When the world seems a sublime set of suggestions,
one may wonder:
what does it mean to separate reality from fiction;
mythology from history;
Subjectivity from objectivity?
Is the universe only a chaotic set of cause-effect forces,
architects of both life and thoughts?
To what must I entrust my existence? If I exist,
and it is not ontologically wrong to define thus as such.
Perhaps we are an improbability,
generated by the primordial chaos and implicit in the very definition of a probabilistic system.
I can be here, topically, if I think I can be;
But there is, therefore, an unquestionably realm of thoughts?
A conscience?
Am I fiction or reality?
Is what I see public, or stage?
There is no way to determine it,
so what sense is there then in distinguishing?
Distinguish, categorize, order;
within the mind, within the thoughts;
streams of consciousness,
when any system conceived will be so far from the reality we seek, it useless to search.
Is there hope?
Is there fate?
In doubt, uncertain.
Paralyzing doubt and driving uncertainty,
the only push to find an elusive and exclusive reality.
Contrast and conflict.
Squaring the circle, an unsolved mystery or unknown law…
… A game we need to give meaning to life.
Yours sincerely,
Dysfunctional Girl
How NOT to be functional 