‘What’s life like in the Equilibrium Realm?’ you ask, keen to find out, keen to find out all about the secrets of Samsara. ‘What’s the big deal with samsaric existence? Why do folks like it so much?’ I admire your perspicacity, of course; I am always a great admirer of perspicacity. Most folks – as you know yourself – only want to enjoy the illusions that samsaric existence is so very full of – we don’t want to go into it you see, we don’t want to know anything about it because that would entirely defeat the purpose of the exercise. There’d be no point in that, as everyone knows. There’s no payoff in learning about the trick that’s being played on us. That would just make us miserable and jaded. There is on the other hand a reward for successfully falling for the trick, being taken in by it. There’s always a reward for being a dummy in this life of ours, as I’m sure you’re aware.
‘But what are the secrets of Samsara?’ you still want to know. You’re all ears, you’re practically falling off the edge of your chair. You’re agog with anticipation (as they always say). That would be telling however, and we can’t have that. You’ll just have to get in the queue with everyone else; you’ll just have to wait your turn. But what are the secrets you want to know. What are they. Those deeply evocative and mysterious secrets. The whole thing such a tease, isn’t it? You would love to know but no one will tell you – they all want to keep this secret to themselves of course. The last thing they’re going to do is blab about it to some stranger. No one owes a stranger anything after all…
I was brought up to never trust a stranger. I was reared that way you see, I was reared to be distrustful to strangers and to treat them bad on this account. To rip them off when you get a chance, to always put them wrong if there’s a way to do this. We call it ‘the Code’ back where I come from. One always has to adhere to the code, does one not? There is honour in always adhering to the code. That’s how you earn respect for yourself. That’s how you learn to respect and honour yourself. By upholding the Code…
When I was born people thought that I would grow up to be a genius, and that I would achieve many things, many great things. You may laugh, but that’s what people thought. There had been various omens and stuff like that. Portents, and the like. Strange signs had been seen. That turned out not to be true of course but I can’t take the blame for that. The portents were wrong, the signs were misleading, and that’s just about all I have to say on the matter. If you’re expecting me to be this to be feeling bad about myself on this account then I’m afraid you’re going to be disappointed.
I have adjusted to life in the Equilibrium Realm – I’ve made my peace with it. I’ve made my peace with the fact that this is where I’m going to end my days. And – do you know what? – it’s not so bad. It’s not so bad at all. I’ve actually grown to rather like it, can you believe that? It’s a funny thing – the person I once was would have been utterly disgusted, appalled in fact, that I could have come to this. That I could have ended up like this. And yet the person I am now – the person I have become – doesn’t care at all!
I hate bad people, don’t you? Boy do I hate them! I hate them so much it actually makes me feel ill. I hate the bad people with every atom in my body. I want to punish them. Punish, punish, punish – I want to punish them so much! I want to punish them so much that it makes me feel sick. Sick with excitement. The thought of punishing the bad people makes me break out in a cold and unhealthy sweat. I want it so badly, you see. I want to punish them so very much and – what’s more – I know you do too. I recognise that in you, you see.
I was creating events in the privacy of my own head. Some were joyful events whilst others were sad and depressing. I was creating all sorts of events, but mainly the unhappy sort, mainly the wretched, miserable sort. That’s life though, isn’t it? That’s the way things go – there’s always a bias to the wretched and the miserable. That’s the default, as we all know. The miserable is always the default and you know the reason for that as well as I do so I won’t waste your time blabbering on about it when there’s no need. I won’t waste your time stating the obvious. Creating events in the privacy of my own mind only they’re all unreal events, you understand. I never created an event that wasn’t unreal, in fact.
‘There is but a single mould to which all must conform’, I roar at the top of my voice. I’m full of enthusiasm but don’t have a clue as to what I’m actually talking about. I never do. I don’t know and I don’t care – there’s a virus in my mind and it runs me ragged every day. It leads me on a merry dance. I’m forever roaring and shouting and generally carrying on like a fool and that’s because of the Invisible Predator that has eaten my brain away until there’s nothing left. I keep on walking and talking because I’m too stupid to realize that I’m not actually there anymore. I’m too stupid to realize anything. I’m just like everyone else in that regard.
We’re living in the Product World, you see. We’re living in the world that’s made up of thousands and thousands of products, and boy are we having a good time! We’re having the best time ever. We just can’t get enough of it. We’re mad for it, mad for those rotten filthy old products. These filthy old products sure are good, we say – they truly are magnificent. We love them so much. We’re having a great old time and no mistake, but at the same time the shrewd observer might spot that there is something not quite right about this setup. Something odd, something suspicious. Something downright sinister in fact. Something that smells a bit off – as if there’s something dead under the floorboards. Satan is behind it all, you see. The Great Despiser is the Prince of this world, after all. Or had you forgotten?
The force that pins us down is immense, isn’t it? So immense, so very immense. Frighteningly immense. ‘Well, you have to struggle to be free’, you pipe up bravely, ‘it’s important to be free, after all…’
I listen to you politely. What else can I do, after all? It’s not something I can explain – it’s not something anyone can explain. Yes, on one level we could certainly say that it is important to be free, in a purely abstract sense it is fair enough to say that. In strictly practical terms however, you might as well save your breath and use it for something else. Something more useful. Blowing up big red balloons for a party perhaps, or blowing out the candles on your birthday cake.
But how can I explain, how can I explain? The fatuousness of struggling – however heroically. To be free, that is. Or maybe futile is the word I’m looking for. Or maybe I should stick with fatuous? The struggle to be yet more fatuous than you already are – now there’s a struggle to wax lyrical about. There’s a struggle to bring a tear to the eye and a lump to the throat. It’s the ultimate struggle. The force that pins us down is immense, after all. Far more immense than you and I could ever possibly imagine. That’s what I’m trying to get across here.
All we’re allowed are our fantasies, wouldn’t you agree? Our poor sad fantasies. Regarding how everything is going to be great, regarding how everything is going to be wonderful. Let the good times roll, we say. Freedom is against the law you see, freedom has always been against the law. It would upset the apple cart of course and what would become of all the apples then? It would be sheer chaos. We couldn’t possibly allow that.
Exceptional problems call for exceptional remedies, as nobody can deny. The more exceptional the better. You can stay at home and watch yourself on TV if you like. You can watch a TV programme about yourself – your friends and neighbours can watch it too if that’s what they want. You can study yourself in the laboratory to see if you’re real. You can design sophisticated experiments and recreate various experiences to see how you react. Life’s a bumpy old journey and you can’t be sure if it’s worth it or not.
The research design is simple: you pretend to yourself that you exist, that you really do exist. In reality not in fantasy. You convince yourself of the fact, and then you put yourself through all sorts of torments that you can’t get out of. Then you can settle back and see what sort of experimental data can be obtained. What sort of hypotheses can be proposed. Will our hypotheses be supported or will they be sunk without a trace? Will we have to go back to the drawing board? Is truth false, or are lies true?
I yearn for freedom but fear the humiliation that comes with failure. The dreadful, dreadful humiliation. I fear the humiliation that comes with failure and for this reason I lie low and bide my time. It’s what I do best, after all.
I was on vacation in my head, lying back luxuriantly amidst the hideous chaos and squalor of my life. I had forgotten all my cares – I was stretched out on a cheap plastic recliner counting my chickens. Of which they were plenty. I was on a permanent holiday.
The darkness is approaching fast now. It’s approaching like an oncoming locomotive and ours is the role of the helpless victim tied to the tracks. It’s the traditional role, of course. It’s how things are done. That’s the type of world we live in.
The shadows are getting longer every day. They grow and they grow, encroaching upon the sunlit spaces of our lives. Always encroaching. They encroach a little bit more every day until – before we know it – the light of the sun becomes something none of us are able to remember. There will be stories of it, perhaps. There will be folktales and legends that speak of it, but the authorities will close all that down quick enough. They’ll close all that down for good. Or for evil, should I say? They’ll close it all down for evil. They’ll close us down for evil. They won’t tolerate the light. They’ll come down hard. They’ll punish wrong doers. Punishing wrong doers is what the authorities do best.
This is the way it always is with authorities, of course. What else would you expect? What else do the authorities ever do but deny the light? That’s their role – the authorities exist to enforce the darkness, and they do so in the name of all that is sacred! They have the monopoly on all that is sacred. They will preach the words of right and truth. They will give succour to the faithful. They will reward their minions.
Should we worship the Darkness? Is that the correct and gainful course of action? Is it valuable and helpful to worship the Darkness? These are just some of the questions we have to ask ourselves, you see. These are just some of the issues we have to address. Is it correct to praise Satan unceasingly, even though we know that He is the father of all wicked things in this world?
There is but one mould to which all creatures must conform. Only one mould, only one mould – all must pass through the one gate. We are told by the Rulers that our Father Satan cares deeply for us and everything He does is for our own good. We must pray to Him daily, imploring his mercy. We must pray that He will punish us sufficiently. We can never praise Him sufficiently. One day follows hot upon the heels of another, without ever a break. ‘What does it all mean?’ you ask yourself, ‘what is the significance of existence? Is life a type of delirium? Are aliens real?’
I was defending myself – no one else would, after all! He did a bad thing your honour, I explained before the court. He did a bad thing, and he knew it to be to be bad when he did it, he knew it but he didn’t care that it was wrong. He meant to do the bad thing, and he knew full well just how bad it was. He knew very well. He couldn’t have cared less but he went ahead and did it all the same and that was definitely wrong. The defendant admits all this and he owns up to being a thoroughly bad person and he hopes you will show lenience on account of his honesty in this matter.
I like to think that I came off plausibly enough in my heartfelt address to the court. I’d like to think this because I know I’m generally a very plausible person – I can talk myself out of anything usually, but on this occasion I was starting to get the feeling that I wasn’t quite pulling it off. Not like I normally do. My charm wasn’t working. ‘Guys, guys, guys, give me a break!’ I begged, ‘I can’t help being bad, after all – that’s just the way I’m made.’ I was defending myself in a court of law. I was defending myself against all the charges.
I did the bad thing your honour I burst out, I did the bad thing and it was a very bad thing – one of the worst. One of the very worst. If not THE worst. I did the bad thing and so here I was facing the consequences. I didn’t ask to be the way I am, I told the magistrate, I was born this way. I’ve always been this way’. He did the bad thing your honour I explained to the court. He is a very guilty perpetrator and he broke all the rules. He didn’t mean it – although he did really, of course. I was mounting a spirited defence and the prosecution’s case was collapsing all around them. I had them beat – although not really, of course.
It wasn’t me that did it I explained – I was nowhere near the crime scene at the time you see and anyway I didn’t know anything about it. It’s all about outmanoeuvring the prosecution you see – it’s all about confounding all their groundless accusations, which are falling thick and fast all around me. Thick and fast, thick and fast. I’m batting them off just as fast as I can with my little toy bat. The faster they come the faster my arms work! It never happened, I told the jury, that’s a total lie. None of this is real. It’s a set up…
He was created in Satan’s own image your honour I explained eagerly to the judge. I was talking too fast for my own good but I couldn’t help it. He was created in Satan’s own image, I gabbled, and so what chance did he have? He was doomed from Day One – things were never ever going to go any other way. He drew the short straw. People like him just fine until they realize that they don’t. He gets on very well with everyone until they get to see what he’s really like. He’s the life and soul of the party. He’s the life and soul of the party until he isn’t. It wasn’t me that did it I explained and anyway it wasn’t my fault. He was created in Satan’s own image I explained to the Grand Council of Elders. He used to be me but not anymore. I became someone else. I was defending myself, trying to put the record straight. I was defending myself in a court of law.
‘What is it like to be the Ever-Suffering Homunculoid’, you want to know. You really want to know. ‘It must be pretty bad, right?’ you persist, ‘you know – it must be bad to be the Ever-Suffering One, and all of that…’ And you’re quite right, of course – it certainly is pretty bad. It’s pretty bad indeed and I ought to know. It’s not exactly what you might call a barrel of laughs being the Ever-Suffering Uncle Lloyd, I can tell you. But then again of course, it wouldn’t be, would it?
‘What’s it like, what’s it like?’ I ask myself absent-mindedly as I go about my daily business. What can we say about the plight of the suffering Homunculoid? That’s what folk want to know about, of course – that’s what they’re all so damn curious about. ‘That must be pretty bad shit’, they say, hoping to wheedle out some more info out of me. I’m saying nothing, however. I’m keeping schtum. My lips are well and truly sealed – the fact of the matter (as all adepts know) is that information like this shouldn’t be passed on to ordinary folk. They wouldn’t be able to handle it, you see. There’s very little they can handle, if we were to be honest about it. They can’t handle anything that’s actually real.
Everyday normal folk are a bit of a bloody write-off really, aren’t they? They’re only able to tolerate their own malignant bullshit, when it comes down to it, and often enough even that proves too much for them. But that’s everyday normal folks for you though, isn’t it? That’s wing here they’re at – they create a reality for themselves out of their own toxic bullshit and then they steadfastly refused to have anything to do with anything else. And to cap it all, they spend all their time moaning about insignificant problems that have nothing to do with anything. We’ve all been there however so I suppose we shouldn’t be too judgmental about them, should we?
They are playing the game, you see. They are always playing the game. You can see it in their eyes. You can see the nauseating smugness of it. Smug, smug, smug – so very smug. They are invulnerable in their smugness. It would annoy me if I didn’t happen to know that they’re all doomed. If I didn’t happen to know that their doom is to meet the very thing they fear the most and that – therefore – their whole lives are lived in denial of this immutable unavoidable fact. Everyday normal folk are doomed from the very onset to be annihilated by the very thing they hate and fear the most, and yet notwithstanding this they contrive to be petty-minded, mean-spirited, and smugly superior in their attitude! Astonishing, isn’t it? What an appalling spectacle it makes – what a hideous and truly grotesque spectacle. But we’ve all been there though, we’ve all been on that particular trip at some time or other and that ought to introduce a note of compassion. They simply don’t know any better, you see. And isn’t that exactly what Jesus said? Didn’t Jesus say that they deserve forgiveness because they didn’t know what they were doing?
I took a notion out of the blue and decided I would pay a visit to my good old friend the Colonel, only to find that he wasn’t in. This was something of a letdown of course but I refused to let it put me off my stride and I decided instead to go and pay my respects to the King, only it turned out that he wasn’t in either. ‘Fuck it’, I cursed, ‘it looks like I’m going to have to hang out with the Clown instead and put up with his creepy clownish ways. Laugh at his jokes and stuff.
By accident – quite inadvertently – I had created the Homunculoid. I had created the Homunculoid and yet the Homunculoid was me. I had created myself, therefore. ‘Whatever did I do it for,’ I wailed out loud, ‘what was wrongwith me that I had to do such a thing?’ I was an unhappy ghost. I took a notion and decided that I’d pay a visit to my good friend the Colonel but the Colonel wasn’t in.
I was running off at the mouth, running off in the head, spouting out meaningless mechanical nonsense in a non-stop stream, my mouth apparently working all by itself. The party was only just beginning and I was having a good time. I was in my element. I was mixing and mingling, I was laughing and gesticulating like a maestro. I was the Man of the Moment, a Great Fellow altogether. I was the Homunculus.
The wind had picked up somewhat, I noticed. All of a sudden it had started to wail in the most disconcerting way. I seemed to be walking along the length of a vast desolate valley, a valley full of rocks and crags, stumbling and tripping as I went. But no matter how far I walked the landscape never changed – it was barren, it was harsh, it was unforgiving. There were no green things to be seen, no flowers or trees – only scree and boulders and dust that got in your eyes and in your mouth.
‘I’m the Man of the Moment’, I croaked, ‘I am the King Under The Hill and my time has come…’ Above me flew the crows. Above me flew the crows, mocking me harshly as they circled slowly overhead. They mocked and they mocked and they never grew tired of mocking. In this valley there was nothing else but mockery and I was the butt of it all. I was the Cosmic Fool. ‘I’m a great guy altogether’, I told the crows defiantly, ‘I’m the Hero of the Hour, and the rest of them are no good compared to me…’
The Empire Barber Shop was doing great business. Grim shadowy figures clambered up onto the Chair and then off again in an endless procession. Each taking their turn in the solemn ritual before slinking off again into the surrounding gloom. Business was booming, I noted again, stuck for anything new to say. No shortage of hairy heads here! Dreadful horrible hairy heads – their mouths frozen at the moment of screaming, their eyes staring wildly but seeing nothing. They were mad heads, crazy heads, senseless heads. Heads without a purpose.
The darkness continues to cling to me, of course. It clings to me like a shroud that was tailor made to fit me and I don’t think it’ll ever let go. Little wispy tendrils of darkness reaching out long spidery fingers, claiming what is rightfully theirs. Because that’s their right. Drawing me down into the nether regions. As I say, I don’t think I’ll ever step out from under the veil to enter the Light of Day. None of us do, after all. None of us ever do…
‘Go to your happy place’, the pleasant-mannered AI group facilitator told us, ‘go to your wonderful happy happy place and think all your very best happy happy thoughts to make yourselves as happy as possible…’ We all hurried to obey, scurried dutifully to obey – looking for the happy place that is inside us. The really special super happy place that feels so good. You can read all about it in the brochure. We didn’t need telling twice you see – we absolutely didn’t need telling twice. We were all mad keen to hightail it to that special happy place inside of us and pull up the drawbridge. Maybe we won’t ever come out again. Maybe we’ll stay there. Who knows, after all? Maybe we will decide that we’ve had enough of life in the non-happy place, and we’re going to give up on it entirely. Maybe we’re fed up to the back teeth with all the crap we’ve had to endure, day in and day out, and that rotten stinking pile of shit they call ‘reality’.
You could hardly blame us for that, of course. No one could blame us for that. Enough is enough, after all. There’s a limit to how much shit a person is going to be willing to take, wouldn’t you agree? Any self-respecting person can only take so much, and then it’s a case of ‘Well the hell with you buddy I’m off to my safe place space, I’m off to my special happy place inside my mind that only I can go to, that only I can know about’. ‘The hell with this,’ they will say, ‘I’m out of here…’ ‘Beam me up Scotty, and all that kind of stuff’, they will say. The safe place, is calling out to me, don’t you know. ‘You’ll be safe here’, it’s telling me, ‘you’ll be super-safe here, good buddy…’
That’s what we’re like and could you blame us? All things considered, could you bloody blame us? We are fed up with all the crap you see, we’re fed up to the back teeth in fact. We’ve had enough. ‘Can everyone please go to their safe place’, the voice on the speaker system tells us. The voice is calm but insistent. ‘Please remain in your safe place until the emergency has past…’ it tells us. Only the emergency never did pass, did it? The emergency never did pass and we’re still here, we’re still here hiding in our safe space to this very day. Holed up there. We won’t come out for anyone. We’re cowering in fear, suspicious of every noise we hear…
‘The chicken, the whole chicken, and nothing but the chicken…’ – isn’t that what they say? No half measures here my friend, none of that damnable faint-heartedness here! Start as you mean to go on, I always say, and if it suddenly goes sideways on you – well, so be it. Have the courage of your convictions… I wasn’t born to be smart, or wise, or funny, or helpful in any way – I wasn’t born to be anything like that. I was born to be fate’s tool, fate’s instrument. That’s all I am at the end of the day and when fate is done with me it’ll toss me aside carelessly without a second thought. Fate doesn’t bother much with second thoughts, as we need hardly point out. Fate is fate at the end of the day and ‘second thoughts’ aren’t exactly its style. No sir, they’re not…
Am I alive or am I dead? Was it something I thought, or was it something something I said? I yearn for greatness but fear the humiliation that comes with failure, and for this reason I Iie low. For this reason I lie low, stealthily watching the others, growing increasingly resentful all the while, until – eventually – I can contain it no more. I can contain it no more and I become the Great Satan Himself, Lord of all Wickedness.
Yes, yes, yes – I became the Great Satan, the Exclusive Source of All Evil in this wretched World. That’s how it happened, you see. That’s how it came to pass. One moment you’re a regular guy, same as any other Joe Soap, the next you’re caught up in an All-Consuming Cosmic Web of Intrigue, you’re caught up in the Titanic Struggle between Good and Evil. And not only are you caught up in it, you’re at the very centre of it. You are what that struggle is all about; you’re the one that instigated it. You are the Lord and Master of all wicked things…
We all wonder about that from time to time, don’t we? We all wonder whether we are alive or dead, whether what’s happening is real or whether it’s all some kind of sick joke. Did that really happen, we ask ourselves, or is my brain stuck in an abandoned laboratory somewhere, in a sealed, aerated tank full of recycled nutrient fluid, hallucinating away feverishly? Hallucinating away frenziedly, hallucinating away madly. Was there really such a thing as reality or was that just part of the hallucination? How would you ever know, after all? How would you ever know? Did what I think just happened really happen or did I just imagine it? Is everything a lie?
We all fear the humiliation that comes with failure, every last one of us. To be sure we do. We fear it so much – we fear it more than words can say and this fear makes us terribly cruel. It makes demons of us and this is why we reject the loser, this is why we mock and abuse the downtrodden as much as we do. It’s the Law, is the Golden Rule – God himself has commanded us to despise the loser, God Himself has told us to oppress all those who have failed. That’s how it is in our minds, anyway. Our poor distorted illusion-ridden minds…
The process all starts innocently enough – it starts with the desire to be famous, the desire to be a household name, the desire to be interviewed on daytime TV by all the big names, and all of that. The desire to be instantly recognisable to anyone anywhere on the planet. We all want that, don’t we? We all want it whether we care to admit it or not. We want it so badly. But that’s just human nature, nothing to be ashamed about. It’s nothing to feel bad about. We’re all human beings, after all – we’re all that way. To be sure we are. It started with the innocent impulse to be a famous person – a famous person who everyone loves, a super-famous person who everyone worships and adores, but it went off the rails at some point. It went off the rails and ended up in a very dark place.
I’m not myself and yet I’m not anyone else either. I’m not anyone. Or anything either. I’m an all-encompassing zero. I wake up sadly, full to the brim with quickly fading dreams.
My dreams aren’t me of course. They never are. Nothing’s me. ‘What exactly does it mean to be a person?’ I ask myself, as I clamber wearily out of my bed. ‘What kind of things might that possibly entail? ‘I’m asking myself these questions purely by habit at this stage, however – it’s a ritual, nothing more. It’s an empty pointless ritual and I’m mocking myself with everything I do.
It’s only words you see, the same old words every time. I go through the rigmarole of it, driven by pure force of habit. Habit is a very powerful thing after all – it is for me, at any rate! Habit is everything as far as I’m concerned. Habit is my whole world – it’s the alpha and the omega.
I am the habit of myself. My idea of myself persists by pure momentum – no active principle is involved. I’ve said it once, so I’ll say it again. I did it once so I might as well repeat it. I’ve started this nonsense and so I’ll just have to carry on with it.
I’m fond of repeating myself, as you would quickly find out if you ever got to know me. You’d find out quickly enough, I’d say. You’d find out fine and fast. You’d probably remark on the fact – why wouldn’t you, after all? Why wouldn’t you?
‘What exactly does it mean to be human bean?’ I ask myself solemnly. ‘What kind of stuff might this entail?’ It’s not that I actually care, you understand – it’s just my empty little ritual. it’s just ‘a thing that I do’, a terribly tedious formula which I like to repeat on occasions like this…
