In A poop sandwich – the essence of reality Reality is revealed as something paradoxically simple and yet radically intangible. Once we've swallowed that sandwich (spiritually and existentially), the question naturally lingers like a nasty aftertaste: what is there? after Reality? And more importantly: what do we do with the thought that we treat reality as an object. A thing. Just like a citrus juicer, a clothespin, or any other pathetic object you find in a drawer when you're searching for meaning?
Our obsession with objectifying reality—with seeing it as something that exists alongside other things—is perhaps the greatest existential blunder of thought. We slap the label “reality” on something as if it were a box of cereal. But the moment you do that, you’ve already betrayed it. Reality is then no longer the reality, but just another thing in your mental pantry. And that brings us to the next step: what is after the reality, when we finally stop pretending it's an IKEA object?
After reality, there is no new layer of magical insights or an enlightened state where you get free socks. What there after is coming, the crumbling of the idea that there is at all something after must come. You discover that your question itself is a trap—as if you think that a citrus juicer, after it breaks, is reborn as a profound teapot. What comes after reality, then, is not another reality, or an anti-reality, but the end of the game in which you pretend reality was once a thing.
Perhaps that is the true liberation: when you no longer see reality as an object, but as an experience that neither begins nor ends—not standing next to anything else, but permeating everything. A kind of poetic awkwardness that no longer needs to be grasped. What comes after reality is the freedom to stop searching for what comes after. What remains is… exactly this. And maybe a crumb of poop on your lip.
Congratulations! You've just read a philosophical essay about something that literally started as a poop sandwich. Welcome to post-reality dessert.


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