That's it. I've concluded that my whole life has been a really strange dream.
All of the bewildering news items I've read on the internet over the past few years are largely responsible for my reaching this calculation. I've toyed with the idea now and again out of boredom, the way you might play with a retractable pen while waiting to see the dermatologist for your fungal skin condition.
It's hard to describe exactly what I mean, but I think a lot of you will have noticed the same unprecedented absurdities being passed off as sensible, and felt the same creeping suspicions as to the status of reality.
First, there were the totally serious headlines that kept popping up in my newsfeed: "Arsonist Gets 35 Years for Rape"; "Researchers Conclude Death may have Medical Cause"; "British Teenager is Crowned World Champion of Microsoft Word".
I started to seriously consider that my entire reality may be taking place in dreamtime, or perhaps an alternate reality video game, or maybe even inside the notebook of crazed ramblings written by a very disturbed shut-in who has dried beans in his beard and keeps an opossum as a pet.
About four or five years ago, it became increasingly apparent to me that I exist in some sort of dystopian world where war is peace, prejudice is justice; and people on the TV all propound with very straight faces that either a) the world is going to shit because people are moving from one country to another, or b) personal pronouns are one of the most critical issues facing Americans in the current year.
ISIS had a professionally produced, glossy-covered magazine.
People were wearing crocheted onesies as a fashion statement.
And then, as if all that wasn't absurd enough to make my head implode, Donald Trump became president (lol).
I've been inching closer and closer to the only logical conclusion, and yet I've kept that conclusion at arm's length, never willing to confront it head-on. Because when it comes right down to it, the one piece of knowledge that ultimately keeps me going--slogging through the day-to-day details of life, grappling with its challenges, and reaching for better details and more manageable challenges--is that this shit is real. This computer I'm typing on is a concrete object. My loved ones are genuine, physical beings, and not incredibly convincing dream specters. That amount of money dwindling in my bank account? Real. The soreness of my legs after an especially intense yoga class? Totally real. My body: palpably, measurably, undeniably real. That pile of dirty laundry over there is composed of material substance, and failing to wash it will have real, negative impact on my ability to go about my very real week full of very real appointments and responsibilities.
And if none of it's real, then why bother? If all of it's a dream, or a virtual reality, or a madman's scribblings, then why not take a dreamer's approach to life? Dispense with logic and all things linear. Turn around to find your hammer has become a cat when you weren't looking (just as Donald Trump became president when you weren't looking) and then suddenly remember you can fly.
I'll tell you why. Because the prevailing illogic does not extend past the glare of the TV screen, the scrolling of the newsfeed, and the rumblings of the Twittersphere. My hammer does not become a cat. My laundry does not magically wash itself, and neither does my outfit inexplicably change in the middle of a conversation with my loved ones, who are not dream specters, but tangibly real. It's only out there that absurdity rules the world, not in here. In here it's business as usual. In each of our lives, I presume, it's business as usual. And that may be the only weapon against the encroaching unreal-ness. That, in the main, we each continue inexorably on, working, building, connecting, laughing, struggling, overcoming--regardless of what latest confabulation the media is babbling about or what ridiculous crocheted fashion statements are being made by a tiny but blindingly tacky fringe element. Maybe while out there, "reality" is folding in upon itself, it is our simple, daily slog-and-climb that keeps the world spinning.
At least, I hope so.
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Hi! I'm Leslie Starr O'Hara, but my friends call me Starr. I live in the mountains of North Carolina and I am a FULL TIME WRITER who doesn't wait for the muse to show up before getting to work! I write humor, essays, and fiction here on Steemit and elsewhere.
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Nice post, it got me thinking . . I also had to look up what an opossum is :-)
Pretty sure it's metal and plastic :-)
Seriously though, I've been thinking about living in a virtuality recently, and you've given me more food for thought; thanks!
Cryptogee
I hope you're feeling okay, @lesliestarrohara! This reads like the fever dream of a toothache sufferer, or a Philip K Dick novel - in other words, intoxicating!
It does seem like the glitches in the matrix are becoming more commonplace. How will we go on when the world is 100% glitch?
I have contracted the Dickian Flu. Maybe I need to lay off the empathy box and let Mercer suffer alone.
Upvote for awesome references!
Your post reminds me of this piece by J. L. Borges...
A Dialogue About a Dialogue
A: Absorbed in our discussion of immortality, we had let night fall without lighting the lamp, and we couldn’t see each other’s faces. With an offhandedness or gentleness more convincing than passion would have been, Macedonio Fernandez’ voice said once more that the soul is immortal. He assured me that the death of the body is altogether insignificant, and that dying has to be the most unimportant thing that can happen to a man. I was playing with Macedonio’s pocketknife, opening and closing it. A nearby accordion was infinitely dispatching La Comparsita, that dismaying trifle that so many people like because it’s been misrepresented to them as being old. . . . I suggested to Macedonio that we kill ourselves, so we might have our discussion without all the racket.
Z: (mockingly) But I suspect that at the last moment you reconsidered.
A: (now deep in mysticism) Quite frankly, I don’t remember whether we committed suicide that night or not.
THAT. Is lovely and strange. Thank you for sharing it.
«war is peace, prejudice is justice» … poison is medicine, trash is food …
Excellent blog. I get where you are coming from. But my dreams feel so real. Unfortunately I have to occasionally get out of bed to wee. Don't look and you won't see my onesie.
My dreams feel very real, too. Which is part of the reason I can question the validity of waking life in comparison to the dream state. Both feel real. The difference used to be that you could look at dream experiences from your waking perspective and say, "x would never happen in reality." I think that difference is slipping away as the world grows curiouser and curiouser.
Yes, interesting point. Maybe that's why dreams seem more real. I love all the worlds I slip into each night. What is really real?
those are just sides of the same coin. you choose which reality suits you. one of your main brain functions is meaning making. and another one is to spot the exceptional (see the threat or opportunity) - this is what the media feeds you. deception which allows for daring moves. if you go where they tell you to go don't be surprised if you will be where they told you to be. this is a real dream which you can control just like your dream dreams. it's a magical show. enjoy it or do it. you have to pay either way
you are right about the reality of the intimate world - it makes the world spinning (battery for the matrix - if you choose to consume what they feed you)
choose wisely
live free
and check your browser history to know better why are those headlines popping up in your newsfeed :)
thanks for sharing .......
@shihabieee