As long as I can remember I have always hated meaning. Everything just has to be under this box, so we can understand it. I say **** it, surprise surprise surprise

From this day I can tell that there is only one truth, that i now for sure is real. The one truth is that all meaning is MADE UP. Religious ideas, political ideas, psychological models—all made up. Our brains are meaning making machines. Put an image in front of me and I’ll make meaning of it. I’ll interpret it based on what I ALREADY know.

On the other hand I think I might be crazy for saying this, and my criticism to all can't be explained easily, not from me at least. BUT what if every truth we think know, or are told, is just lies based on each others believed lies, and oh there it is ****, again
stop already

And then, when something happens that is unlike anything I’ve ever encountered before, I’ll stump myself. I’ll be at a momentary loss until I can categorize, label, identify—all of which are ways of making meaning.
Which I think totally ruins the happening, but sometimes are necessary. But the thinking of it has finally let me understand why i always feel so ******* fake. I'm always the copy, of a copy, of a copy...