Shepherds of emptiness. Third and Final chapter: somebody loves you

Let’s recap from the previous episodes:

The train of sentient universe is going to crush horrendously in to nothing. OK? This the destination of any living being: one day it will stop to be alive.

The folding of complexity on itself till the auto-representation of its own projection becomes consciousness. OK? (Very roughly of course).

So we have a mind that is aware of its mortal destiny. You can do good, you can do bad. “Good” and “bad” always relative to a culture, a situation, a system of meanings. As a rule of thumb when you are doing bad, you are causing more distance, more separation in the universe. You are a thermo-dynamical rascal. Bad bad bad.

Doing good is respecting the proportion of the universe. I suppose that helping out a fellow bro that is not doing too well is better than slaughtering an entire elementary school. Of course. But the difference is more about the narrative that led us in that context and that will depart from it.

Because, “technically “speaking, it is not impossible to commit a massacre with pure heart. Surely I’d like to talk to such a Buddha. If he is able to gut another fellow mate without hate, revenge, even without will to impose its own significance, well he’s probably not committing any “wrong” action. I doubt such a person exists. Most of all, I doubt that any human being could be able to enact such a carnage with limpidity of soul. On the contrary I can perfectly imagine a heart unperturbed like steel, doing charitable deed for the benefit of his fellow mate, without any attempt of significance: helping him out like wind, like rain, unfazed if he dies or survive. So let’s soften his pain, dress his wounds. Wait.

Isn't it obvious that helping is better than hurting? Mmmmm. In principle, yes. But it is very difficult not to attach the will of significance, to hang meanings to a purely good deed in itself. So: who told you that is better living rather than dying? Then they are right the lizards and the bankers: try to expand the living mass, to stretch life expectancy. Which means that every time you feed your fellow, you are eating your own good deeds. But you can jeopardize to gorge your mind: with vanity of your magnanimity, of your all-knowing intellect. When you feed your mind with significance of its action, then your eating your selfishness.

Who told you that peace in the universe cannot be brought by a healthy elimination of human beings? Violence is bad…Yes of course. But so it is the sweet temptation of sanctity. Too much significance, too much love for the self. So as a rule of thumb, help out instead that kicking in the face. But leave your deed before it gets you. If you are easy in avoiding the slobbering of your good deeds, then charitable agency is good. Otherwise, well the universe attributes the same importance to your dying or surviving. So….So try not be an asshole, do your honest good deeds and that’s it.

Which takes us to the next station. When we can observe the universe in his aging course towards extinction, we can measure our own mortality. Kingdoms and gods, the most powerful demon and the most compassionate Buddha, they are all fading away in the void of nothingness. Yes: the purest heart of a Buddha will go into nothing at all. Sound strange for Christian hears, but yes, after enough eternity, the choir of Cherubins and just souls will stop. It will take a long time, but there is a point in the future (or in the past) where the angels will get so bore of their chants that their own yawing will devour themselves and they will disappear. End of Jesus. So if you get that at a certain point, even god will stop, then you can relax. And you can appreciate the universal, ontological sunset. One “day” in the future, the universe with all its gods and demons and Jesus, and Buddhas, will end. Like any human being is destined to expect.

Actually if you look dispassionately at THIS specific sunset, at the termination of your days, at your own death,  you can see the end of the universe. And if you can feel the end of the heartbeat of this ill fellow mate in front of you, you can actually feel the death of God. The train of the sentient universe is abiding in human consciousness no less than in the thousand minds of the highest god. Which is ok, I mean, not bad. The entire universe embodies in your consciousness and your feeling of fading away, of leaving this realm, is the very being of the universe feeling that homesickness of mortality. 

When you will close your eyes, your end of consciousness will be the end of everything. Of “one” everything among the infinite everything that constitute the universe. One consciousness is the fractal representation of the entire sum of every consciousness, from the almost imperceptible cognition of amoebas and bacteria, to the omniscient mind of gods. Our very limited consciousness is enough to grasp the texture of everything.

The essence of things, the being of the universe is moving from existence to impermanence through yourself. We are shepherds of being, taking care of its passage to nothing. We are now as we were at the beginning, with our ancestors in Africa. But we are shepherds in so far we are conducting the being of things towards their pastures of meaninglessness. When we take the being of the universe in our land without any significance, when we are able to attend our death as the death of every god and demon, then we are good shepherds. And we reconcile the universe of sentient beings with the inscrutable realities of mindless planets and rocks. In that instant, you are doing THE good deed and you reconcile with the universe, which is, by the way, the glory of eternal presence. Till it lasts. 

Shepherds of Emptiness Volume Two

A good action is a deed that is restoring the hidden structure of the universe: which is fundamentally meaningless. Planets, rocks, cyclones they all are mute of meanings. They are not in the game of significance. In fact the Red Giant on Jupiter doesn’t give a dime of what will happen. Alpha Centauri is absolutely cool about the future. And so on. Instead amoebas, jelly-fish, cats, gibbons and you, we are all freaking out about what is coming from the future. So we started to develop tricks. You think you are a good player just because you have a massive nervous system. Try to get laid without arms, legs, eyes, even without lungs, bowels, completely deprived also of mitochondria, chromosomes and the rest, for what it matters. You must be quite good to do it under those circumstances.

Yet viruses are in the game as well and amoebas are pretty good. You know how I know that? They are still around. And they choose to stay in that line of business. You like to play the game with big consciousness, they choose to stay small, stay fit, get laid a lot. “Established 3.9 billion ago”, not bad for a commercial premises. It gives an impression of reliability.

So our big consciousness is just trying to make a living in the same, crowded game. And we are doing OK I suppose. Our big brains required also to express the game. Yep. We started to tell the story of the game, to say explicitly what the rest of crew was simply doing. Yes my friend, “that” is your mind. Our mind is simply projecting the deployment of life. Now we can say two or three things. Well, three. The first is that THIS is not YOUR mind. Now, try to stay with me for another second. I’m not bullshitting about universal soul or the like. I’m just saying that the self-consciousness you are embodying, it not your property, is not speaking of your biography. Not only and for the most.

Gangs of protein chains, worms which made the trick of walking on their back ( thus capsizing their dorso-ventral axis: we are actually descendants of those jesters…), small rodents elusive of dinosaurs, Australopiteci clever enough to stand up after squatting all day, all that lineage is embodied in your mind. Just to let you know.

So when you are using this powerful projector, you have two ways. One is to consider it the repetition of the same.  You are just the newest born of a tribe and soon you’ll be overtake by another newer born, you’ll die as everybody before. Don’t cry. It’s happening what always happens, what could not but happen. You are the micro-figment of the large repetition. Innumerable universes flourished before you, they crushed and many others bloomed afterwards. Our small universe will disappear as the others did and on its void another will take place with different but equal creatures, with alien, distant but equal consciousness that will narrate and be aware of the repetition as you are. You will join the eternity of presence, because you have always had. Every single detail of your awareness is preserved.

The mere contingency is contingent ( If you think that is an informationless tautology, I should add that the this mere contingency is your individual selfish biography, namely everything you will call “I”. So be careful, sometimes tautologies can be really cruel). This is the glory of the mind. In the imperishable persistency of consciousness, there are no meanings, because every reference is reminding the same. OK. So? So properly speaking any difference is recomposed in the unity. There is no good, no bad, no “I”, no them. Fullness. This is the place in the sun of the universe, enlightenment, Jesus with sunglasses. Very nice, but if you REALLY understood this, well, congratulations. I’m just surprised that you are still reading my post. Oh right. You are eternal and everything, every instant is already happening as it always did, so basically you are me. Yet, I’m still not feeling as you, so I must be on the other side. Which is where the rest of humanity is. Where all the small, insignificant details of contingency are. Where the fading of existence dwells. In a word, where the shit is.

The entire sentient universe is a train going full-steam towards annihilation. Some of us, like amoebas, lizards, bankers are fucking everything that moves and eating what is not them. You can call it a strategy. It’s all right, especially if you are laying eggs. A bit more tensed if you are in the financial sector: sooner or later your mammalian brain should encounter “small” discrepancies with this behaviour. Anyway. From the encultured primates above, the journey to the end of existence is source of explicit anxiety. And a dilemma in philosophy of language: where are all the meaning hung up to? If everything is destined to nothing: what is the sense of every single meaning, apart from the practical, instrumental situations of semantically getting laid? That’s difficult and try to follow me carefully, because even I didn’t quite grasp it perfectly myself…

TO BE CONTINUED...

Shepherds of emptiness: breaking through the infinite coping with understanding Volume 1

Brain, brain, how many times I’ve talked to you? We understand, right? Maybe we give wrong (very wrong) interpretations of the fact happening to us. But we put them together in a coherent flux. This is understanding. And we have it. Amoebas, medusas, cats, octopuses, even chimps and bonobos, they are aware of a lot, but they don’t understand. But we do. OK, so what? First of all, we understand the basic: that we are born, that we are alive, that we love, that we hate. And that we’ll have to die. So far, so good. The second step is our social engagement. To do all the basic things as social actor, we need to undertake complicated journeys in our socio-cultural environments. 

Essentially we weave embodied cognitive habits in the texture of our socio-cultural niche. We erect conceptual machinery attached to our body in the form of personal identity. Or you can say that our mind is made of the narratives generate in the child-rearing process we call infancy. Good. But wait for the hot sausage. Narratives are the wild, delirium-like riding of our brains, bumping into each other to produce these self-confirming buildings of knowledge. So when you track down the meaning of a narrative (that would be understanding) you end up in a reference to another meaning, which is another reference, so it turns out that meanings are hot air balloons, self-supporting each other. We call that the “Munchausen effect”. Outside the circle is mocked as “nihilism”. Let’s stick to a kind of Munchausenian semantics. It sounds German, so it must be good, deep and good.

Apart from this deranged, decadent semantic mass-mobilization, the only hard ground of human affairs is the pulse of life, to keep on, to reproduce, to get laid. Look at BBC or Discovery’s program:  from the deepest abysses, to the arid deserts, every single living being is looking to shag a member of its species. Or another. Incidentally we have to admit one manifest truth. We are so obsessed with the unambiguous logic of sex that we easily forget one thing: life is shagging everything that moves, everything that exists. Fishes sprays of sperm the ocean, some of that genetic jam could have impregnated unexpected gonads. Unsure? Well bacteria tend “to do it” horizontally. They exchange genetic material from each other. And when plants are opening their flowers, do you think that a jet of floating Deoxyribonucleic acids and sugars in the form of semen would be rejected just because it doesn’t have the right tag? I don’t think so.

We are in nature world my friend, where there is living information around, we get it. Isn’t it from our species? We happy anyway. So next day when you give solace to yourself alone in the woodland…be thoughtful of your generative power and be a responsible giver: give in fullness.

Anyway, we were saying that from salmons to polar bears, from whales to ants, life is about sex. We are no different, but we politely prefer to consider ourselves more evolved. We have values and principles. We have minds and purposes. Our shagging is more meaningful.

Yeah, alright.

That could work at university’s parties… (Even Dennett says that the “goal” of our life is to attach our existence to big ideals. C’mon Danny, you too are trying to get laid…?).

What is always difficult is that between the “meaningful shagging” and nihilism, well it’s seems there is no alternative. And here come ethics. But between meanings and nothingness there are facts. Please don’t waste time about the issue: facts are created by our meanings. Of course: I’m a Munchausenian semanticist. But when you encounter a slap, that is absolute. A slap on your check is a slap. Tautological? Perhaps. But slaps are to be felt. That’s why they are used to often for teaching wisdom. By the way they must be administered only to disciples who will give it back as soon as they realize the awakening power of slaps. A teacher must be prepared to receive it straight away. That’s why slaps are good in Zen.

So back to facts. It’s the trail of deeds. You can call it Karma. I like also “Mascara”: same principle. Slobbers of your agency.

Now, you may be led to think that deeds, Karma, ethics, are connected to good actions. Like cosmic boy-scouting. Or Christ came, was nailed and tortured, because you committed impure deeds and he loves you. come and take the shit for you because he loves you. No. And that’s because Bruce Willis is not the Dalai Lama (though Her Holiness should stop meddling with the C.I.A…..). And also why Christians didn’t really get a single word of the reverend, poor old Nazarene boy (by the way, peace to you as well). NO.

That’s false. Cosmic things , the texture of universal being are uttermost uninterested in your petty misbehaving. Real “good actions” are not actions at all. If you leave a slobber, that is a negative action. If you boy-scout around, because it means something “good”, you are already slobbering. No matter how good it sounds, you are already in the slug club. Don’t take me wrong: are you helping another bro? That’s good, keep on doing it. Much better than smoking dope all the day. But. Yeah, but.

TO BE CONTINUED....

The Last Creed

We are lucky. We live in an era of enlightenment and rationality, we left behind superstition and myths, or most of all. And we are in sight of leaving the last ones for good. After many centuries, we are able to see the real meanings behind religion stories or other anthropic compulsive behavior. Surely violence and oppression won’t be automatically eliminated, but at least we can see that the primeval forces that are pushing us to commit these crimes as the constructs of our anthropological heritage. We can pat each other on the back, we made it, the human kind is one step from understanding…Inspire and be proud.

Now, enjoy this excitement, because the next words could be something of a disappointment. In fact we are actually in a position to make even the last step, to dissolve the last myth. After the discovery that behind ethical and moral dogmas, behind superstitious and scientific explanation, we finally know that real meanings stand for something else. OK.  Well the last point is that meanings are empty. That it is our faith in giving significance that things have sense. It’s not that we attribute the wrong value or that we apply the wrong measurement. 

No, it’s different. Surely you can try to square your meanings and your habits in different ways, maybe Zeus and Ares and Aphrodite are better explained by biopolitics and natural resources needs. Sure. We are playing a game where we discover new lands. And we are very happy when a new, unchartered territory becomes available and we discharge a cascade of hermeneutics and interpretation, to find the appropriate words to describe it. And of course we deploy files of soldiers to impose our version to others. But we always forget that meanings are not there. 

Meanings are invented, fabricated by our own creativity. Out there, there is no significance. It is our will to believe that gives birth and shapes the description of things. But then we couldn’t really play with our own puppets until we know that they are our own puppets. So we need to fall in a state of oblivion and pretend that out there what we encounter has a meaning for us. Reality check means that your agency finds the friction with the real thing.

Now we are definitely experiencing pain and pleasure. When you bleed, when you are starving, yes you are really in a state of debilitation. Your brain is pushing the button: do something or we are in deep shit. But between the physical, empiric real shit and the world as we created, well there is the ocean of bullshit we told ourselves. Oh sorry, is that too crude? Let me be more French, more digestible. Between your guts and the persona that you experience to be, there is the stream of narrations that other established around you and you carved out of your biography.

So nice. So post-modern. And so poser. Because either we speak just because from morning till down if you are not chased by a predator, there is a lot of time to play with dolls. Or we really mean what we say and when we acknowledge that our signifying is empty, we have a semiotic heart attack.  

What shall we do? A classic one is to hang yourself. Seriously. That’s a good move, think to Foster Wallace or Pavese: they encountered the limits of language and they couldn’t go further with their will of significance. Interestingly no philosopher ever killed himself for this reason. The only thinkers who killed themselves are Seneca and Socrates, for exactly the opposite reason: to affirm the reality of their specific, individual, characteristic will of significance. But in all the post-modern tradition, everyone is happy and alive. 

That’s an implicit confirmation that philosophy is useless, since my lost faith in that will should entail that living and thinking is pointless. But probably a tenured chair is stronger than any disillusion. Or we can try to change the structure of significance, trying to manipulate the architecture of language. How? Well first of all dissolving distinction of structures: if society is a projection of language, then changing our metaphors is a civic campaign.

Let’s change pronouns and we will liberate women from oppression. Not convinced? Well try to subvert the system of production, the allocation of assets from the ruling class and the distribution of information that normally placates the masses. At that point your language will find new territories. Revolutions to be meaningful? Not for their sake. But if you reached the barriers of understanding, your only move is to consider it a dam. Let the meaning flow. NSA watch this!

Purposeless brains

Finally the light of rationality is tearing apart the darkness of ignorance and mythology. We have defeated the kingdom of the spirits, haven’t we?

No more fairies or demons, no more ghosts and gods, we cleaned our epistemic world from all those fictions.

Yet, if you think a bit, something of the old tales is still around: focus, it is right there...Think: YES! The mind. 

Have you considered your mind? We don’t believe in ghost and we have no reason to think that our highest cognitive faculties are represented by spectre, right?

OK so, after the awakening from the night of legends and myths, our minds can finally re-join their biological organs, which are cognitions of living beings. Human minds are the enhancement of more basic cognitive architecture. Take an amoeba: it pursues sugary areas and avoids acidic ones. This is the core of intelligence: discrimination of differences: seek for nutrients (which are pleasures) and escape from dangers (which are painful). Any further sophistication in the cognitive department is just an extension of that primeval differentiation.

Now, living beings are instances of life and they execute a program to survive. Seeking pleasures and escaping dangers are rules of the general program: survive.

In fact life, contrary to the rest of the universe, wants to survive. No stars or planet or mountain or cyclone, really wants to survive. But living beings do. They are a resistance to decay, an affirmation of being there. If it wouldn’t tear apart the corpse of good old Martin (Heidegger), we could call living being as “Dasein machine” (Dasein: German for being there).

So all these butterflies and monkeys, all these oaks and algae, everybody that moves (or roots), is an instance of the primeval resistance to decay. Now where life took its inspiration from? Well proteins are in the business of folding themselves; folding and catalyse further reactions. One day a protein folds a bit more and catalysed itself. Bang, life. 

WHY did it happen?

Try to predict where the first gas-ball will appear in a boiling pan, or the first crack in a glass under pressure, or the path of a drop of water on a perfectly even surface. It is simply pure chaos, pure accident. A folding protein was bending here and there and one day it went in a posture of self-organizing replication. You can’t really take your eyes off a protein that…

After the appearance of the first self-replicating conglomerate, you have essentially the random group which tends to survive, the one which is indifferent and the one which drives towards annihilation. 

Guess which one survives after few generations...

At the beginning all the starting conglomerate are equal: pure chemistry, but in few duplication a selection of the program will start. The program itself doesn't aim to anything: it is purposeless.

In few generations the program which casually benefit survival, replicates more. In retrospective we can track down a winning lineage and we can recognize a goal, a tendency to survive: here we are! The resistance to decay.

Living beings are goal-oriented to their own survival and at the same time this tendency is purposeless.

But proteins are not gods: they have some imperfections. And they started to duplicate themselves with errors. Mistakes are the mother of complexity: in few millions years you have amoeba’s descendants who wears Gucci and talk to I-Pad. Any human brain is just the heir of those successfully folding proteins.

Our wisdom and rationality is dissipating all the old stories and finally we can see with clarity that our existence is purposelessly oriented to avoid the painful sophisticated projection of acidic environments and to pursue the wealth, the richness and the pleasure of sugary ones: properly speaking human minds are hypertrophic  amoeboid brains.

Congratulations human race, you reach a real image of yourself. Now I suppose you’ll start to blab as usual about the fact that brains are narrative and we are made of stories. It seems to me that after dissipation of smokes and breaking of mirrors, stories are just an excuse to keep the dreaming on. Oh well, who I'm kidding, pass me another story!

Take Gently Her Hope Away

It is rude to steal hope from a little girl. When a child builds her own convictions, they are frail and delicate. Like a teddy bear. If you come up and say something like: “you are the projection of your brain” or “our existence is the hallucination of a socio-cultural machinery connected to your nervous system”, you are precisely a cruel monster. You are stealing a teddy bear from a little girl. Shame on you!

Hope is important. But step by step, you have the coup d'etate of hope. Hope becomes a nightmare, the nightmare. Your little girl brain starts to project. With her teddy bear as lieutenant, he's launching himself in grandiose building ventures. He builds bridge to a place called future, the scaffolds his imagination with new development. Always for tomorrow, always towards the place that is not here.

It's good to escape the brutality of desperation. When your flesh is burning in torment, it's good to thrown your tortured body somewhere else, pouring some fresh illusion on the smoking wounds. That's good. Nonetheless, your place is here. Hope makes you dreaming away. I love dreaming. I love drinking. I love hoping. Yet it's not hope you need. It's presence. Your brain is here. You are here. Is it a hell? Come on! I don't believe that. You need bridges for nowhere. Is it really a hell???

Ok. A demon is pitchforking your guts? The body is a endless moan of pain? That's the easy. Your presence to yourself is the sublime illusion. Take away the mind from the pain and the pain will fade away. It must do it. It's a pure nonsense, that your consciousness disappear and only the pain stays.

No. The real problem is the big emptiness. Every man will accept forever pain, if it's really forever. Nothingness. This is hell. That your love, your memory, your meanings, your values, your body, your arm, your eye. Everything. Disappeared. Nothing. Not even crumbs. And hope is planting the idea, that with good bridges, bridges very soundly built, somehow, you can escape. Maybe only crumbs. Maybe only a ghost. But something! If only the Big Toe, could manage to climb on the Hopeful Bridges. Maybe later he could drag the rest. Maybe.

That's hell.

The hope that the Big Toe, somehow will rescue from emptiness. That's insurance. And it's cheating. Because they are rich and you are poor. Don't trust insurance companies. Don't rely on the Big Toe of Hope. Hell is there. With an actuarian. It's the teddy bear.

Now, you are a monster if you take away hope from a little girl. But when you are the little girl, with more than a tendency for drinking, a bunch of friends in your head and no more clean underwear, that's the time to say goodbye to the teddy bear.

Wait!

I didn't mean suicide! Suicide is the Lack of Hope. Same family, same company. They work together, they reinforce the same habit. Come back. Here is the place. Presence is heaven. Realize that you are the emptiness. That you are the centre of this vortex. The socio-cultural machinery plugged in your brain is giving you the show. You are the show! And it's empty! When you rely on hope, you give someone, somewhere else, the joy of the show. No man! The show is here. Were you expecting MUCH more? Who told you? Jesus? Stop listening the teddy bear:it's an acturian. He wants your signature, but hope is blinding you for the small writings. Small writings are your jail. Somewhere I fill my place. Wrong. Here. Be present to yourself. Stop giving hope a chance. Tomorrow is not different. Tomorrow is here. Hope is desperation with a wig. Be decent, put away the wig. Breathe. Desolation all around? Maybe. Let's crack a joke on the ruins. It's healthy to play tricks to the crows and to hyenas. Loads of laughs. Breathe, again. Be centred, be yourself, be here.

Being here is the thing.  

Real Minds

What there is more real than the mind? Maybe the glass in front of me is a hallucination, maybe the bottle is produced by a evil god, maybe the entire pub is a dream, but this thinking process, this very mind that is subject of hallucinations, dreams and more, must be real.

Poor,poor Descartes.

Let's drink together. Follow me. The glass of this cup, this is real, because if I crash it on your skull, you'll hear a bang and the salty taste of blood dripping in your mouth. Let's roll out of this smelly room and look up!

Yes, the morning sun, that's real! After a night spent drinking and chatting nonsense, this warm is real. It's November and the sunny days in Autumn have hard-wired joy in my brain. In the summer, when you're a child, every day is a day to play outside. But when Autumn comes, it's too cold. So a warm, sunny day in Autumn, it's child play day. No matter how much your deranged, philosophical brain has been twisted by alcohol and arguments, those neurons know, yes they know that Autumn and Sun means Joy. What? Neurons don't speak, so don't have language? So it can't be a meaning?

....

It tastes salty, the blood, doesn't it? Let's keep on rolling. Smell the soil. This is real, the ground for your feet. Try to stand on your head, like an Hegelian for a Marxist. At first the blood is pumping to the head, can you feel the gravity? This is real. Your body is the resultant of millions of evolution, to design blood pumping the other way. But, hey! What a pleasure, the body adapts the new posture and it is winking to your trick. “Mate, the new headstand posture is quite cool, I like to play with gravity”.Discharge of endorphins confirm that. It's real.

Let's run.Run.Run.Run. Forget the cloths, this bourgeois prison for your legs and cock. Let's feel the warm of this November. And what is this? Oh my god! It is a park, where kids are playing. And they are staring two drunk philosophers, with only the sunny November to cover their willies. The kids and their parents. It's not what you think gentlemen. We are philosophers, it is a thought experiment, we are enjoying the sun,... it's hard-wired,... the joy...you know, ...when I was a child. A mother approached. A crispy slap on the check. It's not pain. Pain is a glass smashed on your forehead and in this state, barely noticeable.

No, my dear Descartes, it's not pain. It's shame. Can you feel it? Can you feel the blood coming on your checks? Your brain is pumping blood from your naked leg (aggravating the size of the freezing willy), it is concentrating memories and socio-cultural projections and it is giving you a psycho-lash embodied in your face. And my friend, this is more than real. The shame is real. Ask Joseph K..

Let's go back to our place. You were saying that minds are real. I think that the sun of November, is real. Children laughing and playing, are real. Blood is real. Shame is real. But minds? All that is surrounding us is a dream, a hallucination. Yes. Maybe. And the biggest illusion, the mind that is dragged in a world to call home. I see a brain and its narratives. I see blood and its planet. I see actors and their play.

All this vortex is dancing and laughing around a vacuum. This empty square, you call the most real place of the universe?

Real minds, that's nice. Only a drunk French could have thought such a flamboyant farce. Real minds, like if everything happening really count. So egocentric. Well, he's French. Real minds. Ah. I must tell Heraclitus. It'll make him laugh. For once.