my mind weaves intricacies like mental carpet, while a candle scorches the wall and the wind outside is stirring trees more eternal than my pitiful musings can ever be. i make molehills of mountains and nuclear blasts of roll caps, reduce the world to an assignment and myself to the world, make myself a whole lot bigger than my mind knows i should be...

i don't think the world revolves around me, i don't see that it should, and if it did wouldn't it be better? wouldn't my every whim be catered for? or perhaps not. i can't claim to know why we're here, i didn't put us here and i don't maintain our presence. i am not immortal, omnipotent, superhuman, supernatural. i am very much not these things.

just a sack of blood and tears, a little organism in the world's Agar, experiment to something larger than my thoughts are to my grey matter and my stomach to my actions. what if the world is just an experiment? god's screensaver? a fluke of evolution? what if? what if? who cares what if, we can never know the answer.

but then i'll enrol in another philosophy course, because i can't leave it alone. things'd be happier if i was some dumb fuck sporto who didn't think of such things, at least i wouldn't be troubled by the weight of the world and the meaning of why i'm here at all; a mere human who enslaves himself to appliances and plastic objects that command me to answer.



© heretic 1997