Why do we love the unreal rubbish world so me, I asked myself? Why do we adore it, why do we worship it? These are the questions we must never ask, of course. Everyone knows that these are the questions we must never ask – we know it in our bones. That’s why our bones ache so badly sometime – they ache with the unspoken knowledge that there are some questions we must never ask. A terrifying apparition appears in front of me as I ponder these matters, ‘Don’t ask the forbidden question,’ he says to me, ‘never ask the forbidden question…’His face grows ominously dark as he utters these words, as if to let me know just how bad this would be. The whole room falls into shadow at that moment and a deathly chill descends on me, a chill that settles into my very bones. The apparition locks his gaze with me, his eyes burning into me. He’s talking to me telepathically in waves of psychic ice that penetrate my very soul. ‘Never ask the forbidden question,’ he tells me. He imprints this message deep within me. I was in a room full of people. They were my friends – I had lots of friends. Nobody hated me. Pleasant events were happening and everything seemed pleasant. This was a happy day, I realized – I had to write about it in my diary. I had to record it. I was in my own dream-show; the dream-show host was talking – he was very good at talking and everyone was laughing, including me. Everyone was happy because it was a happy dream. We were in the social world, we were in the construct. Everyone was happy, everyone was talking. We were posting about our experience in social media – we had microchips in our heads that could do that. People were making witty comments. Some people said funny things. Everyone was happy, everyone was talking. Pleasant events were happening. The dream-show host started talking again. ‘Remember,’ he said, very seriously, all of a sudden, ‘never ask the forbidden question.’ He wasn’t joking this time. He wasn’t trying to make us laugh. He turned to me then and caught me in his gaze, one of his eyes darting around madly in its socket whilst the other one bored steadily into me. The eye looking at me grew bigger and bigger until it became as big as the whole world. Events were taking place in it. Wrong-doers were being punished. Wrong-thinkers were being re-educated, re-formulated. I had forgotten what the question was. It no longer mattered to me. No one cared about the question.
Why do we love the unreal rubbish world so me, I asked myself? Why do we adore it, why do we worship it? These are the questions we must never ask, of course. Everyone knows that these are the questions we must never ask – we know it in our bones. That’s why our bones ache so badly sometime – they ache with the unspoken knowledge that there are some questions we must never ask. A terrifying apparition appears in front of me as I ponder these matters, ‘Don’t ask the forbidden question,’ he says to me, ‘never ask the forbidden question…’His face grows ominously dark as he utters these words, as if to let me know just how bad this would be. The whole room falls into shadow at that moment and a deathly chill descends on me, a chill that settles into my very bones. The apparition locks his gaze with me, his eyes burning into me. He’s talking to me telepathically in waves of psychic ice that penetrate my very soul. ‘Never ask the forbidden question,’ he tells me. He imprints this message deep within me. I was in a room full of people. They were my friends – I had lots of friends. Nobody hated me. Pleasant events were happening and everything seemed pleasant. This was a happy day, I realized – I had to write about it in my diary. I had to record it. I was in my own dream-show; the dream-show host was talking – he was very good at talking and everyone was laughing, including me. Everyone was happy because it was a happy dream. We were in the social world, we were in the construct. Everyone was happy, everyone was talking. We were posting about our experience in social media – we had microchips in our heads that could do that. People were making witty comments. Some people said funny things. Everyone was happy, everyone was talking. Pleasant events were happening. The dream-show host started talking again. ‘Remember,’ he said, very seriously, all of a sudden, ‘never ask the forbidden question.’ He wasn’t joking this time. He wasn’t trying to make us laugh. He turned to me then and caught me in his gaze, one of his eyes darting around madly in its socket whilst the other one bored steadily into me. The eye looking at me grew bigger and bigger until it became as big as the whole world. Events were taking place in it. Wrong-doers were being punished. Wrong-thinkers were being re-educated, re-formulated. I had forgotten what the question was. It no longer mattered to me. No one cared about the question.
