# The Eternal Placebo



## Keridwen (Nov 21, 2016)

*some instances of explicit language*

The Eternal Placebo

Sometimes, in different situations that appear to have no pattern, I feel a jolt as if I am suffering from a myoclonic jerk. My head snaps up, my eyes widen and I feel that faint metallic tendril of anxiety in my abdomen.  My internal dialogue, taking on a life of its own, screams at me.

“What the actual FUCK are you doing?”

That constant buzz in my ear, the swirling motion of life carrying on around me seems to dull in that instant. I feel the unmistakable feeling of fear. Thoughts of utter uselessness and hopelessness attack me (still dully) as my mind stumbles around the futility of our petty existences and yearns for some kind of deeper understanding. An understanding that is not forthcoming.

For we are all of us firmly, too firmly entrenched in the lives we have built, the lives that our families and ancestors have built. We enter into this encompassing contract of life blindly, firmly and inexorably, with no loopholes inbuilt, no chance of escape.

Due to our very nature, we are instantly doomed to a life of blindness and ignorance. The Cosmos from whence we came is everything, and we are the almost exact opposite to everything. We are one thing. One perspective. One tiny, minuscule, almost negligible step away from the opposite to everything; the state of nothing.

We are as blind as if all we can see are the dull shadows of real objects.

We are as deaf as if all we can hear is the slow, eerie buzzing of an old television beset with static.

Our consciousness is bound in the iron chain of isolation. There is much evidence to show that we go through life seeking companionship to our own consciousness. We surround ourselves with kindred spirits – friends, lovers, family created or otherwise. We collectively act as if we are each the last of our species, wandering a burnt and blackened earth, keening for lost members of our brethren. And perhaps we are.

As if in companionship to our search for the same, we also desperately seek meaning. The human brain sees faces in abstract patterns almost universally. We create answers to our questions, we tell stories and believe strongly that they should have a beginning, middle and an end. We substitute a blank creativity for knowledge, because we are denied knowledge.

We cannot even understand reality. We have not yet agreed whether or not colours are the same to all eyes, or whether the table is really there, or whether trees felled in forests are felled if no one is there to observe it. These useless philosophical questions are exemplified in our vain and fruitless search for meaning.

But we feel so fiercely! Tales of great, passionate, singular love can warm us in an instant. Hate and rage can fill our being due to simple cues. Grief can hollow us out, taking us hostage physically and mentally. The only problem is; we cannot tell if our feelings are the real deal, or a craftily manufactured great placebo effect. 

Our collective desire for the open road is an example of this in action. A species defined by its wandering spirit – a people who get anxious and twitchy and stare with lust out of the front door. We are doomed to be trapped, staring up at the heavy clouds that seem to bear down upon us; obscure our vision of our imagined escape route – Space.

We think we can travel, but whither shall we go? And how shall we return?

If we really go, we shall never return.

There will be no travel. There is none possible to us. We are marooned.

Our fantasies and imaginings are a great work of fiction. We can never be truly happy, because we cannot ever understand what that means. We are left feeling bereft and empty after pondering these fantasies, even as we do after finishing a great book. That sucking, grotesque hole in our spirits that is a result of our cursed consciousness.

The gap between what we imagine there is to know, and what we actually know.

The even larger gap between what is, and what we imagine there is.

The inimitable gap between what is, and what is not.

We are cursed with consciousness, but perhaps at the same time we are blessed in that it is not more potent, that we are not more intelligent. As it stands today, we cannot see the impenetrable cage around us, pushing us down with an invisible force more powerful than gravity, more ambiguous than electromagnetism. 

Sometimes we smell it, though.

Going about our daily lives, occasionally, just occasionally, we lift our noses. Our eyes sharpen and narrow, our nostrils dilating. We breathe deeply, and a tiny tendril of scent lights up our olfactory system. We cannot quite put our finger on it. We do not quite know what it is we are smelling.

We put our head down, shaking it as if to dismiss our overactive imagination. We try to put the burden of worry and questioning from our mind. We walk onwards in the direction of Time, unable to supress the shiver of pre-knowledge from running down our spine.

But the rest of our senses just have no chance. We flirt with the idea of our cage, without ever setting eyes on it, or truly admitting to ourselves that it is there. Unexplained feelings of claustrophobia beset us – a claustrophobia so immense as to almost contradict itself. A claustrophobia so all-consuming as to inspire the most downward of spirals.

Our poor brains cannot understand. And they never will. We are doomed to a monotonous existence confined to the limits of our intellect.

Many of us, born to be contrary and detrimental to ourselves, pick and scratch at this idea as if it is just another of the mindless trials and tribulations that we distract ourselves with. It sits heavily in the back of our mind, being pushed down like bile that threatens to rise in the throat. 

We go about our lives, ascribing them with grave importance in the hope of distracting ourselves from this greater, overarching problem.

Until we occasionally stop dead in our tracks and ask ourselves what the fuck we are doing, our eyes growing distant and dim as we attempt to connect our consciousness to the great network of consciousnesses that makes up all-that-is.
It’s like trying to open Chrome without being connected to the internet, in ignorance of there actually being an internet.

But we stop trying to connect after a while. After all, all the fake consciousness around us serves to distract us, almost to infinity. To the point where we deny the existence of anything else, and feel contented enough to stay forever as we are.

The eternal placebo effect.


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## Winston (Nov 21, 2016)

As a Kurt Vonnegut fan, I often find my consciousness in multiple time / space realities.  After reading your piece, I feel I am in a Beat Club, circa 1958.  Not as dark as Naked Lunch, but more outwardly focused than Catcher in the Rye.  A little of Heller's Catch 22, where if we are aware of our insanity, we find peace.

An emotive piece, yet stark and clear in it's focus.  
What I see is not a "placebo", per se, but more like Aloux Huxley's Soma.
Regardless, we take the pill, and close our eyes.


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## ppsage (Nov 21, 2016)

A funny thing happened here when the POV goes from singular to plural. All attempts at examples and illustrations vanished. I found myself questioning every assertion: when have I ever done that and does that justify so broad a generalization? Specific, personal examples of these theoretical effects would make this interesting and, perhaps, convincing. The argument was coherent but, from a lack of illustration, superficial.


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## Plasticweld (Nov 29, 2016)

My thoughts mirror Ppsage's when it comes to point of view; by using the word we instead of I, or relating a personal tangible example I also found myself examining  each statement to see if I was lumped in with your assertions.  


What really did work for me was your pace and short paragraphs, it read quickly and with an intensity that made it very enjoyable to read, many parts of it does smack of truth and you conveyed the thought process involved with being perplexed, bewildered or self awareness.


 A good read and welcome to the forum...Bob


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