Prescient Paranoia

Different emotions differ in their ways, they differ in an emotional way, in a way that differs but which is nevertheless much the same. Mainly the same, but possibly differing just by a little. Or possibly differing not at all – that could well be it too, I concluded (or provisionally concluded, at least). Quite possibly not at all. That was a very strong possibility as well. I was writing an essay in my head, composing lines and arranging them in a way that seemed tasteful. Tasteful to me anyway. Tasteful but not too redundant, or at least only partially redundant. Or perhaps largely redundant. That could be it too of course. My thoughts were light, airy and expensive. They were ebullient in nature and yet the same time elegant. They were elegant but perverse. They stretched out delicate tendrils of propositional inquiry into featureless space and then doubled back on themselves in confusion. Today was a good day, I told myself. Good but at the same time rather poor. Not really living up to expectations, I wouldn’t say. Perhaps I was on drugs, I said to myself. That could be it too – I wouldn’t necessarily know about it. It could have happened without my knowledge. Or it could have happened with my knowledge too. That was always a possibility as well. Serious mind-altering drugs. Or perhaps not so serious. Today is a good day, I told myself, only questioningly this time. I didn’t have a body anyway, I remembered then. I didn’t have a body so I couldn’t be on any mind-altering drugs. That thought came as a relief to me – I had started to feel the first pangs of prescient paranoia. Just the very first pangs, nothing too dramatic, but it wasn’t a good sign all the same. It was one of the worst possible signs in fact – if not the worst. A terrible, terrible sign. I had just reached the point of seriously considering that I had been spiked with one of these long-acting deliriants we hear so much about these days. ALD-60 perhaps, or EA-3443, or the newer and more sinister mind-jacking drugs that we read so much about in the tabloid newspapers. Not that they are any tabloid newspapers anymore of course – or any other type of newspaper for that matter. My nerves were shot after all I had been through, I consoled myself. That’s all it was – bad nerves. Possibly trauma, too. What I had just been through was enough to make anyone paranoid. Never mind me, with my well-documented history of amphetamine addiction! I’ve been here before you see. My first thought was that I had been spiked with a K-class military deliriant and that – as a result – I had started to believe that I was becoming paranoid when in fact I wasn’t at all. It was probably a prank, nothing more than that. A prank on the part of my so-called ‘friends’ who seem to spend most of their time going around spiking people with big doses of military-grade deliriants of the long-lasting variety. My second thought was that I hadn’t been spiked but that I had for some reason turned paranoid anyway and started to suspect that I was on mind-altering drugs, without my knowledge or consent. My best guess was that I wasn’t paranoid but that I was – for some unexplained reason – hallucinating that I was paranoid. Possibly I was hallucinating that I was taking mind-altering drugs when nothing of the sort was true. Possibly I was hallucinating that I hadn’t got a body when actually I did have one. Or then again, I reasoned obliquely, it could equally well be the case that I was falsely hallucinating that I was hallucinating that I didn’t have a body, when all along it was actually true that I didn’t. That could be it too – in the confused space of ‘all possible thoughts’ the most unlikely and hard-to-believe proposition was very likely to be the Master Reality, the reality which no one wants us to know about. That is the corner stone which the builder rejected – that corner stone is the Master Reality which underlies and controls all the others.






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