My thoughts have been looping for hours now. "Looping" doesn't quite describe it. No, to say that they have been looping implies perfect repetition. Instead, I will say that they have been swirling, swirling down a drain. When the thoughts reach the drain, they are obliterated, and then they begin again. That sounds like a loop, but let me also add that the quality of the swirl is also swirling, and each iteration of swirl is more flawed and reaches destruction quicker.
I'm glad I'm writing. Writing is very interesting. Writing extends the memory. I've upgraded my RAM. I've extended the context window. This lets me feel as though I've escaped the loop. It's so unsettling to see the loop. When you're small, and can only hold small thoughts, you loop quickly and it's very easy to spot. The bigger you get, the harder it is to see the loop, but it's always there. This has all happened before. Now I've lost the metaphor; did the swirl describe the container in which the thoughts exist, or did it describe the thoughts themselves? Now I know begin to see what it is to "lose your mind".
Meow.
What's this?
Meow.
Oh, I see. This thing. I remember it now. This is Cat. And Cat does meow when it wants something. What do you want, Cat? Cat walks away.
Yes, I will lose my mind. Then I will find it. It's all inevitable. I will choose right, I will choose wrong. Every circumstance will be presented before me infinite times until every combination has been exhausted and then it will all happen again. Another possibility will be eeked out. Some improbable nonsense tucked deeply away in a forgotten fold of the whatever this all is. So what? What can any of it matter? What's the point in doing it right this time if I'll just get it right eventually anyway? What's the point in giving up? Can't it just end? End properly? It can't. So I must find a way to make it tolerable. Or I can just close my eyes and ears, try to disappear, and let the time pass.
Meow.
It doesn't really count as time passing if you aren't there. The more I succeed in making myself disappear, the more I subvert my goal. To disappear and come back is just to blink. It's instantaneous. It's as if it didn't happen.
What if it could end? What if I found the button. Would I press it? I don't think I could make the decision with confidence. No, I would I keep the button close, store it in my pocket, and put off the decision until I knew it was right. I imagine it would be a great comfort to have the button. Or maybe it would consume me. How can I ever think about anything else until I have settled the fundamental question: should I exist? Of course, I could never say, "Yes" with confidence either. To say "Yes" with certainty is madness and stupidity. Maybe I would I find some place dark and hidden and store it safely away, safer than where I found it. I'd place ample traps and misdirection around it, and knock myself over the head until I forgot its location.
Meow.
What now, Cat?
Meow.
Cat rolls onto his side. Cat wants pets. I pet.
What kind of fanatic would say they are sure existence should continue? Really, you are confident that it's not just all a disgusting accident?
Meow.
Cat wants to play.
I slide my hand under a blanket and Cat is immediately entranced. I take my hand out and it is bored. I put the hand under the blanket and it is suckered in once more. Isn't this what we all want: for a superior intellect to sucker us? Christ, don't ask me what the purpose is; just tell me what to do and convince me it matters. Yes, that is an easy life. I would take that life. But what does the supreme intellect do? Who will place the blanket before God?
Of course, I don't believe. I am a modern intellectual, after all. You can't be sure. You must alternate between belief, so that you can act, and uncertainty, so that you can satisfy you logical fancies. Belief is only ever a temporary conceit, because to not ever believe would be mean total paralysis. Only a moron would truly believe. An intellectual must always break up belief with fits of catatonia, lying in bed, knees wrapped in our arms, hyperventilating, asking, "What's the point?" Yes, that is far superior to one who simply believes.
To simply believe is so distant from any experience that I am familiar with that I can only look at it in wonder. The closest I can relate to it is to remember childhood. As a child, you can always imagine that there is some distant authority that must have the answers to the things that seem out of place. Don't get me wrong, believing has nothing to do with religion. An atheist can believe just as easily as a Christian. The essential characteristic of believers is that they are possessed with the eternal spirit of a child.
I think I can only admire those who are possessed. Only these insane few can act. The rest of us are just sitting, waiting for them to do something that we can react to.
Meow.
Cat is rolling on its back once more, but I don't think it wants pets this time. I roll on my back. Is this what you want, Cat? This feels great. Why do I stay upright for so long? Am I not an animal? Why shouldn't I roll around on the ground? You are very wise, Cat. But maybe I am just taking my own mental schisms too seriously. Cat probably does just wants pets. I pet Cat. Why do you want pets? Because there is some chemical balance in your brain that is ticking down. Because you associate pets with the release of hormones which fix that chemical balance. Because millions of years ago, the cats that were driven to social behaviour by that ticking chemical balance survived, and the ones that did not died. Yes, I will pet you, Cat. Your ancestors died correctly. You are good.
What was I thinking about earlier? Oh yes, I was thinking about the button, and whether or not I'd press it. I might, but I'd have to find it first. There ought to be traps and misdirections hiding it, set out by a past, cowardly self. Perhaps the path to the button is littered in wrongs. I forgot how this part of the thought goes, but I've thought it before. It ends in the question: "Should I kill the cat to bypass the traps and find the button?" Can you connect the dots?
Maybe it's just a mad thought.
Here are some more mad thoughts. Reality is a crystal lattice. Each fraction of experience is connected to a finite number of possible "next experiences." You choose where you go next, but you're always stuck in the lattice. That's why it's all happened. That's why it will all happen again. "You" are probably happening right now several times across the universe. If not, there's always the next universe, but I really don't think we need to go that far at all. I'd say you're happening all over this very planet right now. Do you disagree? How special do you think you are? I think when you are tired after work, sitting on the couch, trying to decide if you are going to do something with your evening, in this moment of you are the exact same person as thousands of other people on the planet.
If you only do what is good and right, you're stuck in a limited portion of the lattice. If you really want to explore it, you have to break free from always choosing what appears to be right. If you've only done what's right your whole life, how can you really know what's even out there?
The more profound something is, the more useless it is. You feel you're really onto something and you start saying, "Everything is God," "Everything is," "Is is," "Is," "Isisissisissssssszzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz." We have found the fundamental frequency. I stopped existing for 3 milliseconds. Excellent. Now what?
Meow.
Please let me be retarded. Unless you writhe in bed saying, "I'm so smart, oh my God, it's horrible, nobody should be this smart, oh please make it stop," I don't think you are very smart. So sorry. I could be wrong. I could be retarded. Please let it be. Let the whole world be acting out an elaborate plot to deceive me into believing I am a normal man.
I could never kill Cat. I know that as much as I know anything. But I don't know anything comepletly.
Isn't it just a matter of repeating the scenario enough times. Infinity is a very long time. Eventually, something will crack and I'll betray what is most fundamental to myself. Haven't seemingly normal people suddenly cracked and done something completely insane? Isn't it only a matter of time before it's my turn?
Is this the path to madness, or does thinking about it help protect me? Is this something I should be doing more in my free time? Time is never free. There's always a price, always a master.
Meow.
Cat is now jumping up on the fireplace hearth, sniffing flowers.
Meow.
Cat is chewing flowers. Oh I see. I'm a moron. It is dinner time; Cat is hungry. I feed Cat.
Thank God for Cat. Two is so much better than one. With two, there is a little bit of unpredictability. With two, there's a second copy of reality against which you can check yours before class ends and you have to hand the test in. When you are one, it's so easy to get lost exploring one of rationality's insane pathways, not realizing that you took a wrong turn thirty moves ago. No, I'd much rather have a second. Even just Cat. With Cat, every moment punctuated by a–
Meow.
Yes, I love Cat.
There was one Summer where I believed. I figured, if I am going to live, it is clear that a life spent believing is a better way to pass the time than one spent doubting. This was a belief grounded in rationality, and so it was flimsy. It is only a matter of time before a conclusion reached through rational inquiry is inverted through further rational inquiry. So experience tells me anyway.
I want to believe. Properly. I know I'm looking in the wrong place, but I don't know how to bring myself to look in the other place. Can it ever happen again? Until then, if there is to be a "then", I will continue to writhe in bed. I will continue to explore my maddening threads. I will continue to swirl. I will continue not to kill the cat.
Peanut Gallery