Has it ever occurred to you that there really is no Discordianism; that in fact you are living in an insane asylum...And what you do for a living, and all of the people you know are just elaborate fantasies manufactured by a sick, sick, mind?
I mean, think about it. Nigel could just as easily, and in fact more probably, be the staff psychiatrist on duty, and Faust could be the administrative head of the hospital in which you are a guest. Perhaps the "Doktors" of your twisted fantasies are really DOCTORS. It would make prefect sense that Dr. Nigel would receive orders and instructions from Head Administrator Faust. The Good Reverend Roger could actually be a stick-wielding orderly (the one who stole your smokes), rather than the stick-wielding preacher you imagine him to be. Triple Zero could in fact be Nurse Mildred Ratched. You have to admit there are many similarities.
Have you ever noticed the uncanny resemblance between ECH and Danny Devito? Haven't you ever wondered WHY?
It's eerie when you think about it. Perhaps there were no meetups. Your trips to these meetups were really just group field-trips to the local park. You THOUGHT you had all stayed there for several days, fucking with the locals, but in reality you had only stayed for several hours. You've never really been to Providence or Tucson or Portland, either; that was just a sneak trip that you were dragged along on to the boiler room where the janitors were smoking a little reefer with the orderlies.
Of course, this whole "Discordia" thing is just a big joke, right? It's just something to amuse yourself and to help break up the monotony...But the monotony of what? Playing cards and watching TV all day every day in the Activity Room, and wanking in front of relatives when they come to visit? And maybe, just maybe, all that "laughing til you can't stop screaming" is actually happening, just down the hall, where they do "therapy".
Ho ho!
On a bad day, I would sincerely hope so.
Other days, I am convinced that not even my fucked up imagination would inflict my life on me.
And on some days, I'm pretty sure I know that I just don't like myself enough to bestow some of the awesome people in my life upon myself.
Yeah, that's all occurred to me before. Or things that are similar, anyway. I usually just go on about my day anyway, because if this is all one huge fictional group of "friends," at least I believe in them so strongly that they get me through, even if they really aren't.
Dear TGRR,
I've lived and breathed your vision of Discordia. Know what? When it comes right down to it, it makes no discernible difference. That's how it gets a hold of you in the first place. It sneaks up on you, whistling innocuously and looking the other way. Nothing seems to change until it's too late.
If you were living in that world and I'm not for a minute saying you're not but, if you were, hypothetically, you'd never know until the odd time you maybe slip out of Eris' twisted web and into the real world for a brief lucid interlude between "treatments".
You'd be just as likely remember those trips out of Discordia as hallucinations. You'd probably blame Squiddy or Giggles. Or maybe it was that bastard Iason.
Love and xxx's,
P3nT4gR4m
This is all wonderful... wonderfully sick.
Just like all of you people.
Quote from: A Very Hairy Monkey In An Ill-Fitting Tunic on October 04, 2012, 12:50:00 AM
This is all wonderful... wonderfully sick.
Just like all of you people.
I am unable to determine whether or not it is sick, because I can't prove that I'm not in a padded room somewhere, gnawing on my straightjacket.
Pick up your tongue, I don't think you swallowed your meds. PICK UP YOUR TONGUE. There. Now everybody be good and nice and obey the doctor and the attendants.