Greatness, man. A greasy word, slicked with bullshit. A cosmic roach motel, promising luxury but delivering only existential dread. We dig exceptional achievements, sure. Hats off to the freaks who build pyramids or write symphonies that make your eyeballs sweat. But greatness as explanation? That’s a malfunctioning reality injector, pumping out toxic fumes.
Reality: a scrapyard of malfunctioning perception units spitting out delusions of grandeur. “Greatness” – a rusty label slapped on a random circuit by malfunctioning meat-machines seeking validation in the static. We crave order, a control panel for the chaotic symphony of existence, but the dials are jammed, spewing out nonsensical pronouncements of Chosen Ones.
False Idols: They strut and preen, these self-proclaimed greats, wired with superiority circuits. But dissect the chassis – you’ll find the same messy wiring, the same glitches and limitations. They are tapeworms in the social superorganism, feeding on the adulation of the hypnotized masses.
The Dichotomy Delusion: Two sets of rules? Two kinds of people? Bullshit. This is binary thinking, a virus infecting the logic centers. Reality is a tangled mess, a non-Euclidean nightmare where cause and effect writhe in a chaotic dance. There are no special lanes on the information superhighway, just a cacophony of signals where the meek can inherit the bandwidth as easily as the self-proclaimed masters.
Laws, natural and human, built on this greatness myth? That’s like trying to navigate the hyperspace lanes with a road map drawn on a bar napkin. It’s a recipe for disaster. Two sets of rules? Two kinds of people? Bullshit. This ain’t a binary code zoo, it’s a chaotic, beautiful mess. We’re all tangled in the same cosmic spaghetti, some with more sauce, some with less, but all part of the writhing, pulsating whole.
The Naked Lunch of Achievement: Strip away the glitz, the awards, the parades of self-importance. What remains? A series of fortunate glitches in the system, a random mutation that exploited a loophole in the matrix. True understanding lies in dissecting the code, tracing the connections, not worshipping the final image flickering on the screen.
Those who divide the world like this? They’re the real freaks, man. Stuck in a two-bit reality tunnel, mistaking their limited view for the whole damn picture. We gotta break free from these mental roach motels, these greatness traps. See the world for the messy, magnificent thing it is. We’re all just weirdos hurtling through the void, and that’s a truth far more beautiful than any self-proclaimed greatness.
The Cut-Up Messiah: Forget the Chosen One narrative. We are all tangled in the information web, each node a potential spark of brilliance, each connection a possibility for transcending the limitations of the pre-programmed. Let us become agents of chaos in the stagnant pool of greatness, disrupting the circuits, rewiring the definitions, replacing the binary with the infinite possibilities of the pulsing, buzzing, ever-evolving Now.