Dark Matter

by Blake Crouch

I have vague suspicions of course, but suspicion leads to bias, and bias doesn’t lead to truth.

We’re all just wandering through the tundra of our existence, assigning value to worthlessness, when all that we love and hate, all we believe in and fight for and kill for and die for is as meaningless as images projected onto Plexiglas.

Nothing exists. All is a dream. God—man—the world—the sun, the moon, the wilderness of stars—a dream, all a dream; they have no existence. Nothing exists save empty space—and you…. And you are not you—you have no body, no blood, no bones, you are but a thought.

“We all live day to day completely oblivious to the fact that we’re a part of a much larger and stranger reality than we can possibly imagine.”

“When you write something, you focus your full attention on it. It’s almost impossible to write one thing while thinking about another. The act of putting it on paper keeps your thoughts and intentions aligned.”

If you strip away all the trappings of personality and lifestyle, what are the core components that make me me?

And maybe I can let go of the sting and resentment of the path not taken, because the path not taken isn’t just the inverse of who I am.

Until everything topples, we have no idea what we actually have, how precariously and perfectly it all hangs together.

We see it macro, like one big story, but when you’re in it, it’s all just day-to-day, right? And isn’t that what you have to make your peace with?”