You could be an illusion without realizing it, my doubts are telling me. Did you ever think of that? Did you ever think of that? My doubts are ever active. They are eating away at me, gnawing relentlessly at my core – if I even have a core, which my doubts are causing me to disbelieve. I could be coreless. I could be without a core. The paradoxes involved here are worrying, however. I confess to finding the paradoxes disturbing. I confess to finding them very troubling. You could be an illusion, you could be an illusion, you could be an illusion, chatter my ever-insistent thoughts. Did you ever think of that, did you ever think of that, did you ever think of that. They chatter away like a troop of marmosets. They chatter away ceaselessly. How do you know that you’re not, how do you know that you’re not, how do you know that you’re not, they keep on asking me. How indeed, I ask myself. How indeed. I never really ask this question however – not really. I only think that I do. I only imagine that I do. That’s just my dream. I am only my own dream and I’m not really here at all. You know that you aren’t, you know that you aren’t, you know that you aren’t… chorus my gleeful thoughts. You know that you aren’t, you know that you aren’t, you know that you aren’t, I repeat dutifully. All I can ever do is echo my own thoughts. My mind is an echo-chamber, and I am the echo – I myself am the echo, echoing myself forever. Echoing myself forever.