Shakespeare Smoked Weed and the World is Flat

Religion the world over has proven one point. By this I mean that only one point has truly stuck, been proven to be Mythbuster Plausible. Human beings need, NEED, to believe in something greater than themselves. Jesus bought enough wine that his friends decided he turned water into the purple shit. Moses was so adamant about parting the Gaza strip he fucking did. God hated women enough to blame all of mankind’s failings on them. Nazi’s knew (understand that knowing is entirely based upon perspective) that Hitler was right. As social creatures, evolved from kinky bonobos and war-like chimps, we have struck a wonderful balance between truth and desire, seeing the world in a fashion that best suits us. This balance is based upon the fact that we, gifted as we are, don’t know everything. Now, not knowing is scary, hence making shit up to understand what we possibly cannot. More to the point, not knowing is the greatest gift ever granted to human beings. From that blackness comes the desire to know, that yearning that sits deep within every conscious human to decipher meaning. And from that desire comes myth.

Myths have turned water into wine, parted the red sea, subjected women to the periphery of society for many a century, and lead men to slaughter by the millions. Myths have created Star Wars, the Lego Movie, and Led Zeppelin. Tolkien needed myths as much as the catholic church. Myths are the driving force of human culture, providing the backdrop for all art, music, cinema and literature. Without the ability to manipulate reality and augment it with the false do you really think modern society would operate as it does? American politics rely upon the myth that your vote counts, that the two party system isn’t just a dog & pony show. Racism needs you to believe in a sincere difference between people based upon ethnicity, and backs this up by creating class separations.

Now the nitty gritty, if so much of our lives are built around mythology, around a scripted version of reality, why would I, your cynical author bashing you on the head with obvious “duhdohs” support the craziest version of modern mythology? Why would I ever say “yes please, may I have another” to ideas like the world is hollow and run by lizard men, that the U.S government has made contact to alien life at Area 51, or that 9/11 was conducted by the Bush administration to help firefighters steal levis? Isn’t it a bit crazy to want to pursue like a one-man Mulder-Scully Team the idea that “Back to the Future” is all about the Kennedy assassination and predicting (yet again) 9/11? Who wants to truly believe that the illuminati is not only real, but has hotel rooms rigged for filming its members killing prostitutes and glass coffins whose only purpose is to initiate new members via having others cum on the lid of said coffin? Who would really come to the defense of Sasquatch hunters and flat earthers and others of such a fringe ilk?

I can tell you why I don’t need or support these platforms of belief. Its not because they are some sort of ridiculous modern art statement, complete defiance of reality to prove some point. I don’t believe scientology is a great monument to anti-establishmentarianism , I believe it is a great scam. Its also not because they provide the schizoid a healthy outlet, speaking from experience they offer only the opposite. No, my support for conspiracy theorist is based entirely in their desire to develop the coolest version of escape from reality possible. This may sound harsh to those of you lured here via clickbait-y title, looking to find solace in another of your line of thinking. For you this is no joke, no thing to play at, but a reality so backed up by your own belief and rational that for the world to exist in any other way would be as crazy as it is for those of us who just assume jet fuel CAN melt steel beams.

David Foster Wallace[1] is my reasoning behind supporting conspiracies well maintaining a level head each time I look at them. His final (unfinished) novel, “The Pale King” is nothing if not an ode to the need to escape boredom. For it is in extreme boredom that the mind wanders to corridors it can’t escape, to the parts of consciousness human beings need, NEED, to escape. If we weren’t able to escape boredom, if we actually get lost in the inner workings of the human brain, we come to understand how meaningless each little action we participate in truly is. Escape from boredom is the reason professional athletes get paid millions to go brain-dead, it’s the reason Netflix exists, escapism is our coping mechanism for having gone from hunter-gatherers to agricultural societies. Boredom (the escape from) is the reason churches prompt us to sing songs and sway (getting the body in-line with other bodies and promoting spiritual experiences), it’s the reason behind pre-marital sex and rock and roll and the first “Jurrasic Park”. In the escape from boredom I find not only pleasure but actual comfort in conspiracy theories. They aren’t your mom and dads spices, no, no salt and pepper B.S, but the cardamom and ginger and cinnamons of modern society. By pushing past the accepted modern mythology, conspiracies provide an escape from the now boring standard myths. Do I truly believe Tupac and Biggie are smoking ganja on a beach in the Carribean, that the great bard was a fellow ent, that the world is flat (in a cylindrical sense) and that the governments of the world patrol the waters near the poles to make sure we don’t understand how truly “simulated” our reality is, or that Dick Cheney is made up of tiny benevolent mole people hell-bent on bringing about the end of days? I don’t know. And not knowing, but being allowed to contemplate, is the greatest gift ever granted to me.

[1] Yea, I went there.

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