Endlessly obsessing over the pointless, ever-proliferating minutiae of my own ludicrously stupid belief structures, I never once realised that I had been doing Satan’s work for him. Satan’s like that, you see – he likes to take the easy route, if at all possible. Let the others do the heavy lifting. He’s smart that way, and smart in a lot of other ways too. Not that I’m endorsing conformity to the Satanic Realm, you understand. Far from it – I would endorse non-conformity. I would endorse non-conformity every time. But who cares what I would or wouldn’t endorse? What’s that got to do with anything? Endlessly obsessing, that’s me – I just can’t help myself. I’m constantly obsessing over my own pointless obsessions. “Is this what my life has come to?” I ask myself melodramatically. Stupid question really, of course. No prizes given for the first correct answer, sort of thing…
“What does it mean to be a human being?” I mused unhappily, “what must it be like to be able to be in reality?” Every now and again the thought comes to me, you see. It comes to me and it prangs me, like a spring suddenly coming loose in a defective mattress. I have no way of curing myself of thinking this thought, or some variant thereof. The Matrix was malfunctioning of course. Not the Mattress but the Matrix! Although the allusion is not a bad one – it is fitting enough in its own way, I dare say. We’re all snoozing away on the soiled and malfunctioning mattress of social conformity, snoozing quite happily until all of a sudden a loose spring sees fit to prang you painfully in the arse.
It just goes to show that you should have gone for the Super Comfort Dreamy-Deluxe Mattress which will cost you plenty. An arm and a leg, I dare say. At the very least. And it may cost you a great deal more. Unusual times call for unusual remedies, so they say, but I have no remedies. I have nothing to offer you in that line, or in any other line for that matter. Don’t take my word for it though – try a Super Snoozy Deluxe Comfort Dreamer today and see how it grabs you. You won’t know yourselves my friends, and that’s a copper-bottomed guarantee, as they used to say in the good old days. No stray springs in your backside with this baby. Nothing but the yummiest dreams.
I am alone in the Simulator. The Simulator has long since been turned off and now it had the forlorn and more-than-just-a-bit spooky air of a deserted fairground. These things always do, don’t they? These things always do – it’s archetypal. I am all alone in the Dream Box staring at the broken glass under my feet. The power had all burnt out in some long-forgotten accident and the Dream Box was now little more than a burnt-out shell. It is haunted too – haunted by the sad uncurable ghosts of my earlier selves. They look for a recompense they can never find, they look for a redemption that will never be theirs. The burnt-out Dream Box is a lonely place – full of lost souls that the world has long since forgotten about. Some call this place Hades, the place you wander into by mistake but can’t ever leave. You know it from your dreams…
Image – peakpx.com