What is life, but the mere repetition of a pre-requisite sequence of apathy? Is there such a thing as "real" or "existence"? Do we really have freedom of choice and thought, or do we just act out pre-determined, pre-cognizant parts and actions that are arranged by the very composition of the past histories, of other people's societal mental instances, of our very universe itself? Where am I, really? What is this "society" I speak of, but a mere instance of collected ideas and hallucinations within my own mind, impossible to make objective and lay bare for "anybody else"? Where is reality and perception, in relation to hallucination and imagination?
the world1 felt this