I am not smart enough to know Baudrillard. Not in the literal or philosophical. I know him as an idea. I know his ideas as a start. I've created my own bastardization of Baudrillard. I've taken what I believe to be what he meant, and now make my own understanding of the simulation, the simulacra, which for me is the demise.
All I can do is watch simulations occur around us. I cannot trust the glass on my table, the cat rubbing my foot, the note I've received earlier. I cannot claim to exist when existence has been removed. I can sit and stare and observe. For that at best I am a voyeur, as these simulations have led me to no longer participate, only observe. And always to question. I do not know the people on the other side. Those people do not even know themselves. They exist in their own real which is the farthest state of consciousness. They are not conscious not awake. They simulate their own world. And I watch, desperate to avoid participation. If we stand down now we still stand a chance. I'll not not embrace this hyperreal. I resist. In an out of context (possible mis-)quote from de Beauvoir, "choose to exist, I exist, choose to exist, I exist. There will be a dawn."
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