Second Day In Dominican Republic

There are flamingos, ducks, herons, and peacocks and no excrement. It doesn’t make any sense. Are these animals from the Garden of Eden? No one is quickly cleaning up after them. There is just literally no excrement. My mom says they were trained to only defecate in the water. I don’t know how that would be possible, but then again, I don’t know how anything else of this is possible. I don’t understand how in the morning a man climbed up and down a palm tree with only a rope even though I watched him climb down.

I was getting hit by waves in the ocean and I was thinking about how the people around me couldn’t possibly be real, and I tried to tell myself I wasn’t lonely. I tried to come up with language that could describe how I feel about people and I settled on this: people are not individual spectators like myself, they are God’s appendages in the same way that the waves are and in the same way the hotel is. As usual I try not to look at them.

I thought about how every little sensation in the water, and every little motion, were designed. The fact that every single trivial little experience was planned that way is mind blowing. But the question always arises: why put so much “effort” into creating this as opposed to anything else? – if you can do all this you can clearly create a conscious paradise.

Oh yeah and some people took some pictures of me with two macaws. I would have enjoyed it if I was fit like I used to be but because I don’t like my appearance I didn’t enjoy it. And I find it painfully ironic that I put so much effort into working out but I can’t even call myself a bodybuilder.

Some guy gave me a necklace. He said it was called the Buddha “something, something” from the Dominican Republic. He motioned it to both my shoulders then to my genitals, and wished me a long life. He said, “you get a lot of girls right? Do you have a girlfriend?” I replied, “No.” He motioned toward the necklace.

People on TV look especially simulated. A laughing jester appeared on the background of a talk show. People like myself did not create the cartoons. The cartoons are absurd and pointless content in my consciousness. Or perhaps they have hidden messages. I really suspect they have hidden messages. I’m always trying to listen to the universe. But I wonder if when I’m done with this life I will get a replay where I actually see all the meanings revealed. As I’m writing this a jester appeared on Scooby Doo just as my mom turned the channel before turning it off. This gives me a strong reminder of fate. This is all set up. That demon at Dr. Miller’s had said I had a delusion, emphasizing DELUSION, that it was all contrived. Or maybe that doctor wasn’t a demon, just a very annoying jester.

I feel that devilish, jester-ish vibe from people strolling with their infants. The whole concept pisses me off so the universe is deliberately trying to trigger me. And it’s so surreal to think that all that had to happen was somebody had to cum inside that ugly lady for the poor brat to be walking around here and now. And what pisses me off is how dignified the parents act, as if they know completely what they’re doing. If people are conscious then it is clear under a negative utilitarian framework that it is far, far worse, unforgivably worse, to give birth to a child than almost anything else you do in your life. Assuming people are conscious, you are either creating a brand new consciousness or adding to the experiential space of the open individualism single consciousness. But given what a random human experience is possibly actually like, this is just pure evil. Yet they smile, and pick them up, and take pictures, and hold their hand, and kneel down to talk to them. It makes me sick. They wear this mask to hide their true face, that of an insensate, terrible demon. And just as I finish writing this I walk and see a couple with their baby passing by. I laugh. And just as I finish writing this, another one. I look up and another. That’s three in a row. I laugh again. I don’t want to look up from my phone for fear I might see another one. Okay looks like the torture is over for now, but only for now. And if you wonder why it bothers me so much even if I don’t believe people are conscious then I think it’s the uncertainty. I grew up believing people were conscious and if they are then I find myself in a terrible, horrifying world – it is horrible beyond comprehension. And that’s whether closed individualism or open individualism is true. But because I’m selfish it is especially bad if it is open. Oh God! It is too fucking horrible. Someone sitting in front of me has a shirt with INRI and thorns. I hate Jesus. He didn’t die for my sins. In any case I am Jesus… or Lucifer since they are the same character. They both try to become God and are thrown into some kind of hell for it. The difference is Jesus succeeds and Lucifer doesn’t.

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