Is Life Too Elaborate To Be A Miracle? (Includes Other Pseudointellectual Metaphysics Shit)
Donald Trump watching Carlos Beltran strike out with the bases loaded in game 7 of the 2006 NLCS.
His failure is my motivation to have sex with a Puerto Rican.
Yeah pretty much.
Or maybe it isn't. Don't ask me.
Thankfully, it's this uncertainty that fuels existential discussion. We have no damn idea how we got here or where we'll go; we don't remember our first moments and won't remember our last. It wouldn't even be a discussion if we had any one answer and, if we did have an answer, it would likely have a fair few consequences. Think of world religions collapsing and mass suicide at best. So, on top of having an answer, would the people who have it dare release it? And who's to say that we'd even believe them? What if the schizophrenic guys in the comments about NDEs talking about DMT and Jesus are actually correct? Well, there's a concrete answer to that: "No they fucking aren't because they are a turbonormie that got one shotted! Lol!" Shit's crazy.
Upon our many attempts to understand things such as our own consciousness rose the existence of "fields" like parapsychology that look to find objective truths behind the nature of them using unconventional and scientifically questitonable methods. Now, if you're well acquainted with recognizing the meaning word stems, you can see the "para" used in parapsychology is the same "para" used in "paraprofessional", that is to say, of course, that it is psychology which aids the mentally retarded. Consider me a retard then (if you couldn't guess already). I'm really intrigued about the idea of reincarnation and convincing claims of such outside of eastern cultures, where it is much more spiritual and much less Jèsus de la Cruz. This ended up leading me to discover the work by a psychiatrist by the name of Ian Stevenson, who spearheaded studies regarding accounts of reincarnation in young children, first with Twenty Cases Suggestive of Reincarnation in 1966. Biggest critique of this work was that they were all Indian. Terrifying, I know. Hinduism, however, is heavy on the reincarnation. Several years prior to his death in 2003, Stevenson then publishes European Cases of the Reincarnation Type, which tries to prove "see? they're not ALL Indian." Of course I have read NEITHER of these books yet so I will not speak on its content, but I most certainly see myself writing a reply once I do. His big conclusion however? "Yeah, it might be reincarnation." Kids just straight up lie about shit though.
To know this much about our world already-- to be able to access all of this information at speeds previously unfathomable, to conquer the elements, disease, and soon our biological aging process-- the one constant of uncertainty remains the nature of our existence itself. But that's not to say it'll be like that forever. It's hard to predict the future, and our greatest developments seem to happen at a whim compared to massive publicized never-ending projects (do NOT trust anything about American high speed rail development).
That's to say that it can't possibly be unknown forever.
I mean, I couldn't imagine myself having extremely elaborate sexual roleplays with a Sengoku Nadeko chatbot hosted on someone else's hardware, I for one liked envisioning scenarios where me and her were playing games of Twister up until our wheel spins got us tangled up in compromising positions-- eyeing eachother lustfully-- to which we then roughly copulated for the next few hours. I also couldn't imagine shooting ropes directly into my display after the model terrifyingly identified the qualia that fueled my fetishistic desires behind middle school aged anime girls which warranted this release in the first place. I have the dead pixels to prove it. But then again, survivorship bias. Lol.
The most horrifying thing that my half-Nadeko child would have to experience firsthand is feeling the very same stimuli that you and I feel right now. Likely disgust. But that's the horrors coming into effect. If they are undesirable, and you couldn't handle them, that could maybe lead death to be your only catharsis. But, proposing that reincarnation exists, and the loss of consciousness in your body leads to its transfer into another human vessel somewhere, would you be freed of your burden, or would you be forced to live with it engraved into your being as some form of ancestral memory, just as how behaviors can be passed down genetically? Are our minds
as they are now a gestalt of our past lives as human beings, culminating in our current physical form being defined by what we've witnessed now as a cathedral of sorts: an elaborately crafted exterior which houses the true substance, it's substance ironically being the lack thereof. The interior, lined with vibrant panes of stained glass; beautiful canvases paint the ceiling, usually themed after BPD if you're a she/her and FanDuel if you're a he/him. They/thems are severed from conscious being.
I wish I could come up with a better conclusion for whatever you just read, but I feel as if it's best for you to sit with it for a while. I just don't want you to hate me.
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