Choose Life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a fucking big television, choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players and electrical tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol, and dental insurance. Choose fixed interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose leisurewear and matching luggage. Choose a three-piece suit on hire purchase in a range of fucking fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who the fuck you are on Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing fucking junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pissing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked up brats you spawned to replace yourselves. Choose your future. Choose life... But why would I want to do a thing like that? I chose not to choose life. I chose somethin' else. And the reasons? There are no reasons. Who needs reasons when you've got heroin?
True. But what is truth? What do we know? We might know everything. Or nothing. Or something in between. What is knowledge? If I know something but can't communicate it, does it count as knowledge? Are you even real? Cogito ergo sum. Or not. Everything I just said is a lie. Except that. But if my life is a lie then can I really lie if I am just a fiction myself? Recognizing my ability to lie makes me more real. No. Wait. What if I only think I can lie but the truth is that I can only say what "they" told me to say? If nothing is real then there can be no lies. Or...wait...there can be no truth. It is what it is. But what is it?
What are we missing?
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Choose Life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a fucking big television, choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players and electrical tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol, and dental insurance. Choose fixed interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose leisurewear and matching luggage. Choose a three-piece suit on hire purchase in a range of fucking fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who the fuck you are on Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing fucking junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pissing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked up brats you spawned to replace yourselves. Choose your future. Choose life... But why would I want to do a thing like that? I chose not to choose life. I chose somethin' else. And the reasons? There are no reasons. Who needs reasons when you've got heroin?
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9 years ago
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True. But what is truth? What do we know? We might know everything. Or nothing. Or something in between. What is knowledge? If I know something but can't communicate it, does it count as knowledge? Are you even real? Cogito ergo sum. Or not. Everything I just said is a lie. Except that. But if my life is a lie then can I really lie if I am just a fiction myself? Recognizing my ability to lie makes me more real. No. Wait. What if I only think I can lie but the truth is that I can only say what "they" told me to say? If nothing is real then there can be no lies. Or...wait...there can be no truth. It is what it is. But what is it?