It's a bitch to live in a world you think is fabricated. The world may or may not really be so, but just the fact that it appears to you as such is enough to rob you of sanity. I find I just can't build an understanding of the world when I feel like everything that meets my eye is something placed deliberately for the sole purpose of bamboozling me.
This disillusionment seems to have subverted my mind and brain so that all my precepts, ideas and concepts are rendered way too incongruous and amorphous to be recallable or discernable any more. This is why I seem to be tearing inexorably down a sheer decline into unmitigated dullardness. Well, of course, eternal hope keeps enthusing me to force myself to believe that I will break out of this cocoon of doom sometime very soon, but this eternal hope is constantly under merciless assault from my overall situation and everyday experiences.
Now, I know that this tirade of articulation does not ring true to my alleged mental ineptitude, but I'm not going to deny myself these fleetingly rare halcyon periods just to prove a point.
Of course, Mother tells me I am doing myself a great disfavour by not trusting things the way they appear. She's totally right, but prima facie authenticity is something I have long been forced to mistrust. If things were indeed as they appeared to be, I would not have gaping lacunae in my understanding of the world. There must be a world beyond the apparent one, where all the chemistry happens and the well-oiled mechanisms work their cogs into effects and phenomena.
Oh, to have eyes that could glimpse that glistening chamber of secrets. Please, oh please, let me run about every once in a while in that dewy meadow of gladdening information; I promise I'll set aside a portion of my earnings to pay my dues.