For some time now I’ve been considering writing and recording a short spoken word segment, as an experiment. It’s a little niche, and shows I need to read a little less Baudrillard or Foucault, but the end result is below. I’d do this again, though perhaps next time I’ll make it a little more accessible. The script is beneath the break.
I really can’t describe to you what it’s like to finally leave Plato’s bloody cave. All this time I’ve spent, looking at the bloody shadows… They were my whole world! Literally! Now I can see what cast the shadows. Now I’m part of the puppet show, just by standing here with the flames flickering behind me. I wish the flames were there because I was burning everything down around me, but there’s really no point in that, is there? Is there any point in anything any more? Now that I’ve seen, so to speak, would I want to go back? Could I?
Plato’s allegory, the ‘brain in a vat’ Gedankenspiel, Zhuangzi and his bloody butterfly… Aw, we had a laugh with those, didn’t we? Games of thought and concept, drunken rambles about reality and thought and existence. I’ll tell you what: If I were to meet Descartes, I’d punch him in his stupid head. Just for being too bloody clever, but not bloody clever enough.
But I can’t. Because he doesn’t exist. He never did. It’s just me here and I invented the lot of them, probably out of pure boredom. Imagined the bloody lot of it. You too, for that matter. I’d ask you how you felt about that, being a figment of my imagination and all, but there really wouldn’t be much point. Would there.