I had finally worked it out. I had figured out what was going on. To my amazement, I realized that I really had – I had stumbled upon the truth. However unlikely that may seem. Looking back on that moment I can’t understand how it had come to me. I’m not that smart. I can’t kid myself that I am. This thing was bigger than me, bigger than anything I could have imagined. Far, far bigger. It might have just been some kind of fluke, I said to myself. A freakily bizarre fluke it’s true but a fluke nonetheless. Maybe it’s nothing to do with me – maybe I’m just a pawn playing a bit role in a bigger scheme than I’ll ever understand. Or maybe I’m just delusional, although I don’t really believe that. I’m only saying that to show that I’ve considered all the possibilities.
What I worked out was this. The reason I’m anxious and demoralized is because my whole life is a preposterous fiction and I myself am nothing more than a jumped-up illusion or hallucination. I’m feeling anxious and jittery and cursed to fail in everything I undertake because I’m not a real person and the rather deep-rooted ramifications of this fact are now starting to make themselves felt. Though felt by who exactly I’m not sure. Wouldn’t that be enough to make anyone anxious and demoralized, if they started somehow to become aware of it? That’s pretty demoralizing stuff. Kind of puts a spanner in the works. Oops you’re not real – what a pity. That’s tough. That’s a bummer for sure. Only it isn’t because there’s no one for it to be a bummer for. It might seem like bad luck to find that out – the worst possible luck, in fact – but it isn’t. How can someone who isn’t real have any luck, good or bad? Bad luck you’re not real old boy only it isn’t at all, not when you get right down to it…
What I had figured out – unbeknownst to myself, and certainly without any intention of doing so – was that I was in the game and the game was all there was. Just as long as you believe in the game then everything’s fine. That’s why it pays to be stupid, that’s why it makes sense to be dumb. Just so long as you believe in the game you can go on about good luck and bad luck as much as you like. You can cry rivers over your bad luck if you want. Lucky you! I can’t though. I am denied that particular luxury. Or rather I’m not denied it because I don’t exist and you have to exist in order to be denied something. Or granted something. As long as you believe in the dream you can have all of that shit. You can have it all.
When you start to suss onto the game being the game then all of that goes. What doesn’t go when you suss onto the game being the game? Oh my God it’s all just the game and the game isn’t real you think but your thoughts are as unreal as whatever (you think) you’re thinking about. It’s all just a game and I’m in the game. Which means that I am the game. I’m part of the game and at the same time I am the game. Tap-dancing my way through the World of Make Believe. What a shame you’re not real after all. After all your hard work. What a shame it turned out to be all just a dream. Only it’s not a shame at all. It’s only a shame if you’re in the dream and you still believe that it isn’t a dream. It’s only a shame in the dream. It’s only anything in the dream but that’s no good because the dream isn’t real. The dream isn’t real. You might wish that it was but it isn’t. Dreams never are, are they?