Stream of Consciousness

September 21st, 2007

Pocket

So here I go with an exercise in stream of consciousness.

I do have a problem with the title of this post, however. Two problems, actually. Firstly, how do I know I’m even conscious? I’m sure many people look at me and ask the same question. For all I know I’m just a machine or even just a sprite in a computer simulation, programmed to think it is conscious. Maybe I am flesh and blood, but how does that make my supposed consciousness any more real? Reality! I have a problem with that too, usually first thing in the morning or when a bill arrives. Quantum physics tells us that reality is not what we perceive it to be. Perhaps we are incapable of perceiving reality. Perhaps we aren’t programmed to. Perhaps we are just programmed to eat and sleep and produced mini versions of ourselves and blow the shit out of each other on a regular basis. That’s something I don’t get. Blowing the shit out of people. Blowing shit up, now that I understand, as does every guy. But I’m talking about disused buildings and decommissioned tanks and stuff. Not people. People are full of dreams and laughter and nights out on the beer and cuddles for their children and kisses for their lovers. Why the fuck would anyone want to blow that up? Don’t get me wrong, by and large I don’t actually like people. Just watch the behaviour of the cattle in an airport and you’ll agree with me. Still, for someone who doesn’t actually like to be around groups of his fellow species (if indeed we are a species and not a product), I’m probably one of the most people-friendly fuckers around. Oh, you think you are people-friendlier, do you? OK then… when was the last time you learned the names of the people who clean your office? When was the last time you held a door open for someone with a smile or let them into traffic when you didn’t have to? Well, then piss off. Traffic. Who the fuck invented that? Everyone so desperate to get somewhere that they insist on behaving in such a way that minimises their chances of actually getting anywhere. Just so you know, driving right up the arse of the car in front of you doesn’t get you there any faster and if you think it does, you’re a dolt. There’s a word you don’t often see. People have actually asked me what it means, when I’ve used it. Ha! Just take a look in the mirror. Speaking of mirrors, how do we know that what we consider to be the reflection isn’t the reality? How do we know that we aren’t the reflection? There’s the reality thing again. I’m fairly convinced there is no such thing. There’s absolutely no way you and I can look at the same banana and see the same shade of yellow. So if there is an infinity of realities, there is effectively no reality. Makes a mockery of morality then, doesn’t it? If we can’t agree on the colour of a banana, how the hell are we supposed to agree on what’s right and wrong? And how the name of Jaysus are we supposed to figure it out before we pay that final trip to the cemetery? Maybe we aren’t supposed to figure it out. Maybe stupid, two-dimensional thinkers have got it right. Or maybe there are those out there who just want us to settle down into a comfortable pattern of thinking about which flavour mobile phone we’d like next and not much else. Make no mistake though, I love stuff, but it’s true: you don’t own stuff; stuff owns you. And that’s the way the corporations want to keep it. When you are busy thinking about whether to get the iPhone or the Nokia 770, you’re not asking questions about whether your country should go to war, or why your supposedly neutral country allows the big, bullying war planes from another country to re-fuel in its airports. That’s the thing with technology, people use it to promote democracy where there is none, using their mobile phones and the Net to disseminate truth when the government spreads lies. Then when they have democracy, they stop using technology to uphold truth and use it to gather fake friends on MySpace. There I go again. Truth! Whose damned truth? 50 Cent was shot nine times. Nine times! No, wait. He was shot once but he was hit by nine bullets. That’s nine times. No, it’s not… it’s one shooting. Someone who gets hit by a 100-pellet shotgun blast doesn’t get shot 100 times. It’s one shooting, Reebok, so stop trying to glamorise gun culture to kids just to sell fucking shoes! Not that someone who had been hit by a shotgun blast would give much of a damn about the semantics of their situation. It fucking hurts! There’s reality for you. “The pain is all in your head.” Ever hear a doctor say that? Well, if you ever do, kick him or her really hard in the crotch. Follow that up with the following line: “Of course it’s in my head, you dolt! That’s where the thalamus is!” There is no such thing as damned imaginary pain. All pain is real. Bloody hell! Here I am back at reality again. Well, my current reality is that it’s late, I have to be up early and my beer is finished. Whether the glass is completely empty or not at all full is a question for another day.

One Response to “Stream of Consciousness”

  1. wychwoodon 22 Sep 2007 at

    Ok, three points:

    – great post
    -flavoured mobile phones? This is genius! and may be a reason for me to finally acquire one of the push-button little critters.
    -If your beer is finished, I’m betting that your glass is empty, that’s if you drank your beer right down to the last bubbles of dreg(s) that nestle tinily in the bottom of the glass hoping to remain unnoticed. (Excuse accidental anthropomorphisation of dregs).

    Of course, you could have finished your beer according to the demands of your stomach, ie had enough beer before the glass was empty and so your glass could still be partially full, which seems to indicate: a tendency to optimism on your part (a very good thing for a good life, according to research done by M. Seligman);
    a healthy capacity to listen to your body when it says “I’m full already!”; possibly a waste of beer.

    I’m not a drinker, so a few ounces of beer left undrunk doesn’t worry me, but you might hear from those who were brought up to finish everything on their plate (and, presumably, in the glass) before leaving the table.

    In short, glass half-empty or half-full – appetite, or optimism indicator?

    I await your future commentary with interest.

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