You are not real to me. I know this because when I point my gun at you there isn’t a twitch or flinch or any other sign that that I’m pointing my gun at you. So I put it down, there’s no reason to threaten you if you are not going to feel threatened. Why do you continue to stand there like that? Are you trying to intimidate me? Don’t you remember? I’m the one with the gun. Shit, no, the gun means nothing to you because you are not real. It means something to me though, as long as I have it, I am safe. I will be able to hold off any attack. Even from you. Even though you are not real. What I really need to watch for are the pigs
If you didn’t care what happened to me,
And I didn’t care for you
We would zig zag our way through the boredom and pain
Occasionally glancing up through the rain
Wondering which of the buggers to blame
And watching for pigs on the wing.
Those pigs a very dangerous, they’re omnivores and will eat anything, even bodies that are left behind. So be careful with me. I’m the one with the gun. Stop wagging your finger at me, I know that you don’t care. But your lack of concern makes no difference to me. You’ve been here for a very long time and you have done nothing but stand there. You have not threatened me in any way. I believe that you are nothing more than a figment of my psychoses. You do not exist, the pigs do not exist, this entire room is only a construction in my mind. That means that nothing is here, including this gun… including me.
Where and when and why do I exist. Nothing is real so nothing matters. Nothing is not real so everything matters. Everything is real and everything exists. It is all too full. There is no room to move. I am suffocating. I have to get out of here. I have to go nowhere, where everything is. That’s where you’ll be. At least I’ll get to see an unfamiliar face. It will be such a comfort.