Monday, October 29, 2012

Life is a mental institution



Sure it's common for any person of the modern page to ponder if we're living in a virtual simulation. One need look no further than the latest open world video game to consider the endless implications. The potential for an abyss of dimensions become all too clear as you wander Borderlands shooting sand for hours and convincing yourself it's fun.

There's something strange about the modern world, and if you notice just below the surface of everyday reality you'll find that it's all backwards. Schools are where you go to get stupid, violence is glorified and sex is shunned, those elected to protect do the most harm, healthful food tastes terrible, the list is endless.

Here's your problem, solved, via my airtight philosophy. We are inhabiting a mental asylum. How else would we put up with red light traffic cameras or a representative democracy? The earth is a virtual reality loop as a form of therapy for the insane.


They wire you in to the system and toy with your visions. They taunt and tease you with movies like The Matrix. You're kept in a fog of perpetual unknowing, with only vague glimpses of greatness and beauty, because you're just not ready for it.

And they keep you in line with repeated visits to Walmart, to make you question your humanity. You've seen the mutants who shop there. They're patients, too. You've walked slowly through the lifeless aisles. You know it's a microcosm for all that's wrong with the world. Yet you continue to go.


It's a computer code and its your job to unlock it. That's when you realize all of existence is a slow drip of consciousness, awaiting for you to figure out inspiration is simply the sum of all the universe's content and its ever expanding vocabulary of ideas. The only thing stopping you from knowing more is your desire to side step a panic attack.


True in enlightenment comes the day you stop going to Walmart, and embrace with open arms the empathy contained in the rest of the world, and not there. That's when your caretakers release you from your chair and say those magical words, "You're sane again."

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