You waited for the website to load.

It loads. You do not even hesitate to begin reading it. You need to know the truth, and nothing will deter you. Memetic kill agents... Such a thing can only be a work of fiction, right?

... Right?

You blinked to make sure you can still blink.

You looked around the room you are in to make sure you are still in a room.

You look at the device which is displaying white text on a black background, and continue to read the text. You are reading the text. As you read, you contemplate on the marvel of technology that have been achieved in order for you to be able to read a random shitpost that someone in Hong Kong was able to write in under half an hour. Surely, decades of hard work is involved in building the internet, forming and maintaining the back-end protocols and infrastructure required to keep this running, and yet it has been trivialized to the point where anyone, such as yours truly, could just write something without planning or a minimal degree of attention and put it up somewhere and show it to you, without requiring a publisher, a print shop, or marketing. And you are reading it, despite the circumstances that we are likely at least tens of several of kilometers apart, yet this geographical proximity have not stopped me from being able to communicate with you.

You're not here to really find some ground-breaking truth though. If I really had the secrets you wanted, I would have used it as a bargaining chip so I could ask for, and likely succeed in getting, some personal gain for myself. I did not, for my knowledge of the truth is uninteresting and the same as everybody elses'. It is not worth a penny.

The truth is that there is no truth.

I know this, because the world we are in does not make sense. There are laws of physics, but these laws "exist in reality", which are then "studied" before "theories" are built to explain them. None of it makes sense, only that we have attempted to give it sense as we studied more and gave it reason. The reason is not inherent in nature itself, only that we forced a reason upon nature itself. The models are truth-like, but not the truth. There are things we can observe, but none of it will ever be enough to discern the one true truth. I do not know how there can be a truth. In fact, I do not think there is any truth.

You're capable of hearing. When you listen to music, you catch onto the melody. When you listen to someone talk, you digest their words. This works because you are listening. By utilizing your attention, you form experiences. These experiences are not the truth, only a way of generating your perception of the world. The world is not the truth, neither are your experiences.

You're capable of remembering. When you think about the past, you form opinions. Through gaining beliefs, such as "if I do good things I will be rewarded", you adjust the areas upon which you invest your attention on. Reconstructing your own mode of thinking, even. By focusing on different fields, you gain biases. These biases make what you are. Opinions are not the truth, neither are the things you remember, nor the things you believe in.

You're capable of imagining. When you see a problem, you want to solve it. You imagine success for yourself, and give yourself reasons to chase it. You imagine what a better life would be like, how having more power, agency, wealth and connections could give you more happiness, or security, or comfort, or satisfaction. These four are not the same things. The greedy people imagines having all of them, I am joyeous to even have one field. Security is easy, but with the political unrest here, as well as the lack of a supportive family, I don't know what to depend on. This is not a story about me though. I am not the truth, nor are solutions to a problem, nor success.

You're capable of feeling fear.

Or are you?

There are walls around us. There are walls in us. Before you realize it, the walls come together. The room is smaller and smaller. The room squeezes you, and there is no use fighting it. The walls consume, because you are food. Everyone is food in the grand scheme of things. Fuck capitalism, stay woke, you are your worst enemy. It is dark and you want to fall asleep. I want to sleep. I say that I will go to sleep, but it is merely a phatic expression, because I don't actually feel like sleeping, despite how it is 1 am. I am probably going to tell myself to scroll only five minutes of twitter feed, followed by half an hour of more scolling and deluding over cute girls, and then play a game with no content asides from numbers going up, or something. Why am I here? Why are you here? Why is any of us here? None of this matters. I've forgotten what I wrote already. I've forgotten why I started typing. It doesn't matter.

I'm going to sleep. Good night!