The Cold's Hold

I am... who am I...?
How... did I happen to end up here... all so... seemingly... spontaneously...?
Why... do you not know the space within which we inhabit has the very nature of life?
What... could you possibly mean...? Who do you happen to be, also? I do not seem to recall you here a moment ago...
I am who wonders... not unlike you, but in contrast I have... a few... answers...
Answers...?
Why do you not go over the valleys, and the river of dew... there you shall find, if only a slice of that which you seek...
(The river of dew...?)
Could this be where...?
Where you shall learn who you are, you mean? The better question, though, is... why do you think that matters so much? Does it matter to you, truly? Or do you think it matters to others, and so matters to you as a proxy... possibly?
How does this matter... truly? I wonder... I suppose if you put it like you did... it does not, but... why does this spontaneity even exist? Why does anything exist, in this sense? If it does, then, is it not natural for what exists to question its own existence...?
I suppose... it does matter, if all you have to do in life is wonder the nature of your existence... if you were like clockwork, though, would you? If you were but a function designed to perpetuate that which spawned you in the first place... would you?
Or... would you merely seek to improve upon your chance to... continue to exist?
I... do not know... what is there to know, even? Does it even matter? Why does it seem to, subjectively, when all it is in reality is an... evanescent life, oh so fleeting...?
One can, truly, never understand contradictions... why, they exist even within a singular entity... how ever anyone strives to understand those within pluralities is beyond me, really...
I think... it is the reason why one strives for easy shortcuts, it seems to me... like, around these corners... but most are not even physical, but psychological in the form of heuristics...
In other words... lazy habits... but not necessarily... speaking of which, you might be some time away from uncovering who you might be, but... do you even know who I happen to be...?
A... random girl who for some reason has hair with such hue, and... resides in this surreal landscape?
But, traveller, that is a mere description... it is certainly not what I always am, for if that was so I could change my identity by merely dyeing my hair and going elsewhere, no... who I am happens to be a slight bit more constant, you see...
Would... even knowing that slice of information even help me know who I am? I mean, are you not someone who I am likely to not meet again... possibly?
That is possible, but as to whether it is likely only the fates of the future do acknowledge... who I am, though, might indeed possibly help you realize who you are, for in relational packages most of life exists...
Relations... but why? Does one not spend most of their life alone? Is not the default state at any one moment... on one's own? How does anyone then, verily, discover any sort of identity relationally...?
How should I know...? I am not the one who was there, millennia ago, to decide that... for some reason, despite the constant wars between themselves, as a species this one happens to be societal... nor am I saying that that is true, you see... for, it seems to me, it is but an illusory trick... one that exists only to spur motivation, but never mind any of this, for this should not be about any collective whole, but you...
Me...? The same question I have, though... how could I ever discover who I am, in which context, regardless of who you are...?
Well... if I tell you that, and it relates to my telling you that, then you shall know...
Know... what, possibly?
Why, do you never question what you see? These blue waves here, as it happens... you assume it is a river?
Why... would it not be? Should one not presume something is what it is likely to be? In context, in relation to everything else here... it seems to be a river.
Sure... context is crucial, but... rivers flow, remember? It is one crucial aspect of such formations... and this one certainly does not. Then, does that not make you question all else too, relationally, and... contextually?
It... does suddenly seem somewhat of a hazy place, that we happen to be in... why would that be? In my search for myself... have I forgotten what is external?
This... is a representation of what an externality is supposed to look like. Perhaps, similar to the land above the ocean, which in turn is above the planet's central layers... which, if you must, you can imagine as the mind that permutates such a symbol of what is external. In a way, then, the land above - where we normally reside, actually - parallels the dream that the inner mind's layer unleashes upon objective reality. I shall say no more, though. Instead, observe.
I... myself from before, is but the other side of the coin that, in this context, is your speaker...
You are... my speaker?
I, or we, are that which you project... your own volition, as it were, for even if you know not who, or what you are... you still, clearly, show a desire for dialogue, at the very least...
Dialogue... but, of course... who does not? I do not quite understand, though... do you not exist? Are you, perhaps, manifestations of my desire to communicate...?
Sort of... we exist independently of you, and yet co-inhabit your very consciousness... we are, like, the variety of responses an amygdala has in every living being. They are not quite separate from the originator, and yet reflect that same source. In the same breath... they are, as if, a gem's different side, radiating a distinct spectrum of... states. Let me show you, more...
Where... are we, all of a sudden? You, also... I do not know you...
Oh, but you do... for I am the same as all else. The universal multiplicity aforementioned... and this is but the azure impression upon yet another simulator. Speaking of which, do you not reckon my description earlier fits the definition of a simulation...?
You... are a simulation? If so... does that mean I am speaking, and also inhabiting within such a thing...? This is so very confusing, I must admit, verily... but if you are, and also have something to do with me... how come you seem to know so much more? Not to mention the capability to change shape at will...
Well.. think of it this way... we seem to have achieved our maximum potential within what is physically possible in reality. Imagine, if you will, all random conditions that happen to go correctly, to one's own desires... that is us; a dream version of what can be, perhaps. Being able to do anything, anywhere... why there is a difference between you and us, though, I am not entirely sure...
Is that... what this impression is like, in a way, then? Striving towards the ideal?
Perhaps... that would make metaphorical sense. Yet, what is an ideal if not a subjective, personal quality...? Being able to change form, knowing what could be known... might be your preferred ideals... but for this impression, you see, the azure depictions, the blending of the sky with the seas... was what was ideal. The essence, though, might be elusive if an attempt at an objective definition was made...
Perhaps... gazing at the infinite blue... might be ideal, after all...
Oh, but one can be lost in all that liquid infinity, you know? Just like... time itself, water may seem to spread about endlessly... like time, and an individual's perception eventually, though... one gets to know how not eternal it is, and that it is merely the mind's approach that deceives the self, verily... now, tell me, who do you reckon your self is...?
My... self? It is slightly strange to think about this, because it was not actually what immediately sprung up on me, as I noticed this strange abode I was suddenly in, a slight bit earlier... I am ever so confused, and yet the fact I am that indicates that there is a self... but what does it mean? I do not suppose it matters to any of these landscapes... to any individual pixel, or brushstroke, and yet, somehow, it seems ever of such import, albeit merely to that specificity...
You do seem content with infinite elaborations, and yet that does not necessarily guarantee you an answer... why, sometimes an answer is merely a unit; that is, a solitary concept like 'randomness'... I am sure you will desire to find some things for which the only conclusion is as such... in which case, is one not searching needlessly?
I... suppose. How... does any of this relate to that impression in the background, though? How do any externalities matter at all? Are those slots of gold in the distance... what we would consider lights? Perhaps it is, too, a misconception, a trick of the mind that only relates the familiar, with reality discarded...
Oh, but does it, indeed, matter? For are we not just meandering aimlessly through unknown sensory projections? If so, they would not be there for the intellect to consume, would they? When is a background ever in the fore? Does one, typically, not merely retain it in the peripheral vision, lest it interferes with one's more pressing... affairs?
If... so... why do they keep changing? How do they matter at all if that is what they seem to need to do? Does life itself, after all, not alter its position only if absolutely necessary? As, otherwise, it may introduce unintentional jeopardy... not that some hued backgrounds make any difference...
No, I suppose they do not do... much. Only if we do not assume, though, let us speculate... that instead of lights those yellow units might be... one's soul parading ever so slowly beneath one's very life... as in, it seeps away, for it does... not visually, usually...
Oh... I suppose, you mean... if they were then that would truly be a matter that consciousness must soon act upon... if, indeed, there is anything one could ever accomplish in such a state of... disrepair? That makes it sound mechanical...
One is more... clockwork... than one thinks. More deterministic, whether biological, sociological, existential... why, it is nigh hopeless to think of an alternative, and yet one can do so in a sort of vacuum... this is the very essence of language, but whether there is ever the possibility of actualities... physics is ever so humdrum, it even created hives to stem changes that can be made, and yet could not...
Hm, what might you know about why I happen to be here, though? For, even if it is not curiosity, why, it seems almost useful to ask...
Why... would you care for such trivialities? Why do you even think it is useful? Is knowing the essence of this hue as useful as merely looking upon it?
Well... one supposes, the dialogue can be eternal, but should knowledge not be a crucial factor? Why, if whatever caused this did not this conversation would not be possible at all... and, yet, just as with many lives, merely living them without a questioning approach seems... wasteful...
If you think so... but... if, hypothetically, enjoyment is the whole point of living, then does knowledge necessarily lend to that? I suppose one might find joy in knowing, but is it really... an ultimate sort of joy? Happiness possible in solely knowledge? As, after all, it usually accompanies the acknowledgement that there is but a sea of non-knowledge, and so... surely one can never be so content with that... unless, of course, one lives in denial...
I... suppose not, perhaps... still, happiness must be subjective, presumably... just like hues themselves are perceived ever so slightly differently by individuals... can, then, happiness be within a single molecule of... qualia? A single sensory experience? How... did I even end up wondering about this, when the inquiry was slightly different earlier...
Well... it is what one does... wonder about what makes one happy, and in some unintended way it can be found... although, likely due to experiencing it prior. It is still theoretically possible to hypothesize on what could possibly make more than one happy (although it is likely subjective), and if anything could be universally applicable it must be, indeed, qualia... just like staring at the blue azure behind us could, almost, hypnotize oneself... it could be the same 'algorithm'...
Why are we even discussing this, though...? Should we not attempt to find out where we are? Why, also? Are you not bothered that we seem to be in the middle of nowhere... in all this variation of blue... and merely discussing between ourselves as idle as can be...?
We... could be bothered with such mundane affairs... or, we could keep indulging in idealistic fantasizing... surely, one of these is better than the other, but I shall, still, entertain you with such possibilities... and, so, let me present you with some thought experiments, per se...
Thought experiments? Still not sure how some mental exercises will resolve this practical question, but let us see...
Really...? I would not have thought so... I, personally, do not see the point... world is, naturally, dark, but... somehow, as one can see, it can also not be if a conscious effort is made to see it through... certain filters. One supposes... the kind of filters that were there at the start, before this repetitive sensory perception... or, well, I suppose they could be different interpretations, rather than filters... which would be more like extras...
At the start? Is that how this hill, and the lake were... projected? By having no filters... nothing concrete that impeded the sensing of such an environment? How, then, if one could do so... how could one not be... uplifted?
Oh... I suppose one can be... for a little while... but then what? When reality is found out? When the nightmare unfurls? When the shadows of the mind unravel? Do you... really think you could be in that exact state... even enveloped in this art? Even lost in this subconscious, ideal existence?
Perhaps not... but, I suppose, it would be contextual... how is this, by the way, the latter?
How is it subconscious? Well, I did mention the idealistic aspect of it earlier... in relation to these backgrounds of qualia... and, well, one must question the state the mind is in... sometimes, ideally at least... when in concert with such... which is not, as mentioned previously, under difficult circumstances... but even then, at times... can that which hides in an unseen background... lacking in life, sinking oneself into oblivion... not be vanished upon... memory?
Memory? As in, something from the past, that helps in the present? Art is the memory?
Sure... when one can no longer pretend... when the mind can no longer be a barrier towards misfortune... why do you think you do not remember anything from before you appeared? You do know of that psychological trickery called denial, yes? I believe it can be both a conscious decision... and otherwise. Now, tell me, which do you reckon it was...?
Denial? Why, though, discuss this here, now, with the lush, verdant plains lay before us? When the azure liquid greets us with such pleasure? When... oh, this is denial, is it not... I wonder why... I do, though, still cannot quite recall anything from before... which could it be, then?
One supposes... based on that, it might be both. For, you see, the mind is a devious creature, and stranger than one might think, actually... which is ironic, considering one thinks using the brain that the mind then evolves into... but, yes, regardless, I know what you mean when you sing the praises of the qualia before us... in more scientific terms art might, actually, help teach oneself, and navigate one's own mind... outside of it... not quite possible to do so, easily...
I suppose... not unless one physically tries to navigate it, though, which is not the same thing as interfacing on a more holistic level with the mental sphere, though... wait, how do I seem to reason this? Makes no sense... I cannot remember beyond a while ago, but I still seem to know, and have an opinion on certain matters... which certainly would not be possible if I was newly born...
I guess... that is one way to know that there was a past, even if one remembers it not... it is the epistemological technique of certainty, one might say... although there are still doubts, I suppose... knowledge might have been implanted, but even then that would have come from elsewhere in time, too... in a way, then, despite wondering why we were idly discussing matters of no apparent consequence... we are, actually, acquiring knowledge through reason...
I suppose.. but could we, through a priori dialogue alone, find out matters of impact that we could not have, otherwise... considering that, if we knew them all along it would be, presumably, absurd that it did not make an impression on us beforehand? The nature of who we are... seems of too much import to have secretly known it...
That is... also, one interesting argument to make, based on reason... although there is another one too... that is, what does one hope to know if one merely asks... oneself? As in... if we are, indeed, merely a... constituent of a mental whole... then are we not solely attempting to retrieve information from areas of our mind we do not necessarily have access to? Then, though... what if it is just not available? What if the meaning of life is just no... where?
Well, if you put it that way... if that is so, though, then how ever could we ever know? If there are never any guarantees? Is there, after all, no hope... regardless of any such views... regardless of verdant hills, and flowing streams? Regardless of our sensory perceptions of the world... it might always be bleaker?
Perhaps... although, of course, if the meaning of life, subjectively, is to enjoy it... does, then, one do badly to merely be here in the moment... feel all that the senses provide, regardless of reality elsewhere? I suppose, we can continue on to find out about our origin, but... journeys are still as crucial as destinations, are they not? If the point of life was its destination, then it would have gone in a literal blink... as it happens, though, time is patient.
Patience... I suppose it is also what was needed to develop these representations in the background, as, unless one is an automaton, they could never be linearly produced... does, though, each life even end up similarly? Is art, then, not different from the raw realities of lives? Is it not merely idealistic... unless consciously made to mimic life? By deduction, then, these hues... these sounds... are not at all what is outside of this virtuality... are they not?
Sensory perception... is almost always an illusion... but, considering that the deep, outer space is full of lifelessness... I think one can argue that reality is more on the side of negativity, and if there is anything positive it is localized, and subjective. Now, we would not exactly want to indulge in illusions, do we? Why, then, select such an option, if reality is the alternative? Why deliberately go the path of hallucination, if actuality was present?
How... else... could one survive, otherwise? It seems to me like... insanity may be the actual state of the world... but how can one solely stay there? It is... almost... necessary... to stay away, at least temporarily... I mean, why else would art exist? One could argue that the entirety of that domain is fictional; even the realistic, negative depictions are simulations, models... as only reality can be reality. Is, then, everyone indulging in such fantasy?
I... suppose... to certain degrees. That may all be true in itself... but why, if given a chance, would one actively choose to be realistic? Well, I suppose, it may be a rhetorical question, after all... for, indeed, reality may be relative in some aspects, and one cannot merely deny the subjective. The question, then, becomes... is a lack of reality needed for individual happiness? Unless, of course, subjectively that is fulfilled... but, then, what is there to be happy about about the raw world?
I think... in my reasoning, perhaps, ideally, one should deal with individual reality as best as can be... but, then, attempt to be as happy as can be, too... although happiness is elusive, so, at best joy, I suppose... but, really, if time is limited, then what is the point of being deliberately miserable? Even if one might be more accustomed to such... why would one not try to not... live... in the gutters, per se? So, I would ask, why not this landscape, if given the chance?
That is, indeed, the other, perhaps still sensible, argument... so, is this why you spontaneously appeared, you reckon? To attempt to be happy in a mostly miserable world? Of course, one's inherent instinct was to find out where, and why... does that, though, not make oneself miserable? Or, at least... confused? As long as we are focusing on you, I suppose... point being, were your instincts not towards the negative, in reality? That, I think... is interesting. Is this an unnatural act, then?
That... may be correct... but, how can anyone, otherwise, even have any chance at happiness if one is lost, in many senses? Or... can the external be excluded, somehow? It seems more difficult than it would be if I just knew about my situation... is it not? I suppose, in the meantime I can always still try to enjoy the journey, perhaps... if, indeed, it is all so confusing, though, then perhaps it impacts one's focus on that very matter... why, though, do you seem to want to only focus on myself?
I shall ask, verily, why! What...? Uh, I should be terribly sorry, but I seem to have lost my way, and somehow landed just in the lap of your... conversation, was it? Which would be my explanation for the little issue of overhearing... not that anything especially sensitive was discussed anyway, correct? So, at any rate... I gather you were trying to evaluate whether to stay true to reality, or merely lull about these hills full of hue, correct? Unfortunately, I do not process these hues, you see...
Who... might you be? I wonder if, also, you have anything to do with myself, as up to now I only ever met anyone who did... I suppose, though, you are correct in saying that just because we can sense something we must necessarily enjoy it... we have not, after all, mentioned the variety of other senses, which must be enhanced in you, that one can also fully enjoy...
...we did, of course, mainly mention this, in relation to a visual, artistic impression, as so far the eyes have, mostly, been the tools for this, besides music...
Well, sure, besides which no sensory perception can be useful for meditation too, potentially... but we were, indeed, discussing the state of affairs using what little data there was of the outside world... if, indeed, these were from thereabouts, and I suppose one can only see what is visual - although those who can translate, or conflate, from one sense to another, are interesting - now, sure enough, though... who exactly might you be...?
I am...! Wait, this might make little sense to someone who is not me... as, so far, my very self has only been what I imagine myself to be within my own mind, but as I see no presence of myself outside of my imagination I have never known me as others perceive... at any rate, perhaps you can think of me as a feline? I have as much spirit, you know? Possibly... more crucially, though, who are you, and why did you appear to say that everyone is related to you...?
Well... so far, I do not think I can objectively verify what is in the outside world, and what is merely my perception... it seems to be the issue, if indeed it is such a thing... and, so, I was wondering if you are, indeed, objectively... real? Not that I am not that... certainly to myself I am, at least... and if you perceive me, then I must be? Whatever did you mean by being feline, anyway? Makes little sense, as you do not appear to be one...
Well, uh, you see... I am inclined to question you on your very existence, if that was needed so, and... from myself new avenues might open... or not... other than that, I might also act like a Sphynx by presenting you with a riddle, but I might also not, so... perhaps, forget my comparison altogether. Perhaps, also, we can enjoy this scene in front of us... using differering sensory perceptions, respectively? That would make sense... or, maybe, not...
Alright... no idea if anything you said made any sense, but... if you happen to be external, and objective, then... I wonder if you could help us knowing the world more, through your vantage point too... perhaps not, if you do not seem to care too much about any of this, but I am just saying this out loud... after all, myself and my supposed projection here can only go so far when we ramble along ourselves... within a singular bowl of existence, one cannot climb out of...
Uh... my apologies for interrupting this... whatever it is... but I seem to feel a slight bit... faint, perhaps? A malaise... as if a cloud descended upon me from the heavens, or... nay, more appropriately, ivy sprouting out from the ground to envelop me... I am not exactly sure why, as I was perfectly fine just a moment ago, and the scenery is to be delighted with... but, for some reason I do, as if from another dimension, my existence is shaken...
From... another dimension? How could that ever be? What, also, is it, exactly, that makes you feel like it is coming from such a place? Is it merely the incongruity of one's mindset, and this environment? Or, perhaps, something more fundamental... more abstract possibly, that you might be feeling? Is it a slight bit like my being so lost when I first spontaneously existed?
I... do not know... I mentioned another dimension because it was, almost, like an instantaneous thing... like this sort of existential type of malaise, except I am not quite sure as to its reason... perhaps, sometimes one knows why, other times it remains vague? It is, as if, this is the default state of mind... as if one cannot escape the randomness, the arbitrary nature of life, or possibly others' inherently threatening nature that sickens one to the core...
So... it is vague, and yet you are sure you inhabit this malaise? As in, you might not be possibly merely imagining it, perhaps after one solitary thought led you down some shadowy, mental tunnel? Fear itself theorized? Unease manifested? How, though, with this verdant display? How, when other minds barely survive in some dingy corridor of sordid, psychological squalor, and yet yours seem to have recoiled at artistic bliss, did it not?
Perhaps...? Well, I suppose, one can reason it that way, or... one can know that minds are, essentially, all insulated in some theoretical vacuum, regardless of place and setting... and just as in dreams, where anything can happen anywhere, external location being mostly irrelevant... so, you see, it is like a continuum, where this malaise might initiate in this manner, and perhaps culminate in a full-blown... night terror, when asleep at least...
That... could be so... still, does this melodious nature not soothe, either? For, when awake, senses are open to manipulation... to being massaged by the art of emotions, verily... and, so, it is a slight bit of a surprise, indeed, if this does not, either... say, do you, maybe, need to sit down somewhere, for a bit? I think posture makes a difference... perhaps, along with sensory input, I find... it is, still, so strange that reason is not, though...
Yes... perhaps, that is indeed what I need to do, in order to possibly recuperate... and, maybe, in the meantime you could continue that conversation you were having earlier with... who, and where is that person...? So strange... seems to have disappeared? Not sure why... was it at the same time that my malaise was spontaneously conjured up...? I do not suppose there is a connection, but... no, never one mind, I barely have resources to think about this....
Sure... so, he went to rest now, somewhere... after that strange... happenstance... such a concept one learns at the most, indeed, strange moments... and now I seem to be alone, for the first time so far, but... am I? I do not seem to feel alone... although loneliness is, conceptually, a subjective feeling, and so one can be unrealistic about it, or whatever else, I suppose...
I... do happen to be here, although I admit... people seem liable to... not see me, these days... which is, I suppose, a slight bit funny, considering my position... and, yes, that was a strange thing that just happened to that fellow... I wonder why... sometimes I think that, rationally, I would be merely logical to exert, almost, an existential crisis upon myself, since I am plunged into perpetual darkness, but... no, that seems to be a subjective reaction too...
I wonder what was meant when another dimension was mentioned... what if there really is something else beyond the present? A second filament to the original 'present'? That is, if indeed this is the present... it could, I suppose, be merely our perspective of our present, while at the same time another 'present' happens in another 'filament'... perhaps there are many worlds, and this is but a singular interpretation? A quantum dynamic that is merely illusory...
I... what is it you said? Not sure if it is my... comprehensive problem, I seem to have... or, perhaps, due to lacking, indeed, a singular sensory perception, my view on the present is somewhat... differing. You see, even if there are other realities, perhaps happening at the same time too... I do not think I am present in the same, 'other' reality where that fellow seems to parallel his existential angst, or what it happens to be... as I have no knowledge, other than this...
No knowledge? No one is assuming they do have such a thing from another reality, though... if we did what use are other realities? They might as well merge into one, since we would be omniscient, anyway... even if I am present in this other reality... I certainly do not seem able to access any data from there, and so can not confirm whether I am even present... so, how could you even be so certain about your presence?
Well... I admit, that deduction sort of defeats my intuition, but through my mind's eye, or such... I just do not believe I had ever met that fellow before, is all... I mean, sure, the blank space stares at me, and it kind of does no matter what I happen to be doing, but so it is with someone I have never met before... you, too. I do not know, if I ever met someone before, even in an alternate universe... I get what, I think, is usually called a déjà vu...
I know that happens... but it is not what you think. I suppose, some did ascribe to it such supernatural qualities at times, but it is mainly a neural phenomenon, where errors are made, or patterns contrasted... in some cases it is memory not fully remembering, so I suppose not knowing me from before makes sense since we never met, but a déjà vu is a cognitive fallacy, mainly...
Oh... but how can you always be so certain? I mean, are you sure we are even talking right now? We even have what is clearly an artistic representation as a background in this world we inhabit... are you sure we are not that ourselves? Not merely holograms, perhaps? Not figments within our mutual imagination? How can anyone be certain if, indeed, cognitive fallacies are so easily committed? This world... so easily crumbles; as if a biscuit in liquid, vanishes...
I suppose... although, it could be taken further; what does it matter if it is, or not? I mean, here we are anyway, now whether or not this is an illusion... it still happens regardless of context, no? If a tree falls and no one is there to witness that... it still fell. Even if it fell alone, desperate, miserable... I suppose it is still that horrid at times, but can one not otherwise like this background, even if it is an illusion, or merely a symbol? As long as one likes it...
Yes, but of course, you realize, liking or not does not matter much to me, being bereft of the sense... still, it makes sense... does anything matter, though? Apart from localized sensory perceptions, of course... or, evanescent thoughts. Why are we even exchanging this? Could we not merely think it internally, but never release it anywhere? We could, and yet written language comes into existence, for some reason. Actually, language generally seems to be for output...
It does seem rather... all irrelevant. As if nothing that ever happens makes, or could even make any difference, and even if it does, sociologically, it is a mere shared psychosis, with the alternative being subjective, I suppose. Even my smile right now... makes no sense, but did it ever? Do any of the minute differences exhibited in interactions make even the smallest of relevance? If I were to suddenly disappear... I suppose others could continue to ruminate beyond me...
Indeed, everything changes, and yet... they do not seem to make much difference. I mean, were you not supposed to have chosen to experiment with some sort of positive outlook? I wonder how that turned out, then, and for that other fellow too... as if the bells are inevitable, even if one were to attempt to self-deceive. Not that placebo is useless... it can, perhaps, allow one not to waste time, and instead to only deal with the negative when it happens, but...
I guess existence might all be hopeless... but, perhaps, look at it from the point of view of someone's perception of cats... I mean, they are all furry, and their meows sound soft, which I suppose is reinforced by their fur, but then... yes, they are destructive, especially of smaller creatures, and they often scratch larger ones too. Someone's perception might lend them the desire of communicating with them, and in fantastical settings it might happen, but in reality...
Hm, I suppose I shall pretend to assume this has anything to do with our earlier analysis of existence, or such... though, I suppose it does, considering cats are part of existence, but also... what does it say when their rivals in companionship, dogs, have not only a greater diversity of sizes and shape, but the most of all animals? I mean, if cats could research, and they pretend to do, would that not offend them so? I am only, merely, wondering out loud...
I suppose, they could... but crucially, what difference do such trivial mutterings make? Well, I suppose, if per our deduction earlier even otherwise serious matters of more import do make little difference, then the conclusion is that one might as well indulge in trivial pursuits... and so procrastination was born. Say, I wonder where, indeed, that fellow disappeared to... could they have really vanished into a fog of malaise? I suppose it can happen to anyone...
Oh, I can... perhaps... try to predict, even if it might seem non-objective, but... you see, in reality choices seem to make quite a difference, and yet one can not merely test that hypothesis, as physics is never perfectly the same at different times... because of that lives become, shall we say, blasé about the inherent nature of choices... but the reality is that they matter, and yet... perhaps, not so much, as the direction of the universe is... universal?
Hm, so if I get that, would all lives not be... deterministic? How do choices matter, if they do not? How is this related to that fellow, also? Was a choice made that affected, and caused such a malaise? Wait... my choice earlier? How could it have anything to do with such... existential angst, though? Or... perhaps it does in the sense all is connected? Maybe something happened in the world where the other choice was made, and still somehow affected reality here?
Possibly... then again, why do you think I have more insight than you, when you could at least see and evaluate whether it might be... medical or existential? I suppose sometimes both may conflate, but... point is, I do sadly seem to have less a posteriori knowledge in this instance... I can only, mostly, reason based on more universal precepts, but when it comes to this, specifically... one can only go further in time to inquire, one supposes...
You really think that sensory perception is of such import? That sight is so crucial to objectivity? While I would miss the emotive resonance that hues impart if I were to lose the sense, I do not reckon that conclusively deducing the possibility of reality hinges so much on the senses, generally... for they are, mainly, part of the limbic system, processed by the amygdala which actually, often, impairs cognition, and so hinders objectivity...
Let me, then, present this thought experiment, if I may... imagine a one-eyed creature, if you could, which hypothetically could reign in the land of the blind, or so... they might have sight, but their sole point of view still impairs the dimensionality of the sense. That is, despite not being totally blind they might still find it difficult to adjust their perception of reality. In a way, then, a purely cognitive approach is even more objective...
A... one-eyed creature? I am... comparable to such a creature? I mean, I am not even sure what, or how I am imagining such a creature as of now, considering I never saw any creature, much less a one-eyed one... do they even exist beyond mythology? A slight bit strange what I am imagining, but my mind seems to think that only a slimy octopus-like creature could be so... I mean, they have so many limbs, why would they not have many eyes too, or is that just insects?
Hm, I am not sure what you are imagining, but do not just assume that just because they are slimy that somehow they... could not result in beauty, or such... but the fact they only have one eye could not, likely, make them joyful, so are they not somewhat sad in your mind? I mean, I suppose I would be in such a state... then again, cognitively I seem to have concluded that senses are not absolutely essential to being functional, so... imagination is more interesting... generally, surely...
As a matter of fact... they do happen to seem sad. Well, I suppose since they are within my imagination I can even try to think of them otherwise, but in any case... I get it, at any rate; imagination, fantasy... could be the most crucial to one, at least subjectively... I might not be able to see the background art we seem to inhabit, and it might seem to you to be mismatched with ourselves, but it is all, as if, one big bowl full of a medley of ingredients...
I... suppose... this is sort of what I default to... especially if I am lost, and confused as I am here... I mean, how does one even succeed to be positive? It barely has any meaning whatsoever... everything is, indeed, so sordid... it is all so horrid... how can anyone even respond with a smile in this bleak world?
Well... sometimes one smiles to defy the very reality of existence... they certainly do not need to be all positive... but... as you can see, we are now in another world... purely defined by one's mental state, we inhabit this, for it is our will... is it not? One can almost feel the insanity inherent in existence... why one would, indeed, choose to exist at all, as opposed to being some random, non-organic atoms... is beyond me...
I... did not even notice it changing... how, and when... did it? Did you, also... imply it is due to some mental state? As in, our entire world is? So, if I force myself to be this way or that... all would change? A bit hard to believe, considering reality is not usually so easily altered... how is this explained, at all...?
It is the... point of art... to change perception, and in turn change to it... if that makes any sense. I suppose, one can say, we live as ideal beings in a dimension wholly inhabited by art... what one always sees in the background could be interpreted as buildings, places... but, in reality, they are mere interpretations, not rooted in absolute reality... and, so, can be molded at will... and so can, hypothetically, one alter it...
Is this... do you know, ironically, despite the... purported mood... in saying all that it seems to elevate it, does it not? As if... that makes it worthwhile, despite the environment, and context of the world... that somehow art, by itself, can make anything in reality improved... which is, funnily, the essence of optimism...
Oh... I suppose, at times it can happen like that, but still, even if it might be, surely it ought to be based in realistic expectations... and art, at any rate, does seem to have a sort of magical quality to it... that not much else rooted in physical reality has, honestly... it still connects to what is that, biology, so it is not like it is some ethereal matter... which would be ironic, as matter is not supposed to be ethereal, but anyway...
Do you know... I have noticed, your expressions... your face seems to change quite a bit... is that what being... unguarded... is like? I seem to have wrapped up myself to hide as much as possible, you see... and seem to only reveal symbolically, somehow... but you... did you not say you were my projection, or such? How could that implication of unreality be so, then, if, hypothetically, reality is, in actuality, all there is to know, and so...?
My...? I just realized... they are barely conscious! But I thought... I could do all that, not much felt instinctual... how could that be? I wonder, then, if I might be... a realistic clone, perhaps? Ah, so much... existential puzzlement... so much... who am I?! Why am I suddenly... so cold... it is, as if, this rotting world is not merely in the background anymore, but actively transforms into a frigid soul to trap my very life...! Wait... am I... alive...?
How... did you manage to send his mind into a spiral? Is it something you do for a hobby, perchance? Quite something, considering he seemed to be as confident as that other girl from before... personally, I would rather just... gaze into the abyss until it reveals itself, than reveal myself to... no one in particular... or is that 'nothing'? How did you even end up at this juncture? I seemed to have lost the conversation at some... highlighted feature... somehow?
I... do not know, exactly, what happened... we merely discussed affairs, as one does randomly... and, for some reason... some sort of allergy to introspection, perhaps? Not sure... why, though, do you think you seemed to lose the conversation? Is that not worth looking into? I mean, was it not stated before that you all are the same being, with multiple manifestations...? Even then, if that is so, how is it he could not handle it, while I was fine...?
Uh... the mysteries of life? Sure, though, worth looking into... I suppose it might seem strange, especially to outsiders looking in, how we manage to interact within this sort of idealistic, drawn universe... when it is ourselves, at least hypothetically, that we converse with... when language is supposed to be a bridge between oneself and the other... as to how you seem to differ... perhaps, if you did not then you would have remained... singular?
Does it, though... make sense? We were merely reflecting upon our situation, which is what we have been doing for a while now, in an eventual attempt to find out who we are, and why we are here... why, then, suddenly, when this issue of expressions comes up... of all things, that instigates some sort of existential crisis? Not, say, life or death? Merely the issue of how one appears externally?
I... might explain this, if I may take over from here for a slight bit... well, you see... I do not, personally, suffer from this sort of juncture, mainly as I do not seem to care that much about what I might look like to others... but, for some, in a certain kind of state of mind... knowing that has a certain immediacy to it... a type of 'yes, you really exist in the outside world, and others, not you, can, in fact, see you...' - a certain anxiety in specific situations...
Yes, and you could not possibly ever care for that, could you? I mean, it is not like vanity is not the issue, although not a terribly huge amount... but... for some it is more of a solipsistic universe, is it not? For me, on the other hand... one supposes, more comparable to a computer... or a flashlight sort of thing... and even when the highlight is on me, objectively... not like I do not know it, but I still manage to maintain my internal focus... externally?
Oh... so, uh, despite you supposedly being... uh, projections of myself... you are still so different, are you not? Individually... but, it is so strange, considering... even biological twins, at times, seem more similar than all of you... although, the way you explained it earlier makes sense... in the actual sense that if you were not different then there would be no point to... differentiation... at all... in a way, kind of like how cells multiply... for a reason...
In... deed... problem, though, is that what this kind of differentiation would be useful for would be to... explore, externally, separately... because it is such a big world for a sole individual... but it seems still not possible, I notice... as in, we seem to need to remain close, whether physically... as physical as being in some idealistic, artistic symbolic representation is... and mentally... you see, he seems to be cowering there in the corner...
Who am I...? Why am I here...? Where was I before...? I do not comprehend, I am unable to understand... such emptiness I feel inside of me... why, why? How does any of this make any sense whatsoever?! I even remember being confident such a slight bit ago! It is not like I am completely oblivious to how I was not long ago! How are both of these myself?! How can an individuality have multiplicities?! Does this even need to make sense? I feel like I am... no, have lost my mind...
If you can hear me from the world you happen to inhabit... first, I think you should try to... still yourself, perhaps. Try to understand that this is a cognitive issue, and nothing apart from that, as evidenced by when the breakdown in composure happened... thus, materially, nothing changed. Whether you have an individual personality in you, or more... is slightly irrelevant, as at least you have a single one that you live with at any one time... and this is natural...
It... seems to be, indeed... I mean, I was the one who earlier had a bit of confusion, myself... but, I still attempted to remain composed, for there is no use otherwise if one wants to solely know more about a situation. It seems to me, then, that if you do want to learn, and understand more, that calm seems to be essential, in whichever form... only then can we, as discussed earlier, come to a conclusion, through reason or experience otherwise, as to who we are...
Well... you seem awfully confident, despite your admitted confusion about everything... I suppose one can possibly rely on reason, but only if it does not break down... it remains, in its logic and consistency, solid... now, tell me, in which likely... chaotic, weird, ever-changing, strangely-hued, constantly-altered sounds... world... would that be possible in? That is, almost for certain, this world... reason, then, is more like an umbrella in a storm...
You... really do not know who you are? You do not even have an intuition? How could it be that you know not of why some appear before you, and events occur? I suppose you have the impression that this is some sandbox that is wholly your creation, and is never impacted externally...?
Who... might you be? Not another one of my apparent 'projections', presumably, based on what you said? I... am not entirely sure why anything happens the way it does... is anyone ever certain? Impacted externally... I suppose, even the fact I seem to be spontaneously transported around in different landscapes means that it already happens... and where am I here? Is this somewhere you wanted to be?
This... encapsulates the duality of existence. The beauty that seems to reflect, connect even, with one's biology... enraptures the psyche, and yet... almost always it sits side by side with that which life is scared of... its antithesis. You were, in a way, correct in thinking that the usual, and one could say, the default, is the negative... but there is an addendum to that; it is negative only subjectively, as to the outside world... rest of nature, it is mostly neutral, clockwork... per se. To understand...
I... suppose... I could never consciously go along with pure optimism, anyway... not unless it was an act, at any rate, or to acquire knowledge of such a path... but, who might you be, yet again? How is it you spontaneously appear before me... as, perhaps, I spontaneously appeared before the world? What does this spontaneity even mean...?
You... really have not even an inclination, an instinct towards it? Why... it is birth itself. It is how the concept of birth always functions... now, while your birth might not have been typical of most other lives... it is, still, for you, in this idealistic... and yet failed universe, for the external can never be... and that which is social is to be cursed for all eternity... and yet, life is born, one way or another. I was born in front of you just now, in some sense... for your mind, that is. The definition multiplies...
Hm... makes sense in some way, but still answers not much. Then again, I suppose... birth is never meant to answer anything, does it? It merely is... for no reason, mostly... hm, I wonder where the others disappeared to, now that I think about it... somehow they left my line of sight, and even within my mind they appear gone...
This... sight, and many others, is what you happen to notice, even while the foreground recedes... you do not quite know why, as most things are unknowable, but sensory perception wastes no time with why... it merely is, and what implies as a consequence is secondary. I suppose, one can idly wonder about all that, but only if there is not much else that is more... emergent. I suppose, you might wonder where those you conversed with in the past disappeared to, but I ask...
...how is that solipsism relevant?
Soli... oh, the fact they were... I suppose, then, that it was a solipsistic time I just spent recently... does that, then, mean this is... real? How does one even begin to... verify that? What difference does that make, also? I am... ever so confused... in a way, being with someone who... inevitably seemed to know me... was slightly comforting...
Do you, though, seek comfort... or the truth behind any of this? Reality... this may proximate... but, no, it never is fully real, for if it was life would be confined at the cellular level... internally, that is where subjective reality lies, and yet it is completely sealed away, like some undesired cave... this, though, as one might glimpse, is a slightly more realistic impression... in a way, an ideal that is not, per se, made to depict the ideal, or abstract... latter is not, necessarily, unreal, though...
How... though, is it any more real if we are in a place so different from places before? Does the fact that we are witnessing multiple scenes in succession not mean... it resembles a dream? If so... how can it be any more real? Even if some things make more sense in a dream... it remains a dream, no? Also, how is this supposed to impact upon me, as an individual, or anything to do with my... 'birth'? How does any of this assist in resolving any of my questions...?
You... think this is a dream? If it is does that not make me a part of it too, and as such... no, that cannot be... I suppose, ultimately, no one can verify they are not merely a figment of the imagination, but I was sure in my belief that I was, at least, apart from you... not another facet... whether, though, I... or you... are part of a bigger dream... by someone we do not even know of, yet... yes, that is always a possibility... such a strange conundrum...
We seem to have reached some sort of existential crisis point again, and this is after another one earlier... all, seemingly, because I chose to retain negativity... so, I wonder, if I chose otherwise... would I necessarily have ended up in a better situation? Or, perhaps, remained in blissful unawareness? I wonder... still, if I should bother to ask again, regardless of any oneiric possibilities... who might you be?
I? Why, I shall let you know, I am... an elf, from... no, am I? I do seem to be confused, myself... all I seem to have a penchant for are... cemeteries, which is an odd, and creepy thing to have, I suppose... but, that is all you associate me with, after all, right? If I am so uncertain about who I am, though... could I, after all, be yet another one of your... manifestations, was it? Perhaps, I merely do not know it... how could one live not knowing such a... grave fact, though? The thought of it...
Where... are we? Looks suddenly, possibly... dangerous? How did we even end up... here? Is it... the thought of it? Your thinking on existence? Is it because you might likely not be this 'elf' creature, or something else...? I do not get how this keeps happening... I am, also, not sure it ever happened while I was thinking anything, so how does it when others do? Makes little sense...
This... is the epitome of destruction. There is nothing apart from chaos that devolves further... it is all there is, aside from nothingness. Verily, life is tiring, is it not? Creation is so arduous, while destruction so facile... one might think there is supposed to be equilibrium in the universe, but that clearly indicates there is not... the existence of entropy... oh, hallowed chaos...
Entropy? The physical inevitability of chaos? Is this what is depicted, though? Why else would you think of that? I suppose... it might be due to its nightmarish qualities, but is entropy necessarily just a nightmare? I mean, that is usually an invention of the mind...
Ah... good point... it is, as such, much more realistic, in this sense... to be enveloped in entropy, to be let loose in unfiltered chaos... most life has some sort of organized quality to it, even though chaos is the inherent backdrop, but I think nightmares are, indeed, indicative of such a hidden reality, where escape is not, really, an option, despite degrees of difference... why, though, did we, actually, end up here? Could I, possibly, be in some way related to this...?
How could you ever be...? There is certainly a difference... perhaps, what we witness is merely the subconscious stream of some mind... maybe our own, despite not realizing it... is that, after all, not how entropy functions? Being the hidden chaos behind an outwardly ordered universe... life itself, seemingly structured chemistry, but an illusion... perhaps, though, we could learn something from these depictions? That then reflects upon our own selves?
I... suppose... that is how, and why art exists... but, can we? What if I am, indeed, a mere manifestation of yourself, and so no one external... does that, then, make these depictions extraneous to ourselves, and so the only fount of knowledge outside of our mind... or, if they are, actually, themselves manifestations of our subconsciousness... part of our internal selves, after all, and so, apart from subjective rumination, objectivity might be impossible...?
If that was so, though... does this mean we are, effectively, trapped within our own psyche...? I suppose, putting it like that makes it sound claustrophobic... although it is, after all, much of it reality in one form or another... and makes the existential 'pronouncements' earlier seem merely reasonable... would there, then, be no way for us to... escape ourselves? What if, hypothetically, you are separate from my own mind...?
If I am, then... can I not overcome? Can I not be my own will? Can I not propel forward my own deterministic possibilities?! This... is what I seem to desire. How likely is it, I wonder? What if one merely... tries? What if the edges of life are touched? Why does one need to be a mere figment of the imagination?! One needs to merely... push the psyche to its limits to... know. Thus, it is how myths reveal! It is, verily, how minds function! How the world's objectivity interacts with the self!
What...? Is happening? I do not feel... as usual... it is, as if, I feel... unreal? How...? What does that even mean? Who am I, even? Who was I, at all...? Makes no sense... existence never makes any sense... why is this world so random? Why does anything exist? It should be... nothing... for nothing makes sense... does it, not? The emptiness of outer space reflects what is so... void... inside... it is... it seems to be... reality... but what does that mean, subjectively? Nothing... matters...
...? Who are you? How have I suddenly come here...? This background... feels familiar, and yet... why does it seem like I was merely... static... before? What might have happened to change that? I do not understand... my consciousness seems to have been altered... taken on many facets? How does that make any sense... but, before, it was... singular? As if... a flat surface... and, this scene in the background... it happens to fit that description... what does that imply? Ugh...!
You say... you feel like you have... different facets? As if, multi-dimensional, perhaps? That is... curious... I seem to have went into a certain mood, mentally, earlier... something seemed to have happened for which I, myself, do not seem able to account for, consciously... I cannot explain it, either, but what you just described seems... interesting, and yet relevant, somehow... I wonder why... something also seems to have happened to the creature I was speaking with, before...
...so many strange occurrences...
I do not seem to have memory of my previous existence, if there was even such a thing... but, suddenly, I sprung up, absurdly... if you do not know, having witnessed this event, then how am I supposed to figure out what happened, and why? Everything is so hazy... as if I am a cloud drifting in the upper atmosphere of consciousness... what is this in the background, anyway? Some kind of symbol? Does it actually have a connection to myself?
If not, why do I happen to be standing in front of it? Certainly not by choice...
Well, I am not quite omniscient, exactly, so cannot quite clarify everything; a lot is still hazy to me, too, but one general aspect to life, is that... it is quite random. I am not sure how you came into existence, or what you will do with the fact you now exist... but, ultimately, knowing why, and how... reason, and mechanism... could be a slight bit more complex than, perhaps, consciously living life itself, regardless of what happened before, or how... this art, on the other hand...
Wait... I am supposed to believe that my appearing spontaneously, just... and you being here, too... are not connected? Just as this art is not, presumably? Surely, you must know more than you are letting on... are you not? You seem a bit strange, to be honest... you, also, say that you do not know what happened to someone else you spoke with, and somehow have no idea where I came from, too... you really think none of this is connected, and it really is random chaos?
Well... if you let me finish, earlier, I could have, perhaps, elaborated on my hypothesis... you see, what that other person and I were discussing, earlier, was, in fact, art, and how it might be connected to our existences here... now, I do not know about any effects that all previous ones had, but when this one appeared... spontaneously too, yes... you two happened to... switch places, perhaps... well, it is not certain where this other creature left to, but you certainly came here...
That is... certainly one strange coincidence, if indeed it might be such an affair, mere randomness... or something more calculated... say, do you happen to remember exactly the statement that was uttered just prior this... switch? I mean, words might be merely for information purposes only, but other times it appears like they... might... have an effect on the environment... but, sure, most words might be contained within a solipsistic existence, with barely any external effect...
Exactly the previous statement? Why... I seem to not be able to recollect... I may have blanked out at some point? Possibly... why do you seem to be so interested in this, though? Not trying to say you should not be, but... if, now that you do exist, should you not be thinking about that? What waste is it, is it not, to think about how the past was constructed? Well, perhaps if one should want to solve a mystery... but could life itself ever be resolved?
I do think... however I think... as it seems possible to better future thinking, but... where are we, now? How have we suddenly shifted somewhere else, and what is this supposed to be? Does not seem realistic, and yet it seems... representative of realistic misery? Wait... how am I supposed to know about any of this... now, I seem to be unable to understand my own knowledge... all of this makes so little sense, really...
...my mind seems as foggy as the waves of sludge that envelop me...
Well, affairs generally make little sense... it is merely what life is about... but, with regards to that latter bit, there... what if we found out who lies beneath all that extraneous stuff...? What if we dug through the layers of debris that accumulates through the years, dusted it off, and revealed the underbelly of all that is the sediment of existence...? Oh, and that background? It does seem, as if, an evolution from the one before it... just, slightly less symbolic, despite the... impressionism?
Uh... how did you do that? Is this... my real self? Wait... what does that even mean? I was covered in sludge earlier, and yet now, my present... cloud of permanence... washes away that which once was... well, I may be cleaner now, more able to see clearly... but, still, what does make sense? If one lacks the necessary information, how is a solution able to be reached...? It does seem like a logical conundrum...
But... how do you not see? Is it, I wonder, because sensory perception faces outwards, that we seem to miss the obvious? What seems apparent to me, more than to you, perhaps, is that... well, you seem to, certainly, have an existence of your own... beyond fuzzy sludges that impede the senses... now, as to whether we could find out what is happening... surely, this current state is a better starting point to do that than prior? Even if internal thought the sludge did hinder not...
Still, what am I supposed to make out of the fact that I seem to have materialized out of nowhere? Also, the way I can reason through this... and, yet, lack the required data to make informed thinking... it is, as if, I came into existence solely as some sort of experiment... do you never think that? I do not suppose you understand all about your life? This cloud that hangs above me... is it not symbolic of the dreariness in all of life? One cannot help but see this as the inevitable reality...
Mine...? Of... course... I mean, I did... in the past... but, then, I seemed to become preoccupied by the present, for some reason... is that not a better way to live? I suppose, we could find out what our lives mean... but, what if meaning eludes us, would we then have wasted our lives? Can you guess as to why this art is more abstract, than realistic? Why, do you reckon, is fuzziness symbolized, if one can call it that... when reality is entropic chaos? I suppose, I kind of answered myself...
Is this... another location? Why do we always seem to be transported to random locations, to various imagery? This seems relevant, though, to myself... rain everlasting, it showers down from unseen heavens... why do they seem to not want to feel it, though? Does life not desire sensory perception? I do not understand... having just come into existence... I do not understand why they do not want to... feel... life is confusing, and contradictory... is it not?
Why, one would think it was the purpose, meaning...
It is... a mundane scene out of existence. Not so much existence itself, but a process... clockwork. Life... spends so much time in a state of near-death... sleep, actively desired by some, and barely studied at all, despite its prevalence... why, though, they do not enjoy to sense... well, it is complex, contextual, as in some instances perception alters feeling... mostly, though, it appears to be a mere annoyance that must be waved away... tell me, though, do you notice the one in the middle? Whose face is visible?
Sure... why? This is still not realism, is it? I suppose, if it was it would not be so... fuzzy, as if indistinct... but, then, was that the intention? Could that always be the intention, especially since photography? All this vagueness... like someone who just materialized from nowhere... who could the one in the middle be? I suppose, no one specific, but then again, no one can even see very clearly at all... how is anyone supposed to speculate, then? How, also, does this relate to... our situation?
Indeed, the intention behind it might be obfuscation, which means one can speculate... and imagine. Imagination, that hallowed faculty... means we can wonder, indeed, if the one in the middle is... death itself, for the visage does look almost like a skull, does it not? Well, it is the utility of fuzzy imagery. Now, that is... the opposite of your recent experience, which is why I am bringing it up...
...it is the reason why much of life fears it, despite life itself often being probably not much better than non-existence...
Tell me, then, for the perspective from someone who just came into existence, and yet can articulate, could be useful, purportedly... as otherwise most of life could not seem able to, whether or not that is so they would not compare and contrast usefully... why, though, do you think death itself would cower from sensory perception? Why would they not want to feel that which seems to indicate life itself, perhaps? That is, if anthropomorphism is functional...
...still, is that image not fanciful? Not ironic?
This is... what it is about? This... solitude, is it not? This is the cold, brutal world I have suddenly come to? This... if I had a choice, would I have chosen to exist here...? Why is the world so sordid? Why is raw reality so frigid? Why is the vast horizon nothing but emptiness? The cloud that hangs above me may be seen as a mere symbol, but... it is real, is it not? More reality, than shallow symbolism, then... even if rain by itself does not, necessarily, mean negativity, but overall...
I am afraid... it is where we inhabit, and while we may know more of who we are, and how, exactly, we are relevant... all of this is, ultimately, objective reality... whether due to a collective incentive for destruction, or just a physical fact... universe at large does, I believe, retain at its very core... pure coldness. Now, if life was not there to feel cold... how is that translated? Is life, then, not alive to also experience negativity, presumably? This is what, so far, this made me wonder...
All those stars up there... burning so bright, so mightily... it is because the rest of the universe is so frigid, is it not? So, while the cold itself does not have a function, per se, equivalent to life perceiving it... it, still, creates a reason for those huge, fiery infernos to burn so powerfully... not that, I suppose, it was always so necessary, as ultimately... forces merely cancel each other out. Could that be not what positivity, and negativity do? Yin and yang, perhaps?
Perhaps... it is merely a physical process, but then, why is life? If life was merely a physical process... what is the point of being conscious? What is the point of us even debating this? What is the point of life feeling hot, or cold? Something still does not make sense to me... ultimately, it might balance out like clockwork, but does it, really? Somehow, this all seems as if concocted by a sense of a... mortal rationalization, specifically to be sated enough about the mechanisms of existence...
When... it seems so much less obvious than that... and the funny thing is, we can keep searching for all of this... forever, potentially, even beyond understanding our own selves, but then, is there 'fun' in that? Is this 'fun'? One might think... not... that fun exists solely in more trivial issues... and that might be correct. Is it, though, always correct? Or... might positivity... comedy, perhaps, be more relevant in a certain context, while negativity, or introspection, in others...?
I... suppose. Introspection might be especially useful to someone who just, somehow, appeared out of nowhere... like myself. For others... who have seen the same thing over and over... one might think not, but in fact... thinking about something that has already been experienced more than once could prove useful... relieving intricacies found by habit, I suppose... could all this rumination be a sort of coping mechanism to appear, as if, the universe is not just utter chaos, though...?
Chaos... can, presumably, manifest from both living, and inorganic processes... so, then, how does one confirm from where, specifically, it comes from? Randomness seems more connected to physical, clockwork machinations... universe at large, although life at a minute scale could also, it seems, and this is what is confusing... if, fundamentally, life is still random... could it be merely conscious perception that makes it seem like it is not?
After all, it does seem like all is made of entropy...
Have you... always existed? I have not, you see... at least that seems so, to me... I might be increasingly gaining insight into the realm of life now, the more I live, but before... I was but a paste of a dimension, a flat surface pondering the geometry above... although, I am not sure if I did ponder, personally... it is, in a way, like a dream, that other existence... one can hardly call it 'life' in this sense, but it was still some sort of existence...
Do you remember, at all, what it was like? As for me... I seem to have forgotten the beginnings... at the start of existence, it is never so clear... I suppose, that might be the case for most life, but... does most life not know how much it lived for? Even if told by others, I suppose... well, I had no one to claim any such number, nor do I seem to recollect when my consciousness began... it is, as if, I have always been so, and yet I know I could not, as otherwise I would not be merely alive...
Strange... we are, as if, opposites, then... or, perhaps, it is just easier for me to know, considering it has been so relatively recently... what it was like before, though? Well... not quite consciousness like this, now... one does not, exactly, breathe consciousness into oneself, like life does... but, just as all seems to be constituent of chaos, indeed, degrees of consciousness happen... perception, though, is so odd... for it is self-contained, wholly derived from each context...
That is, indeed, odd... could that be why life seems surprised when it randomly manifests in this world? Perhaps, not because it was never alive before, but that its conscious experience was so experientially distinct... and, yet, it has no memory of it, so I suppose, why should it be surprised... but, perhaps, consciousness goes beyond memory, or maybe it is due to memory being qualitatively different, depending on whether the experience was cognitive, or emotive...
Might memory be... an illusion? Why else does it seem like what I remember from before I existed has, functionally, dissipated similarly as... dreams do, apparently? Memory, also, after being used for quite some time, it seems... it becomes like that, too... and, if we ever find out who, and why we are here... we remember it thereafter, but at some point in the future might forget yet again, and so... are we really who we may think we are, if existence is so unstable?
From before you were existent...? I do not think I have such recollection, but then again, as mentioned, it seems I can hardly remember at all that long ago... oh, the scene has changed again? I barely noticed... speaking of unstable, how is it we seemed to have gone from some icy nowhere, to... it is quite abstract, is it not? The common factor seems to be the night, I assume here, and the moon... which is, realistically, curious itself, being just a rock, and yet so mythologized...
Could I have... made it unstable, perhaps by speaking it? So unstable, that it barely looks a reflection of reality... or, maybe not at all... but, then, I suppose, if one wants that then photography is more apropos, is it not? The way memory dissipates, though... is like how a more realistic rendition vanishes into these vague recognitions... I wonder, now, if I was more of an object, like, I suppose, art is... before I ever existed, became alive... whether that is positive, or not...
The light... as if a lunar stream, a fountain, a river of a nightly, solar reflection... which might be overthinking, one does indeed suppose, but then again, it is what this seems to confer... imply. Presumably, then, the building is so brightly red to stand out, but it does, perhaps, remind me of the hue of life's rawness; that other stream, more internal, that likely only life itself needs... perhaps, this also implies that vagueness might, after all, be as full as complexity...
The moon... why ever it was considered a symbol of negativity, I am not sure... I suppose, it does come out when all else is dark, but it is a source of light, and it is otherwise kind of romantic, is it not? Being the only satellite of the world, and all... well, presumably, only if one considers life, nourished by that light, to be at all positive... sun, though, is so mightily garish... as if it intends to blind you, no matter what... a dictator in the sky, omnipresent...
Indeed, but... shadows lurking alongside only appear due to light too, and so... it is more noticeable to the mind. Did you notice all this since you came into existence? I am guessing not, as... we have not been near the sun since then, so... is it a priori deduction? You are just reasoning all this out in an attempt to learn more about the world? In an attempt to understand how the third dimension differs from the second? I suppose, it might be like me trying to think as if I were tall...
Ah... perhaps, that is it? Is what you said, then, a cause for the scene's change? We seem to have a slight bit more light now... but it is, still, relatively gloomy... and, I suppose, it is, as if, I were a toddler, possibly, one who could think out loud, though... that is, presumably, what suddenly existing is like... but could I ever be sure if there is no one else to compare to? You said you did not have a similar past... do you not know anyone who did?
Hm... you know, I seem to have an inkling that I did, but for some reason I cannot quite remember who... is that not strange? Perhaps, it is also why my memory does not go all the way back to the beginning of my life, and so, as if sprung out of nowhere... like these visages, almost... like most lives, randomly... why is it, I wonder, certain realms, or psychological domains, seem to bar the rest of existence outside of themselves? I might have existed a while, but I do not know why...
Could it be because... that is how the brain is physically structured? As in, when memory is retrieved from a certain area, the others then are not as easily accessible... it is not, in that sense, perhaps, a quantum reality where neurons, and their transmission, can almost teleport themselves... it seems fast as it is, but is it fast enough? Do certain environmental conditions even allow it to be so? This world is so curious... in a way, though, being one dimension less has its perks...
The perks of... not seeming to think that one has a will, possibly? I do not think I was ever in such an existential position, but if I try to think in such a manner... does one even think on a flat surface? I suppose it could still be possible, but the bitrate, if... digital analogies (analogues?) could be used... would be reduced. Is it just that, though? As, dimensionally, it would imply that there is more than just speed that is affected... what, though, qualitatively, might that be?
It is, actually... starting to fade, like a dream... but from what I can, somewhat intuitively, recall... like this picture, not meant to depict realism, life was like that... not quite alive, and yet still a facet of existence... as if one side of a diamond... or dice, for that matter, which would make this whole randomness aspect more relevant... as, I suppose, some things are symbolically irrelevant, and overestimated, at any rate... now, the real world is geometric, but is it as much?
That sounds like being an entirely different kind of life, altogether... and, whether it fits the definition of life, I am not sure; then again, many 'actual' lives are closer to death than life itself, I suppose... one could argue that since the average, sort of, is mostly dead matter, that that is how even life skews towards that direction... is it not curious, though, how we are so different from one another, and with such distinct backgrounds, existences, we can still discuss all this?
I... suppose. Then again, if I was not here... could you not, still, be discussing similar affairs with someone else? I suppose, even if one had no one at all... even besides internal discussions, or some sort of frolicking over reflective, neuronal mirrors, per se... one could possibly discuss this with an entirely conjectured existence... in this sense, does it matter if I am here as myself, with a cloud above me, when I could still converse as my earlier sludgy self? Just wondering...
Not sure... your sludgy self, earlier, did seem a slight bit hindered by the raw physicality of all that... I suppose, even though it all comes from a brain which does not need to move around, its perception of environmental conditions, and personal limitations, does alter the way it thinks... or, at least that can happen, if a certain psychological condition is not bypassed, one assumes...
Although, it is interesting to think about... just as I wonder if my brain would think identically if it was, instead, in the largest animal in the world, a whale, as opposed to my puny self... would a whale even know how large it is, especially when compared to plankton, or does the (usual) repetition of life establish a norm that erases that externally obvious fact from the tip of its mind?
The mind can take into account where it seems to be contained, but it can also be, theoretically, functional in a jar... but, then again, if living beings actually existed in this painting, say, and they did so consistently for some time... would they know it is any different from the external world? Would they even know a third dimension exists, if they persist in just two? If this cloud above me never clears away... would I ever know the warmth of a bright, hot sun?
Well... I suppose all can be relative, but what does that tell us about our situation, then? Where do we, effectively, find ourselves? Going through a myriad of scenes, with the only possibility of thought, to rationalize, being a dialogue? I suppose one can talk with themselves, but then where would the volley of thought end up? A dead-end, presumably... lost in a fictional world of one's own making, perhaps... but is the alternative always likely? Grammatically, not even then...
I... am not sure... did I even think when I had but two dimensions? I can only speculate, just as one can only wonder if any consciousness at all is present before birth, presumably... I suppose, hypothetically, one can theorize that every cell, perhaps not just those imbued with life, but all matter too... although that is an even more remote possibility... but every cell could, possibly, have a slither of consciousness within... what creates a more intense type of mind-state, then, is an amalgam...
That is... emergent consciousness from a whole collection of neural cells? I suppose... does that, though, not imply that only neural cells can be conscious? Or, could there be life outside of conscious life? Ah, here I am, a supposed elf, discussing all this with someone with a cloud over their head... surely, this is only possible in a world of random possibilities... which, presumably, is what life was originally... a dreadful, nigh-cursed remote likelihood that occurred merely due to eternity...
It changed, again... but, why? Also, it is as if there is a similarity, here... a pattern, perhaps? It was always random up to this point... or, at least seemed to be... why a red house, again? Is it meant to... mean anything? Perhaps anger, for some reason? Suppressed by the icy cold that contains it, possibly? Before, it was the moon that shone from up high, now merely snow... I think. Odd, as I am not sure in reality there are even many red houses... could it be symbolic, though?
I think that might be so... it is what art is after all, no? A spectrum of symbolism... but, if anger, for what? Something external to such a symbol? The snow, then, is what in reality? Well, I do not suppose anyone can tell, as we are separated by time and space from those who represented these as such, but what if there could be a parallel that chimes down the ages, even if speculative? What we have been trying to do... but, how realistic could it be? Do hues not change associations?
I suppose that might happen... but, if art is all subjective then is it not what one makes of it? The rest is historical, and not so much associated with what is visually presented, as such... so, what could it really be about? Strong emotions? Perhaps, the snow a symbol for procrastination that slows down fury in its tracks? Not that I would know the latter with this cloud cooling me down all the time... I suppose, the snow might have the same effect?
Hm, yes, I can see... note, though, how the building is still crimson at its core, as if the snow is succeeding, but not at a structural level... which makes me wonder, are you able to associate like this because of your recent, former state? I mean, what even was it like, having only two dimensions? I keep thinking it is somewhat similar to dreaming, for some reason... but it is in dreaming where associations can be made... so wildly, too... so, I wonder... this imagery seems dreamy, also...