so i was writing this really short story about victor timothy. i tend to do that sometimes. in this one he’s a character whose job is to sit in the middle of a room. that’s it. and the room’s size, and even existance, seems to change sometimes. and his thoughts develop, and evolve, and wander, and move in different directions, often contradicting other thoughts and killing them off before they develop further. kind of like the way the world is. in fact, it got into my mind once i’d written it that maybe that is the world. and everything in our individual basis of reality is just a thought coming from somewhere else. this would include ourselves, but still, everything we think of is its own reality. therefore, branches of the previous thought. in this case, every thought would create a reality, in which there’s an infinate number of thoughts, creating an infinite number of realities, like a dome that starts from the top and follows a parabolic curve into infinity. but thinking of a past creates that past, and a thought of the future from that past creates a future, therefor making a gigantic loop, or meshwork, of thought. we all create eachother every moment by thinking of eachother, for at the root of it all everything is one thought. and since all is thought, other than The Thought there is no matter.
i could be wrong, and i am, but i’m also right.
think about it.
there. proved me right.
-mark