The Illusionist

There are little to no boundaries that separate our sense of reality from illusions. Our lives are as we make them; as we perceive them. Illusions are also made up, and by whom? Us of course. So how in the hell are we supposed to know the difference? We don't nor will we. Our world is constructed of nothing but meer imagination. Things humans have mentally made appear out of thin air and writing it down seems to suddenly make it true. For instance, laws. Why are they 'right', so to speak? Because we feel that they're right. We feel that we've done something wrong when in reality guilt is only a byproduct of humans. So what happens when there is no byproduct? If everything is made up and no real values exist other than that of which  assign, by definition a murderer is not wrong if they do not feel as though. Our made up little world's are so ridiculous. Who in the fuck suddenly decided animal abuse was more tragic and deserves more attention than child abuse? All because we some how believe we actually have control over our lives. We don't. What has happened Will always happen and what ever is going to happen has already happened. The fact that history repeating itself is a recognizable phrase is sickening. It's a giant sticker to how goddamn ignorant humans are. They can't even learn from there mistakes properly. So, what do they do? They recognize it, they get angry, they call it out, rebel, and all for nothing. Because once it is all over and done with everything goes back to normal. As If I wasn't just pissed off at the start of this.