Thursday, September 15, 2011

We drink copious amounts of coffee and debate the Rastafari movement; talk art and Balzac and new world order (if we're feeling particularly zany, of course), all while the world keeps turning and the sun keeps shining. But the fact that we can never entirely be sure that we're not figments of someone else's imagination just continues to blow my mind on a regular basis. And then it's Plato's cave, all over again. 

6 comments:

Tangled up in blue... said...

Haha, some days I wonder if I cud be like Neo and wake up with somebody reassuringly purring, "Welcome to the desert of the real!" in my ear. :D

That'd be comforting!

mgeek said...

A lesson hidden, in there somewhere, to take life a lot less seriously...

Sherry Wasandi said...

@TUIB. To be honest, I fail to understand how ANY part of that scenario could be comforting!

And yet, the red pill it is...

@mgeek: One that I choose to pay no heed too. Mundanity kills more often than extravagance ever will. And in the end, it's simply a question of choosing your own poison. N'est-ce pas?

mgeek said...

@Sherry
It indeed is.

Tangled up in blue... said...

Haha, it would be comforting because that would be the end of wondering about it. ;)

Sherry Wasandi said...

@TUIB, I see! But at that point, I'm fairly sure that doubt would be the least of our problems. :)