September 26th, 2012
I wake up for the first time in days. Take a shower, put on for the first time a clean shirt, jeans and shoes. Do my hair and try to ignore everything that is going on. Nothing is there, it’s all an illusion. You’re lucid, Chris.
There is a moment of bliss. I walk down the streets.
A mother is trying desperately to calm down her crying child. He refuses to get out of the car and the mother is trying her hardest to pull him out. She looks like she hasn’t slept for days. I could say the same for myself.
In Plato’s allegory of the cave, he suggests that people inside the cave would find the real world to be fictional or frightening to the point where they would kill the messenger. They cannot fathom the idea that the models they discover could not be the real thing. Some would argue that the man that escaped would find the outside world so far out of his comfort zone that he would just go back inside the cave. Others argue that the man would embrace his new reality and leave his other prisoner’s behind.
I believe this comparable to living inside a cubicle and everything inside the cubicle is a model for us to understand the dimensions and law inside. However, we cannot use the tools outside the cubicle as there is no way to know what they are; so the outside models are impossible to ever comprehend.
This Idea applies the same with the universe. Everything we know comes from the inside so the idea of God goes beyond the borders of the vastness infinite space. The concept of God is just the outside looking in the cubicle. And through that understanding of how the cubicle works, we can never be the inside looking out. It’s fun to think about, isn’t it?
When I was 14, I made a mistake. I made the mistake of being curious about human consciousness. I was obsessed with it. Through the darknet, I was introduced to a very dangerous man just to get what I wanted. I don’t think Andrew understands the danger to this man. He gave me access to the tools to start my research. That was my mistake.
I’m the first to think himself mad. It keeps me up at night.
My name is Chris Larsen. I’m just a ghost to the world. My friends constantly seek me out for advice. I’m the metaphor for mental illness in this story.
What about you? What’s your story. How do you know you’re even real? What if it’s all a computer simulation? What would you do?
It’s scary to think about.
Do you know what’s even scarier?; That we don’t know why Elizabeth died. I have a theory. I don’t have any proof besides the gun she used, but that’s all I need. This town is corrupted. It didn’t use to be this way. I’m at fault for all of this. This is my sin.
This is why I’m losing my mind.