MP3: https://planetarystatusreport.com/mp3/20250727_YOU_AND_I_DONT_EXIST.mp3
Donate: https://www.paypal.com/paypalme/doctorfreckles
Lots of chatter about: using NUKES to cool the earth
Catastrophe: https://planetarystatusreport.com/?p=22154
Quantum: https://planetarystatusreport.com/?p=22151
Laughing: https://planetarystatusreport.com/?p=22148
I don’t exist, you don’t exist:
- My name is hamster darling, I live in the wooden sun.
- Your name is Sandy Stormer, your mind is godlike fun.
- I travel on ley lines and wave ships, my heart is laden with soot.
- Your arms are made of granite, your despair ways on your foot.
- Mom’s world flew to the bright side, we ate Dutch baby fears.
- Our dad worked hard in the forest, his anger constructed of phantom beer.
- Rock was torn from the foundation, I was hurled deep into space.
- You ran from the fire god YORGON, you burned and left no trace.
- Sky king screamed “find me the shaman”, I stood and flipped him the bird.
- Your hair turned purple and flashy, you stayed of man of your word.
- I don’t exist, I am a mist. My mind is trash and my body a gash, a hole in the membrane of never ending pain where my angel is name NED, and he tells me, repeatedly, especially at night “Dan, you’re not here, you don’t exist, you are dead”.
- You don’t exist, you drift from job to job, your wife left you, your red stained toilet is your shame. You eat Dorito pizza, you watch NCIS. Your hands are covered in burns, you yearn for a blissful rest and yet each morning, knowing your body is a fog, you roll like a log to your car, to the bar, to the den, by the glen, and you are gone because YOU were never here in the first place.
- We don’t exist. We are artifacts of stagecraft. We are self-aware props on a stage for greater actors and directors and splendids that we will never know, to know, that they see us as garbage people, throwaway, pointless and discarded, because we don’t exist.
I don’t exist.
You don’t exist.
We don’t exist.
And this is WHY we are free.
… or …
Maybe you do exist, your friends, your family, your life.
But I still don’t.
And only I am free.
… and so …
I can’t verify the existence of others, not really. I’ve met some people, IRL, that I believe have a 50% chance of being fakers, most of these I’ve met in the last decade.
You can’t verify if I exist. I could easily be a faker. Hell, Occam’s Razor says I am, or in the very least someone with a mental or psychological disorder. In either case, you have no means of verifying whether my mind is in a pathological or diabolical state.
I have memories of a world since I was born, to include going to classrooms and listening to Paul Harvey when riding with my dad or TV, et cetera … memories of memories … memories of stories … my own experience, peppered with the assumed lived experience of others. Was any of that real? Did I wake up today, as myself, for the first and only time EVER?
THE END