“The simulacrum is never what hides the truth—it’s the truth that hides the fact that there is none. The simulacrum is true.” ~ Ecclesiastes
I find it extraordinarily fascinating to delve into the concept that the world we live in is made of seven billion perceptions; that’s all it is—just one giant brain. As each set of eyes gaze up at the night sky, they perceive a different shade or aspect of what is essentially a singular existence. Every inkling or thought which has ever existed in one’s mind is what makes up the universe. Our reality—the insensate tranquillisation of our minds through trivialities like media, work and routine—is the immediate happenings of our life and how we perceive them; our reality is the simulacrum because we learn—to read, write and the way of which we must life our lives for the rest of our existence—in a clinical environment which is essentially a distorted imitation of the truth. We imitate imitations of the truth of our existence on this planet; we copy a distorted and defiled copy of the truth.
The seven billion perspectives of life merge together to create truth and in doing so actually convince us that our perspective is the truth; we blindly believe that our perspective is the only ‘correct’ one. Our personal perspective and the several angles of which we look at life acts as a veil over our consciousness; it hides the idea that not one of us is correct because the brain of human existence consists of a large orb of perspectives; the human existence consists of seven billion angles of which we perceive our life and how they interact with each other to create reality. We’ve created the simulacrum—a defiled distortion of truth—by living our lives among seven billion others and letting the two merge together.
So I’ve established that our perception of life veils the idea that the brain of human existence is only a cocktail of billions of other angles of truth. Now I bet you’re thinking “Why is this relevant?” If intelligent human existence is just several angles and layers of truth, combined, then your input into the world is imperative to how the truth of human existence evolves. You are important. Your expression of truth and your angle of viewing the life you live is going to affect how someone else lives there’s. When people talk about the future, they always seem to think that it’s somewhere in the distance; they separate it from the here and now. They have this distorted view that one day they will wake up and the future will have unexpectedly arrived. Let me tell you, it won’t just arrive. Everything you do now, every move you make and every word you say is a stepping stone to who you will be. Always visualize who you want to be and walk towards it now. no-one can stop you but you; no one can make you give up who you are meant to be so pick yourself up, dust yourself off and start walking again because the path isn’t going to shorten and transport you to your imagined life; you won’t wake up and have a future. All you have is now so make it count for something.
It was October 2012 and I’d finally endured that eight hour journey across the Atlantic ocean; the big apple looked like a city for ants, from the window of the plane. I can remember the breath-hitching, face-eating excitement which coursed through my veins as I waited in that mammoth, two hour line. We reached the hotel and dossed around until the next morning when we attended a stage-combat workshop on Broadway, with the cast of ‘The Lion King’. We spent the next couple of days doing all sorts of fabulous things—dining at the famous ‘Hard Rock Cafe’, enduring eighty stories in a lift to admire the view from the top of the empire state building and crying, endlessly, when at Ground Zero. After crying over the astounding pools of grief, our rather large group of year ten and eleven school pupils congregated on a patch of grass and were silenced by the ramblings of the teacher. At the moment all I heard was “We’ve had some news; there’s going to be a hurricane so we won’t be going home for quite some time.” I don’t remember much else after that (apart from my sudden sob on the subway home—caused by the emotional shock of the sheer number of names of actual human beings, which lay upon the ‘pools of grief’). Like I said, I didn’t remember much after that. That was until we were called down to the lobby, later that evening.
Everything up to this moment in time seemed like a blur of events, merged into a single moment. The moment my music teacher announced the unfortunate news was the moment my entire body went into shock. It was like my eyes spontaneously became waterfalls; I couldn’t stop crying. I felt like I was in a vacuum—no matter how much I gasped for breath, the oxygen refused to enter my lungs. My heartbeat pulsed through my torso and rippled through my limbs; I couldn’t stop shaking. Nausea gathered in the pit of my stomach and the number of bodies, perched on the floor of the lobby, sent my increasing heartbeat through the roof. “Pull yourself together Ellie!” my music teacher reprimanded, sternly. This only increased the currently leaking taps (otherwise known as my eyes). As the rest of our tourist group dispersed themselves to prepare for Sandy’s arrival, I remained, curled up, in the lobby. My skin no longer acted as protection for my insides but because the culprit of a terrifying case of claustrophobia; I felt trapped in my own skin. My mind turned into a black cloud of fog and I no longer felt like a human being. The mere thought of having to support my own body weight, at that moment in time, was enough to tip me over the edge as I tumbled into a seemingly endless continuum of terror.
After several evenings, filled with broken-cabled flashes and debris banging against the window of our tenth-story hotel room, we exited the safety of ‘The Comfort Inn’ and ventured into the broken streets of Manhattan. The collateral damage was certainly a sight to remember; cranes, alongside twenty-story buildings, snapped like autumn twigs and trees had bent themselves over backwards. Despite the colossal damage, the one thing which remains with me—even today—is the sight of that deceitful key-ring, glimmering in the lights of the souvenir shop. I shuffled closer, glancing down at the ‘I heart NY’ t-shirt I’d been wearing whilst locked within the confines of a fusty hotel room with no means of washing anything ( we had no power or water and were lucky to have store a few cookies and crisps in the fridge). I chuckled to myself as I stared back at the smug key-ring which read: ‘Sandy’ in pretty pink letters. “I heart Sandy, I said to myself.
“More like I hate Sandy!”