Through the rabbit hole.
Brains are complex. Minds are complex. Thoughts. Consciousness. Subconciousness. All infinitely complex. If I were to tell you that the very being posting to this blog up until this point was not me, you may believe me. If I were also to tell you yet that it was these same fingers that typed those posts. These same eyes that read the page, checked for errors, found the buttons. If this were true, you may believe me less. For most people they live their conscious lives as a single stream, an ordered chain of coherent thoughts that flow past each other. Ordered and believable. The very delusion of a single, whilst ever changing, identity is one which most of us unquestionably believe. But how so? Memories are distant and faded. Some are less than accurate. Some are just plain wrong. How can we base such a strong belief on something which is itself so untrustworthy? What about the man who has no memory? Always living in the present. Always believing now is the moment which spans all time. All existence. Speeding through life remembering nothing. Why is he the same person he was? Without memories, what defines him to be a single being? Is he not an infinite collection of beings? All instant in space and time. All nothing more than a fleeting thought. Alas, I digress. I return to my main stream of thought. I am the same body. The same tastes. The same dispositions. But yet I am not who I was. That man died a long time ago. Ten minutes ago. And I arose from the ashes. I do not know of what I think. My ideals are yet to be formed. Jars are a distant memory. Who knows what will be my goals, my aims, my desires. I have yet to become who I will become after the forming from what I am to what I will be once I am what I will soon become. I digress once more. The man before fell through the rabbit hole. He transcended the very boundaries of the human mind. He has broken the chains of the flesh. But what chains lie free must soon be filled and it is I who must fill them. And it is I, Sir Charles Maverick the Third, who will continue this post. For this is the 18th century. And I am the man who will make what will be made. I am the man who will do what will be done. And I am the man who will type the blog posts that must be typed. But for now, so long and farewell, I tip my hat to thee good sirs.