I'm not saying you don't have a brain

Sometimes when I look at people I swear I can see right through their eyes, through their brains and right to the back of their heads. I speak to these people, but somehow my voice just echoes in their head and comes back out their mouth. It freaks me out. I feel like I must be missing something, or else they must be, because how can people actually be like that? Hmm. Is there anybody really out there?

That’s why I’m doing what I’m doing. I can’t be bothered to explain here, but I’m working on an art related magazine. To me, I’ve always found it an amazing thought that all the shit that goes on in my head, the millions of unstoppable thoughts about everything and nothing are replicated in every head on the planet. And there are more than 6 billion of them now. I don’t mean that everyone thinks the same as me (because that really would be weird), but that everyone has there own whole world built into their head, their own worries, their own thoughts, their own point of view. As complicated as I feel life is for me, it is for everyone else too. When I walk down the street, I sometimes just look at all the windows on the top floors of houses, because most of them are bedrooms, and every bedroom implies a whole world. A whole life which is running on the same planet as me, but which I’ll never see. Hey that rhymes.

Anyway, my point is, that I’m doing what I’m doing because as far as I’m concerned art (in all it’s forms) is the only way that you can really be sure that other people really exist. I have no evidence that other people think except that they can express their thoughts, and that I can understand these expressions of thoughts makes me realise that other people see the world in their own way too. Not to be trite, but without art, how the fuck could I really know that the whole world isn’t just a figment of my imagination, and that people are just facets of that?

I once had a dream that I woke up one day and my whole life had been a massive hallucination and that everything I thought was wrong. Maths, physics, philosophy, everything I had just made up. In my dream when I woke up I was eating a dead rabbit and staring at a tree, which had been an ice cream and a tv respectively before I woke up. Does this make sense? No? Well it didn’t at the time either.

I digress. My point is (and this has been a really fucking roundabout way of getting there) that as much as art is the only way in which I can know people really exist, the comments on this thing are the only way I can know that anyone reads it. So please, leave comments, I don’t care in the slightest what they say, because otherwise this is like screaming into a plastic bag – almost like communication, but also quite like suffocation.

I’m gonna try write at least once a week now. I hope that’s enough for you to be bothered to check this thing. Whoever you are.