darker persuasion of the rainbow
musings on life and marionettes
life isn't real. not anymore. it's just a monotonous exercise: get
up in the morning, eat breakfast, work nine to five, come home, eat
again, go to bed. working our collective asses off to
create a pretty little illusion for ourselves to admire.
but wedie, illusions disappear, and all that we're
left with are memories of it.
who can prove we're real, anyway? who's one hundred percent
sure that we're not sentient marionettes, toys for some all-
powerful sadistic puppeteer? think, we could be
entertainment at some fucking kid's birthday party. we
could be in a daycare, getting drooled over by three-year-
olds all day. and you know what? that wouldn't surprise me
one fucking bit. the way my life is, getting drooled on
by the aforementioned three-year-old would be a nice change