“The Cosmos extends, for all practical purposes, forever. After a brief sedentary hiatus, we are resuming our ancient nomadic way of life. Our remote descendants, safely arrayed on many worlds throughout the Solar System and beyond, will be unified by their common heritage, by their regard for their home planet, and by the knowledge that, whatever other life may be, the only humans in all the Universe come from Earth. They will gaze up and strain to find the blue dot in their skies. They will love it no less for its obscurity and fragility. They will marvel at how vulnerable the repository of all our potential once was, how perilous our infancy, how humble our beginnings, how many rivers we had to cross before we found our way.”—Carl Sagan, Pale Blue Dot: A Vision of the Human Future in Space (via crookedindifference)
A dystopian society ruled by sadistic old rich people holds a social experiment on a large group of young people. I’m the oldest one in the experiment. They trap them all in a school to survive, and introduce a black blob called the “bubble“. It’s vague about what the bubble does, other than gives…
I think it’s worth mentioning that bryan cranston was one of the villains in this dream.
The green stench lingered about me and harbored with it memories of just a few hours earlier. Memories of a time where thoughts seemed to permeate the air around me, serving no purpose but to distract from the menial task at hand. I wasn’t particularly good at pushing a lawn mower back and forth, but than again, who is? I’d like to say the thoughts and ideas that occur to me while mowing are sweeping epiphanies, or philosophical in nature, and sometimes they are, but to be honest they are just as often about what i’m going to have for lunch, or which videogame i’ll play when i get home. It’s sometimes quite a pain to be constantly aware of your own stupidity. To regularly and habitually observe your own behavior and observe it as that of an idiot. Still though, sometimes, amidst all of this cognitive turmoil, something happens that puts it all to rest. It’s not always the same thing, but it’s always something subtle. Something you’d barely notice if you were caught up in a web of inconsequential gobblygook that so often spills from the mouths of self important primates. Sometimes it’s the way a pillbug plays dead to let a passing ant climb over top of him. Sometimes it’s what a tree’s leaves look like when the wind pushes it’s way through them. Sometimes it’s watching two people who aren’t aware of you have a muted conversation a distance away from you. Little things that happen, which have both the capacity to bore, and to enthrall, to be dismissed, or to be obsessed over. To be ignored, or to inspire. This is the stuff of beauty, and this is the stuff i stick around for. As much as my fellow primates wish for me to beat upon the drum of progress and to immerse my self in all manner of gobblygook, i think i am just as content to watch ants climb over pillbugs who play dead.
If your thought does not fit within the confines of a character limit, to feel disappointed is to rebel against millions of years of a biological progress which has brought about your cognitive ascendance and superiority. To squander such an endowment on the trivial and the mundane, pragmatic affairs of your existence is to put to waste the only thing that differentiates you from a pig, or a dog. This is your life not because of some force or power unseen, but because you are a member of the only species able to determine it as such. As a creature of such an immense capacity to think, it should be considered your pleasurable obligation to not only use it to express your self to the furthest possible extent, but also to listen and experience the expression of others…. Or you could, you know, post about what you had for lunch today.
Such atrocities did he commit, all for the sake of his father’s approval. The screams of his victims fell on deaf ears as the immense sphere of destruction carved it’s path through such a placid land of casual frivolity. The mice were not quick enough to stop him. The cat’s claws were no match for his clever maneuvering. The dog’s teeth held no chance of snagging either him, or his ball of doom before it redoubled in size and absorbed them all with barely a yelp, meow, or squeak in protest. Even men and their bullets stood no chance against his iron will. He went right on rolling, gathering and combining, because that’s all he knew how to do. He’d bring them all together, he’d make them all one. There would be no more suffering, blame, or disappointment because they’d all be the same and together. The pain of individualism would be wiped away forever, and the stars would be that much brighter.
“Yes, everyone sleeps at that hour, and this is reassuring, since the great longing of an unquiet heart is to posses constantly and consciously the loved one, or, failing in that, to be able to plunge the loved one, when time of absence intervenes, into a dreamless sleep timed to last unbroken until the day they meet…”—Albert Camus - The Plague
A dystopian society ruled by sadistic old rich people holds a social experiment on a large group of young people. I’m the oldest one in the experiment. They trap them all in a school to survive, and introduce a black blob called the “bubble“. It’s vague about what the bubble does, other than gives the holder all the power in the group. The bubble makes it so that it’s wielder dictates what religion is practiced, and which philosophies everyone must subscribe to, both personal and political. At first discussions about who should have the bubble are civil, and the first few candidates’ terms go relatively smooth, besides one thing; The animosity and bitterness all those that disagree with the current holder’s views. I take advantage of the opportunity by asserting that I should have it because of my age. I think that I know what’s best for everyone. That’s a mistake. After that there’s an all out power struggle and my dream implies (it’s hard to explain how that works) that a lot of bad things happen, and I get in a lot of trouble, even once almost escaping the school, at the risk of setting off the explosive implant in my brain.
My dream suddenly “jump cuts” (who knew they could do that?) to a group of children, including my self, calmly walking down a hall to the chapel, or mosque, or whatever it’s called at the time. Generic worship area. On the way we pass by two overseeers; Their expressions are ones of defeat as they pretend to find the floor way more interesting than it actually is. We arrive, and take our places in the pews. We all lift up our hands and start chanting. “We will ignore the bubble, we will ignore the bubble, we will ignore the bubble.” There’s an overseeer there too. His expression is of disgust.
Anyway, I thought it was pretty crazy for my unconscious mind to come up with that all by it’s self.
You’ll find me wedged in some terrible, dark place. You’ll find me on the brink of insanity, you’ll find me anywhere but your shallow memories and public displays of concern. I inhabit no world but my own, which I’ve disgustingly let you convince me is yours. I’ll be resisting until I can’t anymore, not because It’s who I am, but because it’s who I should be. All the fucking grime on the planet is mine to inherent, only at the cost of a non-existent soul. There isn’t a single tear to shed for my lost humanity, because humanity was always disgusting. I can prove I’m worth something by proving I’m not. My existence is not my chain.