For publication never

There’s a problem with spending your life isolated from reality, and it’s not that you miss out on all the really good TV shows. There aren’t any. No, the trouble comes when you have to open that door and step into the world. If you’re lucky the experience is like strolling into a walk-in freezer. If you’re unlucky it’s like running full speed into a concrete wall. They say the crazy man thinks the whole world is out to get him, and that’s true. The sane man damn well knows the whole world is out to get him. What he usually doesn’t know is that he’s nothing special; the world is out to get everybody. And since the world is everybody, this forms an amazing recursive paradox that calls into question the concept of everything, especially reality.

Some people think that sleep deprivation or strong liquor or certain drugs can allow you to see past the fog that shrouds us all, into a deeper state where the cosmic whatever becomes a certainty. If only they can achieve the right state of mind through their chosen form of self-destructive meditation they will at last understand how it all works. Perhaps that’s true, but the certainty is if you achieve this state it will be your last moment of existence – no matter how you get there.

You may as well enjoy the ride and laugh at the world. Nothing makes it madder than someone resigned to the inevitable fate of us all, yet refusing to accelerate themselves towards that end. They love a murder, but they love a suicide even more. What they can’t stand is someone who knows the end of the book before they’ve opened the cover.

And that’s why.

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