tunity to learn that I did not exist. This comes from a Philosophy 101 class where, among other great intellectuals, we studied a philosopher named George Berkeley.

Not wanting philosophy majors to attack me, I will admit some ignorance toward the subject. But still, according to my understanding, I do not exist.

Except in the mind.

The basic argument is based on relevance—that our impressions depend on what point of view one is coming from. I may see a blue lizard, but a colorblind dog may see a blackish lizard. Therefore, which is it—black or blue? Nothing can be both, except a bruised eye, so it must be neither. So actually, a blue lizard is not necessarily blue.

But Berkeley also went further with what we consider to be actual matter. Take the average termite, for example. When a termite is walking down a road (or whatever the road really may be), he may run into a tire shred. When the termite steps on the tire shred, chances are the shred will keep its form despite the weight of the termite.

However, should someone like William Perry step on the tire on his way to McDonald’s, he will most likely deform the tire along with crushing the termite.

This brings us to a similar problem—that the tire part is very solid to a termite, yet mere dust to The Fridge. Thus, since a tire part cannot be soft and solid at the same time, it is neither. It depends on the type of organism you are.

Should you want more convincing evidence, Berkeley’s theory is in a book called Three Dialogues Between Hylas and Philonous. The book fully describes, in confusing though thorough dialogue form, how we have all been misled to believe in things in general. But for now, I will use the remaining column space for my important words.

What the book essentially did to me was prove my nonexistence. This can be a confusing thing.

If I don’t exist, you aren’t reading my column, nor are you reading The Northern Star, and nor are you about to go to class. In fact, you are about to do nothing and everything at the same time.

All this time, you and me have been fooled by our own conventions that we exist. It was only a joke. Put down your guns and your pencils and lay there for a while because it never really mattered anyway.

This brings totally new meaning to life—a sort of freedom maybe—where all can be done in the space of nothingness. I figure I will use this condition wisely, and get some reading and a little traveling done, until I later find out a valid reasoning that I actually, in some form, do exist.

And I hope in my real existence, if I do have one, that I am a warthog so I can constantly snort and belch without being rude. Or maybe I could be snow. I don’t know, my mind goes nuts.

Though this could be a meaningless discovery to some, I think there is something there (or not there). Nonexistence is a whole new realm to explore. I’m sure there is a Star Trek episode on it.

I don’t know. I think this college thing is screwing me up. I can’t wait until December so I can graduate.