Can the deepest go deeper? Who gets to define what is the deepest you can go? When I say I wanted to dig deep, I really didn’t think much about, ‘how deep’. How deep can I go anyway? I mean, how do you ever get to know if you’ve reached the deepest yet? What happens when you reach the deepest? Do you lose your mind or do you lose yourself? Or will you finally figure out what the fuck was wrong at the first place? Will it be enlightenment or will you get a shock of your life? Will you be appalled by the monster you are deep inside? Who gets to define? It’s so confusing sometimes I can be lost in my own mind. There are so many questions popping out each from random corners of my mind and there’s no one to answer it for me. And I try to give an answer to each of them. While it takes a long time for me to figure the answers, more questions pop out during my thinking process, making the whole situation even more confusing for me. And sometimes it gets so puzzling that I feel like my head can explode. And sometimes I wish it could just explode so that I wouldn’t have to think anymore. My mind is like labyrinths within labyrinths, and I doubt that I will ever reach the other end, where light shine so bright I will be blinded and I don’t have to see anything else.
And I was on the car and the question that has been bugging me ever since I was young popped out again. Why do cars look smaller than they are when you look out from the inside of the car? I mean, when I look out from the windscreen, however big the fucking car is, it is still smaller than the windscreen. And I’m quite sure if I were to be standing at the exact same spot I sit at, the scale would differ. And so, google, our best friend. Nothing fucking came out. Is it just me?
I hate how nothing is real. I hate how you never get to know if something is really what you think it is. Maybe it’s just because I’ve been reading the Chrysalids, but I really wonder how does the world even function, trusting other people, without things like thought-shapes. People can be lying and you might never know that they are. Maybe I’m just the only one in the whole motherfucking world that sucks in lying. Maybe the whole world is a fucking lie. What if my whole life has been a lie? Sometimes I just feel like this whole shit is so fake I can’t take it anymore. It’s so fake. So surreal. So unreal. I just have this feeling that every moment of my life involving interaction with another something else involves brainwashing as well. I mean, the world influences one another. Talk about uniqueness of individual. I doubt its existence. Music is influenced. One genre derives from another. People are influenced by friends’ music taste, fashion sense, way of thinking, interest. What is of your own anyway? I can only say I see no individuality, just a fusion of influences from different people. The whole motherfucking world is full of brainwashing. Accents. Influences, no? Fashion, music. Just a cycle of ideas, fusions of ideas. Fusion is a fancy word, I’d call it copy. Motherfucking brainwashery. I look at myself and I see nothing of my own. Another product of society, nothing new. And the society is another product on its own. Products produced by products and these products produce more products. Products products products. Talk about originality. Fucking bullshit. How limited is our “creativity”? How ironic. The whole world is a grandmotherfucking irony. I don’t know whether to laugh at the irony of this irony, or to weep for how pathetic we are, society. And yet again, it might all be a lie. A lie I live in. How do you ever know what is in someone else’s mind anyway. There are too many people I don’t understand anyway. Well, nearing 7 billion? Who knows existence of how many more people are not recognized yet anyway. Maybe more than 7 billion, who knows.
Even nature isn’t natural, what is real?