found these notes in a folder somewhere. i don’t remember writing them at all. they appear to be from late 2019. the second one appears unfinished. but i thought they were both worth sharing

a shred of solipsism

in a way, solipsism is true for each and every one of us. on the surface, pluralist solipsism may not make a shred of sense—solipsism is, after all, the idea that oneself is the only thing in the universe that exists and that every other individual, indeed reality itself, is an illusion. how could multiples of selves be the only things that exist? one times one is one.

in my head, i picture the world. in your head, you picture the world. and the world, or some shred of it, pictures us. but modern neuroscience tells us none of this exists, these concepts of each other. our brains conjure up reality, suck up stimuli via nerve endings that coil outside the body. receptors in the eyes and in our noses and on the tips of our tongue.

the brain takes these electrical impulses and processes it into more firing neurons, splattering a dark canvas with sights and shapes and sounds. but none of this is ‘real’ in the sense that all of it is subjective construction. it doesn’t take much to alter this perception either. all of us are collectively hallucinating.

so when i think of the world, i invent the world. and when the world thinks of me, i am invented. none of it exists does it?

self-assembled soup

aug 31 2019

alice listen. we can make you trip.

if i were to trip from the roof of a 30-story building and land on my skull, the hot electrical bath of my brains would splatter into unintelligible mess. but as it stands, things are orderly, or as functional as they can be. and the strange thing about this is this bubbling broth of memory, emotion and hormonal discharge is part of a near infinite pattern stretching back to when energy first created matter.

i am the long tail of a self-assembled soup yet today, on a cocktail of sugar and antibiotics and steroids, i feel dizzy and lucid.

do you know why everyone shits their pants when they die? that’s the microbiome exiting free to enter back into the world.

Alice, you’ve got to listen to yourself. Staring into your mad-wide pupils in a bathroom mirror. Look into your eyes. Can you hear us? We are you.

Look out the bathroom window at the street below gauzed in green light. See the towers in the distance. Those are made of many bricks.