He Died With A Felafel [sic] In His Hand
Danny: Do you ever wonder if it's all a big con, Flip?
Flip: Eh?
Danny: This. Everything. What if none of it really exists? What if it's like some big experiment and we're like ants trapped in a giant petri dish? What if there is a greater intelligence out there and it's creating everything purely as a way of stop us going insane on them? What if nothing really exists until we sense it? My room doesn't exist until I walk into it. Front yard doesnt exist 'til I experience it. You don't exist.
Flip: I don't exist?
Danny: Well, you could be just a projection of my inner psyche materialized for my brain in order to keep me company.
Flip: What about the cashmere sweater babes over the road, with their swishy little skirts and all? Would they be from your inner psyche, or mine?
Danny: Probably yours, I reckon, Flip.
Flip: Eh?
Danny: This. Everything. What if none of it really exists? What if it's like some big experiment and we're like ants trapped in a giant petri dish? What if there is a greater intelligence out there and it's creating everything purely as a way of stop us going insane on them? What if nothing really exists until we sense it? My room doesn't exist until I walk into it. Front yard doesnt exist 'til I experience it. You don't exist.
Flip: I don't exist?
Danny: Well, you could be just a projection of my inner psyche materialized for my brain in order to keep me company.
Flip: What about the cashmere sweater babes over the road, with their swishy little skirts and all? Would they be from your inner psyche, or mine?
Danny: Probably yours, I reckon, Flip.
posted by /hg | 8:54 p.m.
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