i guess its been a few days... it seems longer than it probably has been for me. lots of times i really wish i could sit and write, rather than go back to the drudgery of life. atleast when im here, and doing this, i dont get phone calls or faxes or shit like that... its just me and my electric paper. funny how that works. id like to think that everything i plunk down that you are about to read is real. its really not. thats the only real property it has. its just electrons that are trapped in silicon, that trigger electromagnetic responses of red and green and blue light; thats really an optical illusion... that becomes the reality. none of this is real. and yet it all is real. nothing here really exists in this space.. its just all shit designed around fooling your brain in to seeing something thats here, but its really not... and all that really is here i guess is whatever we want to be here right? i could make this a picture of a flower pot.. and who the hell cares, its not really here right?

but instead i toss out my sentiment, my feeling and, for better or worse, it happens to pour out as black dots on white dots... all meaningless mindless banter that prolly doesnt amount to jack shit. but here we are... staring at it. hell some of you actually read this... some of you actually read INTO this.... simply amazing. nothings real. nothing is right, nothing is wrong. nothing is. yet, right here, right now, this... this is real? this is real enough to you and me, isn't it? even though theres really nothing here. nothing at all but a bunch of feelings and musings by some guy, that some how end up as dots on a piece of glass. and the only thing thats real about it is thats all the reality is.

reality is what we make it to be. reality is, what is real to us. only in the truest sense is something real, can it become reality. why do i care? why are you reading this? do you care? probably not. is that real? probably. whats the reality of it? i dont get it. reality is what we make it to be. so what ever we want we either make real, or we have to some how let exist before hand.... begging some circular approach to making anything real, in a very obscenely sense of subjectivity. somethings in life we can count as false and not real. my hand is not green. i do not have wings. i am not dead. more or less these are verifiable instances of truth or falsity; but does that make them real? arent they real enough possibilities if we have to construct a way to verify that 'yes this is real, or no this is not real?' so being real only is a property of acceptance again. what we accept as real is real. we isnt real, we accept as unreal. so that makes reality a sense of all things real? maybe.

your probably asking yourself, why is this nut job talking about some epistemic and metaepistemical concepts that belong in a theater class or a philosophy discussion. meh. if reality is only what we make it, how do we judge if reality is ground-able or can come to pass? how can we tell someone " get real man " or, "shit man, start living in reality" its a term that, by nature, lets a subjective selection of values to become real.... as per the definition of the user. {{{{ scratch your head some more. }}}}

reality isnt fair to me. reality suggests that all things real become my universe. reality isnt allways happy, it isnt allways sad; reality is just real. its not projected, its not expected and its probably not subjective. its real. its true or false, its verifiable or it isnt. so then why is it my life... my reality... doesnt seem to include things that are supposed to be real. like this conversation. like we said; none of this is real. its all fake... and we can sit and argure and verify that this monitor is indeed outputting black dots on white dots; but its all just dots. its not words, its not emotion, its not sensitivity, and its not truth or intruth. its fucking dots. in reality, were all sitting back and making sense out of black dots that dont exist. turn off your monitor... see, they dissappear... they werent there, they arent there.. that is reality. something that can come and go, and be there and then dissappear. thats reality.

so none of this makes sense when you tell yourself about reality. ive told myself before that, ive got to make a real conceited effort to achieve something. my only real shot at anything is probably not real. if it were real, it wouldnt be a shot.. it would be. it would be a part of reality. this big construct of all things that are real. but its not. what you want is not. who you want is not. none of it is a part of your reality. yet its all very real. you find yourself thinking about it at 3 am like this... you really want it. but in reality your not going to get it. turn off your thoughts. kill your desires. nothing is real. nothing but reality is real. and reality is nothing more than real things.

you tell yourself at night, when you cant sleep that, what you may feel is real. your feelings are strong, its a solid conviction of emotion of love or lust or respect or all the above. but its not real. theres nothing there. prove the reality. find those black dots on white dots.. they arent there. your feelings arent in the realm of reality. but are they no less real? dont they keep you up at night... dont they drive you to say things? dont they make you what you are? and how is that not real? how is it that youve got a real reaction to something, and it doesnt become a part of reality? it doesnt tho. its not real to them. its not real to you. if it was, then what? what if i told you it IS real. it IS there... verifiable and true... would you make it a part of your reality? not if its not real to you. not if those feelings are meeting up in your eyes as a real concern. as a real example of sentiment. as a real possibility. and until then, it just cant become reality. ask yourself that.

ain't it fun~
s.