An Ontological Discussion With Matt [Short Story]

An Ontological Discussion with Matt
by Joel Nickel

“Every person is actually the same being experiencing reality subjectively,” Matt pulled the cup to his mouth. His words were spoken as though they were mundane and ordinary; some trivial conversation about some idle piece of gossip.
They sat down in the café after both had ordered drinks.
Lillith was so shaken by the enormity of Matt’s words that her body convulsed as though her whole body was doing a comically exaggerated double take for some hammy vaudevillian act.
“Holy fuck? What?” She immediately covered her mouth. “Sorry,” she looked down, embarrassed. “I meant, to say . . .”
“I think you meant to say ‘holy fuck’,” Matt grinned.
She chuckled shyly and then tried to sit up straight. “Okay, I’m going to think about this critically. Convince me.”
“I think humans are identical pieces of the same being, but are represented in the physical world separately by each person’s consciousness. And only in that way are we differentiated. If we went back to the spiritual world we’d just be part of that same being. All consciousness is supplied by one being hosting separate bodies; a meta-subjective view of reality.”
“Hmmm, so that thing is everybody?” she swirled the coffee around with her brown plastic stir stick.
“Yes, but I think it’s a single being from a duality. There is good essence and evil essence inside us. When one of the essences controls another being more than the other that person becomes good or bad.”
“That would explain why so many religions are built around the idea that the world started by God for humans. Maybe consciousness developed when this entity was able to harness the body of the homo sapiens and insert it’s consciousness onto it,” she took a drink from her coffee.
“I believe that the first modern man and woman were given consciousness by just such an entity. So the Bible’s Adam and Eve were actually just the first two homo sapiens that had consciousness. And that explains how there were other homo sapiens for Cain and Able to mate with. They were just mating with homo sapiens who hadn’t attained consciousness. Maybe the first consciousness was only in Adam and Eve, but then through birth it separated from Adam and Eve into Cain and Able. And then was transferred to the rest of humanity through Cain. Eating from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil was a metaphor for homo sapiens attaining consciousness. Both good and evil energies existed together as one in both Adam and Eve, but when they had children the energies were split apart. Cain contained more evil than good and Able contained more good than evil. But then Cain killed Able and the majority of goodness was lost from the timeline and the rest of humanity is filled with the evil energy that Cain propagated through the generations.”
“What if Adam and Eve have a good son that was hidden away?”
“Woah. What if he wasn’t written about again until Mary, but rather than the virgin birth, Mary was actually part of the biological line of the good son of Adam and Eve had hidden away from Cain’s evil lineage. What if in that isolation from Cain the good energy lineage exercised a kind of sexual selection where only those with a high amount of goodness were allowed to procreate until we reach Jesus who was almost entirely good energy. When Jesus became aware of the way that the Jewish religion had been distorted as a system of control over the people through the influence of an elite few, he decided to expose humanity to the real message. Everyone is a subjective piece of God’s consciousness.”
“What if the context of what Jesus said was altered by the people who reprinted the Bible? The original Hebrew was changed to Greek and then from Greek to Old English, right? I’m pretty sure that’s right,” it had been a long time since she was ever in Sunday School and she really didn’t know that much about religion so she decided to stop herself and Matt continued.
She looked down at the floor.
“There are single words in certain languages that represent whole concepts. Since word is a whole concept, it can only be translated as a sentence when there is no equivalent word in the language it’s being translated into. Although, actually I can’t think of an example in English,” he paused, scrunching his face together and looking up as though he were trying to peer inside his brain with his eyes and that somehow that would help him remember. “Well, the French have a word ennui. And ennui, means . . . actually,” Matt pulled out his smartphone and entered the word into the search engine on his browser. After an unbelievably short time, which wasn’t appreciated or even acknowledged as being as miraculous as it was, the smartphone gave him the knowledge he was desiring. “Ennui is the feeling of weariness and dissatisfaction. That one word actually means an entire concept. And the word petrichor! That is the scent of rain on dry earth. Both are concepts condensed into one word. What words in original Hebrew were like ennui and petrichor? Maybe the meaning conveyed in those original words were mistranslated when the scriptures were transferred over to Greek. And then again when the Bible was translated into English? I always wondered if when Jesus said ‘we should love another as yourself,’ he wasn’t meaning you should love one another as separate, disconnected individuals. Maybe he was saying you actually ARE the other person. Only you are subjectively viewing existence and have a different individual past that we have named as our self to which we tether recollections of events as having happened to that self. But it’s only because we’ve had different experiences from one another that shape our behaviour and the way we interact and perceive the world. There’s that atheistic argument that religion is dependant on where you are born. If you’re born in the US you’re probably going to be a Christian. If you’re born in China you’ll be a Confucian or a Buddhist and if you’re Japanese you’ll probably be Shinto. Those cultural designations and expectations will colour your experience of reality.”
Lillith remained silent. Staring, unblinking, contemplating.
Matt continued: “rather than being separate and antagonistic we should recognize that while we are only experiencing the world subjectively, our consciousness is the same consciousness as any and every other person experiencing reality subjectively through their body. That’s a pretty intense idea for the whole of humanity to posses if a certain amount of subjective experiencers want to retain their individuality and their control and power over others. So what did the Pharisees do? Well they killed Jesus and then made it seem like he was a heretic. He was going up against the control, the influence, the power, and the evil that Cain’s lineage stood for. Cain’s influence as the evil force even ended up usurping the spiritual message that Jesus true followers were trying to get out. The church instead used Christianity the religion to control the masses. Not to free them with knowledge. In the Dark Ages only the clergy and noblemen could really read. Why? ‘Cause knowledge. That’s why! Those who possess knowledge possess the power to shape the perception of those who do not have that knowledge. Have you ever told a lie and you knew it was a lie but the other person you told trust you so much that they believe that you are telling them the truth. In that moment you have altered their experience of objective reality. With words, you have changed that person’s awareness of truth. You have made an illusory film that obscures the other person’s awareness of the true, objective reality. So yah, if most people can’t read, they can’t verify whether what the bishop at the front of the church is actually reading is written on the pages of the book in front of him, or whether the speech and its meaning are simply propaganda that aims to control the thoughts and actions of others for the benefit of the elite. That’s why whenever I hear something I also put the information through a prism of critical observation. Who is telling me this information? Why are they telling me this information? Could the messenger have a motive or a bias?”
Lillith continued to stare at him. She was aware now that he was emitting a subtle light that danced in the air around him. She felt a recognition of understanding in his eyes and then she felt an odd sense of deja-vu. She remembered this experience. She remembered this conversation but she remembered it through the subjective experience of Matt.


The Puppet Shaman – An Ouroboros Short Story

“Einstein proved that time is relative and that there’s no reason why time should always be moving forward. There’s the time’s arrow thing; that something happened before and it caused this. But, what if they’re not sequential moments in time but are momentary snapshots that we, because we have memory, phase into and out of in a linear way,” Alex said excitedly.

“Okay, maybe I’m just high, but I didn’t understand any of that, Alex,” Greg giggled. After the service, those of the Mokeyists who indulged in hallucinogens stayed behind for a kind of second service. Usually, it was only Alex, his girlfriend Faith, and Greg. Nathan and Laura usually attended the second service but he hadn’t heard from Laura since the breakup and Nathan would only just be arriving in Korea.

“Okay,” Alex paused. “What if every moment in time exists simultaneously however we can only experience one snapshot at any one time and after we phase through that one snapshot it goes back to the whole where every snapshot in time exists simultaneously.”

“Sweet!” Greg’s unfocused eyes were almost completely dilated. Alex knew Greg had grey eyes. But the three of them had just taken mushrooms so now the colour was swallowed by pupil. Part of Alex wanted to check the mirror to see if his eyes looked like Greg’s but he knew that mirrors were often unfriendly on psychedelics. While all that was going on inside his head, he’d forgotten that he had a body outside of his thoughts and just sat there with a slack spine, staring into Greg’s eyes.

“Posture!” Faith reminded him sweetly, stroking his shoulder lovingly. Continue reading

End – a short story from the ouroboros universe.

Edward felt the wind rip past his face. As it scraped along his stubble he could feel the division of space where Walter ended and everything else took over. Edward was always trying to convince Walter that any and all things beyond his thin barrier of skin cells were not at all separate but was actually one big gelatin like substance.

<<You’re only wading through it on your journey, past to future, through your momentary flashes of segmented awareness>> Walter accepted that most of what Edward said was meant to fuck with his mind; a mind that was already overloaded with disjointed and frayed connections, distorted further still by the constant hum of static.

Am I mad because of the static? Or is the static a manifestation of my insanity? He didn’t bother asking Edward. Walter knew what his answer would be.

<<We’re all mad. Some are just better at hiding it than others>>

Edward was waiting for Jake, though usually it was Walter that went to meetings. Edward was unpredictable. Walter liked meetings to be lucid and then the job itself would be passed on to Edward. Walter didn’t want to be around when Edward worked. That’s why he did so much acid. Acid made the division between Walter and Edward that much thicker and dulled the uncomfortable intricacies of the profession Edward loved so much. Walter had tried before to just accept it but he wasn’t like Edward. Something he never let Walter forget.

Usually Walter would leave Edward to his work while he escaped into the churning heaviness of an acid trip. Sometimes he took ketamine, but Edward said he couldn’t work while Walter was thrashing around in a k-hole. Edward insisted Walter only use LSD when the auto club needed him to work. Edward was silent and Walter was anxiously trying to repel paranoid thoughts that came charging out at him from the darkness.

I should’ve left the phone in the car, Walter felt an itch in his nose and their body made a move to scratch it. As the finger slid up their nose to pursue the itch, another feeling poked at his unfocused awareness. The phlegmy residue of the ketamine slid out from his sinuses. It crept along the skin at the back of his throat, dropping excess globs of the viscous solution on his tongue as it did.

Since the first line of Special K the night was charged with a dark malevolence that crackled around Walter’s fractured mind. Edward had no jobs planned and that’s why Walter had gone to see the man in the purple suit to stock up. LSD. Ketamine. DMT. Mushrooms. Walter trusted the man in the purple suit, as much as Walter was able to trust another person, so he didn’t hesitate dosing Edward with three hits of acid when he asked. On the second shared peak, the man in the purple suit started stomping about the room aggressively. The dark energy pulsed and ballooned up in intensity, pressing outward larger and larger until Walter could feel the seething malevolence stabbing at his skin.

“Hey man, did, uh, did I accidentally give you the white ones?”

Walter stared at the man in the purple suit silently.

“’Cause those were actually my personal ones. How many did you take?”

Edward reminded Walter that they’d taken three. Walter held up three fingers.

The man in the purple suit cackled in a hysterical flick of his whole body that arced back before swinging back the opposite way. The expanding energy continued to stab at Walter’s skin.

“Holy shit, dude! There were 300 mics in each of those!”

The laughter angered Edward. Walter was about to let him take over but then his phone began to ring. Jake wanted to meet. He wasn’t sure about what or why he’d called so late.

<<It’s our night off!>> Edward reminded Walter.

He knew they should’ve said no, but Edward was about to stab the man in the purple suit and Walter didn’t want to go searching for another source with quality shit.

There was a ludicrously elongated moment where Walter was convinced that rather than recalling the night’s events with the man in the purple suit that they had actually jumped the temporal track and inserted themselves back in that time. It didn’t feel like simply recalling a memory of earlier that night but then Edward reminded them that they were still spiking hard from 900 mics of LSD.

The chemicals hummed but Edward was in mechanic mode. It was almost too much for Walter who was still trying to flee and lose himself in the nothingness of buzzing images and fragmented thoughts lacking any discernable sequence.

The air scratched past him again and he could almost feel the individual cells lifting away like shingles in a hurricane. It made Walter wonder how many skin follicles the wind had taken with it and how many cells from other beings were floating in the air around him. His spine tightened. The idea of bits of dislocated skin spiraling around in the ether made him think of those mites that live on your eyelashes, living out their whole lives beneath the towering structures that to them would look like redwoods dotting the pink surface of their world.

What do we live our lives upon?

While Walter was tossed around in the choppy waves of quantum non-locality, Edward was present and excitedly waiting for orders.

<<It isn’t like Jake to be late>> Edward tried to slow his portion of their mind and throw off the dark feeling that hovered over him. Edward tried to identify the malevolent force concealed behind the impenetrable skin of the unseen. Every muscle in his face tensed down in crazed concentration. He was disheartened by his inability to articulate the pulsing waves of terror that were throbbing through him. It was like Edward could almost see . . . it. But the resolution was so pixilated that the true picture was lost in large solid squares. <<Either I’m too close or its image is blown up far too large for me to make it out>> He realized he needed to either pull back or shrink . . . it.

Edward became aware that he was far closer to the edge than he should be. He didn’t want to lose himself inside the throbbing electricity of his splintered mind since Walter was already far off beyond him, rising and falling off in the distance carried around by the invisible waves of madness.

Edward tried to wrench his awareness back into their body. Edward was away from it long enough that when he did return, their body was wobbling uneasily back in forth like a newborn calf. He snatched control before their body collapsed completely and shot out an arm to steady their body against the bricks.

Edward had entered crazed eyes that were darting around, unfocused and purposeless. When he finally calmed them, he reached into his pocket for a joint he hoped would settle him.

Walter, seeing Edward’s hassle with operating their body, cut himself away from the aimless waves and decided to take over Edward’s aborted quest to uncover the name of the illusive malevolent force. Someone had to be inside, and someone had to be outside. Walter thought it only polite to help Edward out since he was on outside duty at the moment.

Just before the peak of Walter’s search-and his 900 microgram acid trip-his exhausted mind collapsed, sputtering clumsily and finally stalling completely. His attempt could only revealed a frustratingly partial identity for their invisible terror.


Edward blinked dopily as their brain rebooted from the critical systems crash Walter had caused. Walter eventually rejoined Edward in their unsteady body back in reality. Both were crippled by the profound, yet terrifyingly limited, awareness of End. What scared them more, was that they knew End was not its true name. End was just the name it went by; the name it gave to those it didn’t already know. End was but a codename and Edward knew that behind the invisible skin of End there existed something more.

Their whole body shivered but then he laughed. His loud, sparking laughter blasted out into the ambient noise of the Exchange District alley. The hysterical grunting of their insanity infected the charged hum of night traffic running up Main Street and along Portage Avenue to the South.

As the intensity drained, Edward’s relative lucidity returned and the strings connecting his mind with his physical senses began to reattach themselves. His eyes focused and he saw that he was standing in the back alley in the Exchange. He was cloaked in sickly, yellow light raining down from the metal fire escape above. Edward could see his shadow stretched out in front of him, long and sinister. As he stared at his own shadow, textured by the pebbles and cracked stone it flowed over, Edward wanted to name his shadow End too. He coughed as he turned his head to look at the glowing tip of the joint he held in his fingers. He saw the ribbon of smoke float upwards, displacing itself into the nothingness of air around him.

He laughed loudly again and shook his head. He reminded himself once again that the man in the purple suit had dosed them with a ridiculous amount of acid before they’d gotten the call to come meet Jake. Edward pulled again on the joint. He reminded himself that weed always made him paranoid.

The intense psychedelic detour had caused their hands to sweat. He put the joint between his lips and wiped his clammy hands on his shirt.

What the fuck is taking Jake so long? Walter wondered anxiously fidgeting inside their mind.

The phone in their pocket vibrated and their whole body tensed.

It wasn’t a number Walter recognized so he stared anxiously at the phone and didn’t answer it.

Eventually, the ringing stopped.

“Edward,” a calm baritone voice filtered out from the darkness of the alley. It squirmed its way into his ear canal where the sensation was distilled into sparks of anxious electricity that sped off to his brain. They jolted him with the true meaning and identity of End.

He didn’t recognize the voice though it wasn’t as if the auto club would have sent someone they had ever met before.

Edward knew it wouldn’t do any good but Walter was already trying anyway. Edward knew the inevitability of what was coming.

<<So everyone makes that face at the end>> Inside, Edward smirked as Walter pleaded through pathetically hysterical tears. He was too terrified to be amused. The face was a grimace that marked the instant they became aware of the moments they had left between the one they were in and their last, when the nothingness would snap them away forever. Before, Edward had always found that expression humorous. No longer. Now he understood. At their own end, Walter (and therefore Edward) was making that terrifyingly unfunny face. 

Edward felt End growing with sinister intensity. Walter did too. They felt it like a bright flare that scorched their skin wherever gelatin reality touched the barrier of cells separating them from End. Edward knew he had never once shown mercy. The auto club would never have paid them if he’d ever shown mercy. He’d never really thought about it from the other side before, but then that moment too-imbued with unappreciated irony-dissolved into nothingness, shoving him closer and closer to End.

Edward birthed a plan to stretch time with more weed. Although it wasn’t so much a plan as it was a craving that sizzled across his brain. It jostled around for importance against the jagged clumps of competing thoughts. Of course they couldn’t all fit inside his head. Even without drugs, Walter’s insanity ensured that his mind was never a thought or two under maximum capacity and Edward wasn’t even included in that. Their continuous drug use-and the psychosis required for them to thrive in their profession-caused a spike in immigrant population that led to a kind of cognitive urban sprawl even though Walteropolis, and sister city Edwardopolis, offered no vacant land to sprawl into. His skull crushed the immigrant thoughts together. The citizens of the twin cities screamed out but to Walter and Edward they were percieved as pulsing waves of undifferentiated static tinged with aggressive desperation. The plan, hidden inside a craving, was ignored among the gurgling and roiling mass of screams that thundered about the twin cities.

“Listen, I . . . I have a collection,” Inside their head, Edward laughed. He knew Walter was talking about the assorted trinkets spilling over the lip of the wastebasket in their basement and not the collection itself. Edward always thought Walter’s collection was fucking sick. <<Yet I’m the dark half>> Edward very much enjoyed the act of killing but Walter’s collection was more sinister and depraved than just murder. And Edward didn’t care who the victim was while Walter’s meticulously selected future additions to his collection. “I’ll share. I just . . . I don’t have it with me, okay?” Walter yelped worriedly.

There was silence.

Their throat tightened.

“But I mean, I can fucking take you to it. Just, uh, wait. Fuck, just wait. I got rings, necklaces, fuckin’ coins and shit! Jesus fuck just give me a little time to get ‘em.”

A man Edward didn’t recognize emerged from the shadows. His eyes locked on Edward purposefully. The man stepped forward into the harsh yellow light flooding down from the rusted lamp above them.

“Listen, it’s really a funny story-“

 The man wordlessly pulled out a 9mm from his chest holster, concealed beneath his aged leather jacket.

“Jesus,” Walter jumped. “Holy fuck, just, just listen . . . okay! Just fuckin’ listen. I’ll just . . . I’ll just leave, okay? You’ll never hear from me ag-”

Walter’s whole body flinched as the other man’s head exploded outward, spraying bits of brain and matted hair across their face and chest. Edward blinked, amused. Walter was shaking.

The body of the man neither of them knew collapsed limply. A rush of red surged out from the space that used to be the man’s face and pooled beneath the still form, seeping into the cracks in the pavement of the Exchange District alley.

Walter couldn’t process any of it, but it only took Edward a few seconds to realize what had happened. He spun around, scanning into the darkness to see where the shot had come from. He felt the faintest bit of pain.

And then the nothingness swallowed them both.

NaNoWriMo – Update – “the Watchers” excerpt

this is another excerpt from the third novel in the ouroboros trilogy: the Watchers.


I could see the hospital in front of me from his place amid the charred casings of what had once been cars. Rubble and other random debris lays strewn about, ejected from buildings that surrounded the city street.  Festering bodies layered the street so completely that in places it was hard to make out the black asphalt underneath.

I shuddered.

My detached awareness felt the incredible eeriness being surrounded by so much death.  Although, my awareness realized that the body attributed an apathetic normality to the scene. Something is very wrong here, wherever it is. I realized, huddled behind the nearest blackened shell of what may have at one point been a Honda Civic, that this was Winnipeg.

“What are we waiting for?” A blonde man behind me fidgeted impatiently, “The hospital is right there, why don’t we just-“

“Wait,” Another person brought a hand up to silence the man, “I don’t like this.”

How many other people were in my group? I couldn’t remember what lead up to the moment I was in. I didn’t really recognize any of the people, but the body I was in was treating them as friendly.

“Who put you in charge anyway?” The blonde man stood up and walked further into the street.

The other man called after the blonde man but he was already halfway to the lobby of what they’d said was a hospital. It kinda looked like Health Sciences Centre.

The blonde man stepped gingerly through the mass of dead bodies that blanketed the city street.  After he’d gone more than thirty steps, the man turned to wave the other members of the party to join him.

A woman with a pale sickly face leaned against the blackened car frame, looking as though she was constantly fighting sleep.  She was putting pressure on a wound somewhere on her stomach and her blood soaked clothes around her torso denoted the urgency with which she needed treatment. I looked past the injured woman and into the eyes of the redhead beside me; the final member of our expedition party.

“Don’t!” I shook his head, sternly.

Her face was covered in dirt, and her once lustrous, fiery red hair was dull and matted.

Her piercing grey eyes, which had once (as the body I was in remembered as I observed him) shone with a brilliant exuberance, were now murky and listless. Experiencing that he (this body) had, and seeing what he’d seen, his body knew that its own eyes had also lost whatever semblance of soul they may have once had.

“Are you coming or what?” the blonde man yelled to him.

I turned to glare at the man.

Didn’t she know that there were others out here? My apprehension caused the body to gritted its teeth. (Or maybe the body gritting its teeth was what caused the apprehension) The body remembered the Others that wouldn’t hesitate to murder us for whatever supplies they think we have on us?

<<Had he so soon forgotten the man at the convenience store, naked and decapitated with his meager belongings strewn out beside him?>> the body’s mind thought.

Is that what the blonde man wants to happen to us? My awareness wondered.

The redheaded woman stepped out from behind the Honda Civic and carefully navigated through the morbid obstacle course towards the blonde man who had almost reached the other side.

“Come back,” I whispered sternly, or maybe we both whispered simultaneously. I was just as concerned as the body I was in was for her.

Suddenly I was opened to her awareness and the thoughts spiraling around her panicked mind. She was anxiously stepping closer to the blonde man, closer to the Hospital and, hopefully, the medicine her husband so desperately needed. She felt a weird, uneven consistency underneath her feet and realized that she was standing on one of the bodies’ hands.

She could feel the clamminess of the upward facing palm on her bare foot and it made her entire body erupt in a violent shudder which I could feel with a surprising intensity.  As she anxiously tried to reposition herself, she caught her ankle in the crook of a heavily decomposed elbow and she fell face down into the heap of rotting flesh and exposed entrails.  She touched the gore with her slender fingers and a foul sensation tore through her.  She moved her arm, but wherever else she put it she still made contact with cold, dead skin and wet, gooey innards.

She screamed and flailed around, madly.

The other body, my original body, called over at the blonde man as quietly, yet forceful, as he could: “Go help her!”

The blonde man scoffed and turned away, continuing towards the hospital.

“You fucking asshole,” the body muttered under its breath before I could. The more I watched the body the more I felt a growing connection and affection. I hate it when I’m in a body that behaves in ways that conflict with my moral alignment. I find it wonderful when the awareness is benevolent.

Standing up, his body readied itself to go out and assist her and my segmented awareness that was feeling her terror amid the limp and decaying bodies.

He tried to calm himself down, and I tried to help him. I sent the body calming and supportive energy from the seat of my detached awareness while doing the same for the woman the body was speeding towards. We saw the redhead was taking in deep breaths and trying not to think of the charred bodies around her as having once been alive.

<<Mannequins>> She tried to make herself believe. <<Yes, these were only mannequins>>

Something in her brain clicked over and she was suddenly able to see everything at once. She connected up to me. I didn’t think that was possible. And it frightened me. They shouldn’t be able to do that.

All the bodies, all the wounds, and then it became instantly obvious to her; painfully, horridly obvious; to both of us.

“Go back,” we shouted at the man and the other part of myself.

The bullet tore through her head snapping it forward with a force that threw her to the ground. The violent burst shot me out of her now disabled awareness and rejoined with the other fragment in the body of the other man.

Bits of bone, brain and clumps of matted red hair spayed the bodies behind her as she landed; another body added to the collection amassed in front of the Hospital.

the thing behind it.

exerpt from OUROBOROS: III – The Watchers

Alex Sunderland :

I am being confronted by a discouraging and uncomfortable realization. As I scroll down through the posts, links, and photos that populate the various newsfeeds on the platforms through which I consume social media, it hit me. These shape how I view events in my life. This is what I think is going on. What’s most important. What’s real. And most of it is negative and depressing. It shapes how I feel and it shapes how I treat others and how I make them feel. I’m still writing this as I’m figuring it out and working through it. I feel like I’m only just barely treading through this stream of consciousness and take in its meaning all while waves of information keep slapping me under. Each waves brings greater clarity, mind you, but each time the next one crashes over me the landscape of the stream is altered. Hmmm, reading this back make me sound insane. I’m pretty sure I’m not, but bear with me. Maybe we’ll know at the end . . . Okay, so a moment ago my mind just gave out and is kind of rebooting. While that’s happening and I pick up where that thought ended, I’m going to ponder why that awareness took so long to recognize it. Once my brain reboots of course. Then I’m sure I’ll decipher its meaning, or at least I hope I will) Why didn’t I see it? Hmmm. Forest for the trees I guess, right? Although, it… It? Before it wasn’t an it. It just was, and maybe it got tired of waiting on my coming to its awareness on my own. I see it now though. (I finished rebooting) It. A thing. A being. A purposeful entity, trying to passive-aggressively influence change while at the same time evading the consequences of intervening in a direct and measurable way in our 4% universe. I do think its’ impatience and exasperation elected to disregard any possible rules that may have kept it from intervening before. Now it screams to me. It screams an irritated and disappointment. Not in English. Possibly a precursor to language as homo-sapiens understand language. A means of communicating, unworldly to us in this 4% universe we like to think contains everything, though to it, this precursor language might be a rudimentary, pig-latin-like bastardization of pure communication that it is forced to use in a desperate attempt to communicated with such uncomplicated beings that inhabit the 4% universe. Hmm, yah, this makes me sound insane. I don’t think I am, but then again, I wouldn’t right? I don’t feel insane. Although, I’m not sure what that feels like. It’s the way I’ve always felt . . . so maybe I’ve always been insane and I just thought that was what normal felt like. Then what would sanity feel like to someone who is insane? . . . . hmmm, I don’t really wanna think about that right now. . . . okay, anyway, please bear with me, I am going somewhere. Really I am. I’m still trying to articulate what may not be possible at all. But I’m going to try really hard. I guess, I could liken it to being one complete concept; formally existing as abstract, corporeal information imprinted inside the purposeful electricity sparking about my mind, (but since growing impatient with my inability to understand or to see it on my own) it gathered itself together to puncture its way into my material universe and assume tangible form. Though not physically visible, but a kind of cognitive visibility, which I argue is as equally as real and as artificial as the five answers we’d need to scribble down to award us full marks on the standardized tests by which we define an individuals intelligence and ultimately what role they are intelligent enough to perform in the machinery of homo sapien society. Anyway, this isn’t a rant on institutional education, I’m getting further and further away, but I’m trying to get back. . . . Okay, so that moment, I saw it. That’s a good point for us to reconnect. I saw (but didn’t, but did) it thrash its’ arms around in exasperated impatience, trying to flag down my . . . hmmm . . . okay, another thought I believe I am failing at articulating coherently (and I’m sure this entry will likely be interpreted as powerful confirmation that I am mentally ill. That’s all. Here, purchase this pill. And maybe a padded jacket. Probably a padded jacket. But don’t forget those pills. That’ll be a monthly cost that will come out of your paycheque after rent, food, gas, car insurance, car payment, utilities, taxes, uh, yah but if you wanna feel better you’re gonna have to pay us for that though. We don’t want you to be mentally ill, ‘cause you might mess with the normal people, but yah, you’re gonna have to pay out of pocket ‘cause yah, the pharmaceutical companies want to see profits in the next quarter higher than they were this last quarter. Thank you and come again (and again and again and again). Okay, wow, now I’m off again. Alright, that cord was here somewhere . . . oh, there it is. Okay so it was waving and I saw (or didn’t see, but did) well, I did. I did see it. And peeking out from behind it, was something that had followed through the punctured skin into the 4% universe. I wonder if it could see the thing behind it. I’m sure it did. But the thing behind it (though smaller) was louder and got my attention first. The thing behind it was the realization that this experience (MY experience) would be dismissed as some mental hallucination that needed to be flushed out with pharmaceutical chemicals (but only the ones that would boost profits in the next quarter, don’t self medicate . . . that would hurt our profits) If you’ve read this far, in my mind, you are still reading for one of a few possible reasons. Possibly, you wanna see exactly how nutty and irrational my rant will become, or your feeling pity and sadness and you’re staring at the screen with your head tilted to one side and your eyebrows scrunched up like hairy sloped roof of some empathic house. There’s probably a lot of reasons you might still be reading actually, but maybe you read this and you understand. Maybe you read this and you relate or you see something in this that reminds you of someone close to you. I don’t think I’m insane though. But maybe sanity is more of a spectrum than it is an absolute. Maybe I’m swinging along on the pendulum that arcs its way back and forth to extremes, and right now I’m swinging to one side. (I’m just not sure which side) But . . . maybe I am only experiencing some misfiring spark of arcing electricity that buzzes through an incorrect channel through to the third eye as if it were some existential taxi with a corrupted gps navigation system. Okay, that was the final tangent. I promise. (as much as someone like me can promise something) When I finally acknowledged the physical, yet invisible, complete and concentrated concept that resided inside it (equally real and unreal, true and untrue, sanity and fantasy) I was engulfed in the bright flares of awareness that suddenly mindful of the malevolent dark thread of subtle, manipulating  weaves through my newsfeed. And I realized this darkness that colors my perception is completely self-imposed. I am the architect of the information I consume. I decide to subscribe or to follow users that contribute to my experience of reality. I can see the thread clearly now. Just like it. Real and unreal. Physical and immaterial. The thread connects each sad piece of the collage of meticulously crafted information that exists to serve a specific purpose and a specific segment of homo sapiens who benefit from said information. I realized, I need to start a newsfeed negativity cull. **and further along this tangent, (I know I promised, but I might be insane) I hope I’m not contributing to that same negativity by the posts on my own timeline. I only endeavor to promote discussion regarding relevant issues and ideas. I know in the past I’ve taken a more antagonistic approach to how I relay those points and I now know that my intentionally offensive and combative attitude only ended up charging the animosity between opposing views and only made the other side close themselves off even more from ideas. And regretfully, my original purpose of facilitating discussion by poking the snake really only served to bolster the stereotype of the cynical, condescending, pretentious liberal atheist, jerking off his ego while reciting irrelevant and impotent words with the self-satisfied delusion of significance. I had once believed that that role I’d scripted for my online persona was helpful, possibly even important and courageous, but I’m one person. One person with one subjective experience of our 4% universe. I don’t know shit. You shouldn’t listen to me. But you also shouldn’t listen to anyone. We make our reality. My telling you what MY reality is shapes and distorts your perception of reality. No ones interpretation of this 4% sliver of physical reality is any more or less valid than anyone else, but none are the same. We are all arguing about different subject truths that we have witnessed and experienced and are devoutly and unfalteringly sure of what we have experienced with our five, socially accepted senses. In all this, my intent was not to discourage or dishearten. This should empower and encourage. Or you finished this rant and you’re more than confident that I’m insane. I’d like to know if I’m insane, though. But I’m pretty sure I’m not insane.

Google Glasses – Never Stop Playing – Ouroboros

Watch these two videos and then watch Ouroboros. Augmented Reality glasses … video games we can take with us anywhere … it’s only a matter of time before we start creating worlds to jack ourselves into ….. and thus: Ouroboros.

Google Augmented Reality Glasses

Playstation Vita – “Never Stop Playing”

And my short film – Ouroboros Season One