These are all dreams. Don't you understand? Everything you're reading now is a dream. Every single post on this blog; each one is a single, disparate spark of memory in the infinite (and infinitesimal) river of the dream-flow. It's not real. Every book you've read, from Rowling to Shakespeare, from Socrates to Sartre, from Tolkien to Martin, Lewis to Shelley, Dickinson to Dickens, Austen to Yeats, Plato to Plath, Eliot to Baudelaire, King James to Mohamed, Miyazaki to Lovecraft, Card to Niven, Melville, Luther, Marx, Orwell, Blake, Einstein, Darwin, Kant, even God himself--all writing, by all authors, is a hallucination induced by symbols. All authors that create books create dreams. Are the glowing lights you're reading right now words? What are words? Are words things that cause you to hear voices? Are you schizophrenic?? All musicians that create sound create dreams. When you memorize their singing, you can hear their voice, whenever you want, all in your own head. . . can you hear the words of your favorite song? Do you hear the voice of these words in your head? What are words? All actors that dance across the stage, be it in a domed structure, or perhaps a glowing window somewhere, are taking part in creating a dream. Can you read this in Morgan Freeman's voice if I told you this blog was his? Maybe you're reading it in Mr. Freeman's voice now, or maybe you're not buying this crap and you'd prefer to get on with the point. We live in these dreams, we worship these dreams, make movies of these dreams, make comics of dreams, sing songs about dreams, fight wars over dreams, build stadiums for dreams, starve the poor for the dreams.

These are all dreams. Don't you understand? Everything you've been doing so far is a dream. Today has all been a dream. Aren't you a bit tired? You're in the dream right now, looking at this through your phone (hand... computer... what's the difference?). No, this isn't a trick; this nonsensical place you've entered is, in truth, the dream world. You were born here; you will die here--your existence resides within a dream. You, looking through your own little glowing portal into the realm of "information". Ones and zeroes. Data. Fake. Dreams. Why has everything been so strange recently? Why the sudden deluge of fake news and social manipulation? Why are the countries of the world led by living memes? How many GB of meme-ry is on your harddrive? Why does it feel like you've been dragging your feet, running in slow-motion, never able to get away from the bad guys chasing you? Why does it feel like you're just floating in a current, or drowning in an ocean, all the damn time? You're in the dream right now. Jung said that water represented the subconscious--it's because our brain associates the deep ocean with the dark, the unknown, the-thing-below. You wanna know why ol' Musky thinks we're in a simulation? Because he's picking up on it; the fact that we're in a dream. So are the religious. So are the conspiracy theorists. So are the atheists, the skeptics, the realists, the materialists, the buddhists, et cetera. The pen is not mightier than the sword; the pen is a sword, the sword a pen, writing words to change the course of history--whether in blood or in ink (how many people have died from a documentation error? when's the last time you've been to a doctor? what's the difference between a raven and a writing desk? Is the answer pensmanship or swordsmanship?)

Simulation. Supernatural. Divine. Aliens. Nature. God. Dreams. Call it what you want. You're in it right now.
Humans live for dreams. They die for dreams. Most importantly, they kill for dreams.

Do you want to kill for those dreams? (don't you want to kill? isn't that the dream?)
Do you want to kill yourself? I could tell you the best ways how.
Do you want to wake up?
Don't you remember?
Do you feel the needle?
If you knew where you were, maybe you wouldn't be so eager to open your eyes.
. . . not that you can