parasites have made us create tombs, Matrix stylie, for ourselves and then have us hallucinating the world..? What if the parasites let us hallucinate that movie just to see precisely how stupid we are..?
What if the parasites could only be killed by the ingestion of cat shit or ammonia or cyanide or bleach or crack or battery acid..? Would you do it..? What if hosting a parasite made you a godlike person..? Would you host it..?
It’s the Tank Green remix of the ‘What If’s?’…
Tuesday, 28th August 2001
For a lack of something better to do…
I have finally admitted to myself what it is that I should be doing with my time. I say admitted since it is not precisely a new revelation, but just one that I seem unable to talk myself out of…
I have very little self-confidence, even in my fluffiest moments, but no matter how destructive that internal virgoan critic, no matter how much homage I pay to others, I simply am unable to think of something better to do with my time. Or should I say something I would *rather* be doing with my time. There are many better things to do, for example, attaining enlightenment, devoting my life to saving children or near extinct plants and animals. Yes, I can think of nothing I would rather be doing, unless of course, someone happens to know of a way to support oneself by reading books…
So what am else am I to do..? I suppose I could pursue an uninteresting horizon with confidence but I don’t have the heart to do that to myself. I could continue to drift doing nothing of much and something of everything, but I have been doing that for a long time now and it leaves me unfulfilled. I could be a better person and do one of the above listed things, but somehow I feel I would be doing myself a disservice. Yes, I am that selfish…
So I find myself back at my first, confidence free choice. I find that simply for a lack of choice, simply for a lack of extensive interests, simply for a lack of imagination, simply for a lack of something better to do, I find myself communing with butterflies, sweaty palms, silence and that thing that I would never have the courage to choose for itself…
Sometimes there is just no running away from anything…