– William S. Burroughs
Trying to ID the entity that is me when I know I am you and you are me even though I am by myself a whole lot of nothing outside that which is imagined or imagined to be me. It’s a permanent condition I’ve tried many times in the past to shake loose. When I let go, I spiral out of control like the pilot that becomes the plane. Being out of control is not so bad considering being in control is a massive illusion, one I could do without.
And then I found out that happiness isn’t the reward for a life well lived but a mechanism used to control my behaviour. That, I’m told is the reality of being a human.
I need to take a happy pill. That’ll sort me out. I get to retire from ordinary life and consign myself to the happiness bed. It’s not as plush as it sounds, trust me. There’s much sadness. I am sad. Sad tomorrow. Sad for the rest of my life which is to say I’ll only know joy, delight and profound contentment.
Life is nice among the normal people. I can be free, but my brain is programmed to want more than I already have which is to say I am a slave.
The real question is how much more significant is your life compared to mine? I’ll be experiencing your life tomorrow even though you told me your intensity of feeling would be beyond anything I would ever be able to comprehend. The price of being different comes down to basic wiring really. You flick the switch and the light bulb above the brain comes on. That happened over millions of years along with natural selection. Turn on or turn off? Tune in or tune out? Drop out or forever remain home with the lights turned off until some jackass comes and tells you you’re being selfish.
Can you relate?
Anyway, my eyes are getting heavy and this fresh cup of coffee hasn’t got me jacked in yet.