The Illusion of Knowledge

I am a fool.

All individual rights belong to death, ultimately.

I am a man without a shadow.

I am the hemlock that Socrates drank.

I am ‘The Philosophy of Redemption’ books Mainländer piled up as a platform to hang himself: the death of philosophy.

I have no proof of half of the things I say,
or purport to know.

When I say God is dead
and everything is nothing
and life is meaningless,
I’m merely quoting Nietzsche.
King Solomon, Siddhartha, Gorgias of Sicily, Machiavelli.
Warhol and Baadar Meinhof Gang.
The Sex Pistols rock band.

Give us World War III!
Knowledge is our arsenal.

I die, go to the sky,
and all thieves, prositutues, weed smokers, politicians, atheists, my misanthropic step-mother,
all rapists, homosexuals and liars will burn in eternal flames. This,
I’m simply quoting King James’ Bible.
I didn’t plan such things when I was born.
I just came to exist and exit
not to dictate choices to mankind.

I don’t question God.

God loves people who don’t question things.

Kill the ego and practice non-interference and non-attachment,
thus,
I walk in Lao Tzu’s shoes.
I know nothing.

I preach yoga, meditation, vegetarianism and activating chakras, and karma, and reincarnation of souls to fulfill dharma;
for I know how these inflate the soul,
soothe the mind and nourish my blood and bones.
But who taught me these?
I’m simply emulating Buddhist ideas from Paramahansa, Toby Alexendar and Gautama.
See I have never been to India or Himalayas.

I am a student of the universe.

My existence is a blank canvas stained with ideas from books and tears of time.

I am an African.
This I say because my skin is black.
My teeth are yellow.
My hair is bad wine.
I have no roots.
My life is a lie.
My past lies buried in distorted history books and documentaries.
My surname is from my dead ancestors I never met.
My first name is from the Jews.
My alias is hip.
My culture is pop.
I have no identity.
I have no taboos.

I lost all beliefs when I started questioning beliefs and counter-beliefs.
I am free thereof,
I enthuse to myself.

I speak of metaphysical notions of parallel universes, law of gravity, relativity, e=mc², worm holes, time warps and time travel, evolution of man.
These are not my discoveries.
I’m simply a student of Stephen Hawking, Einstein, Da Vinci and Darwin.
Kant and Newton.
I know nothing.

I call myself a learned man, yet
I’m a product of academic system indoctrination, tutors who teach what they were taught, research theories fished from the internet, un-updated libraries and my own make-believes.
I’m even taught how to feel.
I’m an academic lie.

I speak of sculpting the Self into a better individual, thus
I’m merely a subject of Hiram Abiff’s masonic teachings through Manly P. Hall.

I’m not an alchemist.
That’s Aleister Crowley’s Thelema philosophy.

I speak of the non-existence of God and heaven and hell. That is
my mind’s rationality of the hows and whys of existence.
The mind knows nothing.

Who am I then?

A shadow cast off the mirrors of time?
A child, a rock sucking a thumb indifferently and tugging at the dress of its mother’s womb?

A tomb in inertia?
God in amnesia?

No. I’m not God. God doesn’t flinch, eat, cry, love and fail, smoke and draw Mafia affiliate tatooes at the side of his neck.

Man as a God? That’s Theosophic teachings of Blavatsky and Y’eshua and enlightened beings and Ascended Masters.

In this era of misinformation, enlightenment too is an egocentric illusion of pseudo-philosophers.

I’m not man either. That’s
humanity’s limited interpretation of the soul’s vessel.

The things I speak of, what do they speak of me? What’s my premise? Am I a product of mankind’s philosophy and prejudice or my consciousness’ decoding of the matrix? How do I even know the matrix exists or I have consciousness to begin with?

Therefore I am!
Hail Descartes!

I am nothing, God, man, magician, nature, time, mind, death, gravity, music, chakras, heaven, hell, an idea, ego, alchemy, sun, flower, wind all wrapped up in one soul!

But Diogenes,
how do I even know I have a soul
or
I am one?
What’s the “my” premise?
Where’s the proof?
Where’s the ultimate truth?
What’s the truth?
What do I know?

Nothing.

I am chaos.

I am nothing.

I am chaos.

I am nothingness and I am becoming.

I am becoming nothing out of chaos.

This too sounds like gibberish to the common man.

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