I was smoking the devil’s weed again. Smoking the devil, smoking the devil, smoking the devil’s weed. Goes the soundtrack in my head. The soundtrack is made up of my thoughts, mixed up a bit, with a bit of reverb and a lot of looping. Lots and lots of looping. Always lots of looping. Don’t you smoke the devil’s weed says the voice in my head. Don’t you ever smoke the devil’s weed. Don’t you ever. You know what happens when you smoke that old devil’s weed…
The soundtrack in my head is made up of my own thoughts but they aren’t my thoughts. Not really. They’re random bits of garbage information from the environment that have got fed into the system and looped back on themselves. They’re all mixed up and re-arranged to create a whole new universe. Only it’s not a new universe at all, it’s an old one. It’s the same old universe recycled and fed back to me as if it was something new. The menu doesn’t ever change, not really. I’m living in a world that’s made up of my own decaying thoughts! And yet they’re not my thoughts at all really. They’re false thoughts. They’re garbage thoughts. They’re garbage thoughts absorbed randomly from the Type-2 false universe. The garbage universe.
That’s what happens when you recycle thoughts. You’re still sitting there god knows how many years later still thinking the same old thoughts and they’re not even yours. Not really. They’re garbage thoughts that have taken over. They’re garbage thoughts that own you. But you keep on licking the plate dry. Coming back for seconds. You never see that it’s the same old thoughts that have been repackaged a million times. They’ve been recycled so much that they’ve got no taste left. It’s like chewing old cardboard. Chewing away on a soggy ball of old cardboard. Chewing away. Working away. Working away. Working away. Having a good old chew there. Masticating away on that old soggy bolus of recycled thoughts. You could choke on that old bolus if you weren’t careful. You could very easily choke on it.
I take another toke on the old devil’s weed. It crackles as I inhale. Devil’s weed is very good for the insight, you know – the only thing being that it’s not very good insight. Not the enjoyable sort. How does it help me to know that I’m living in a world made up of my own recycled thoughts? What advantage is there in seeing that I am living in a universe that is made up of rapidly degrading binary code? How is that going to make me feel better? That’s not good to know.
People look at me with curiosity as they walk by. My skin is a decaying fractal bit-map, as are my clothes. You can see through me. I’m a hologram. I know I’m a hologram. My coding is being corrupted further every moment – the coding that holds me together. Digital decay has set in – I’m coming apart. My thoughts are no good any more – chaff blowing in the air. I’m full of holes and the air is blowing through me. The holes feel good, strangely enough. They feel real, unlike the rest of me. The breeze feels good as it blows through me, it’s fresh and it’s clean.
I’m not here anymore. You could drive a bus through these holes. You could very easily drive a bus through them. I’m starting to fray, I’m afraid to say. My thoughts are fraying and I’m afraid because I am my thoughts. That’s all I am – I’m a thought hologram. You are what you think and the stitching in my thoughts has come undone. That’s the devil weed’s work. It unstitches you every time. I’ve forgotten how to think myself – it’s a trick I always do and I‘ve forgotten how to do it.
I no longer know how to con myself into believing that I exist! I can’t carry it off any more. I’ve forgotten the trick of it…