They stood quietly for a minute, smoking and thinking about perfect worlds that didn’t exist.
“I just don’t know how I’m supposed to even…I mean…I know now that Utopia cannot exist because it’s principals are tragically flawed, yet it’s non-existence nonetheless exists in the creative mind, right? But … you know, last semester I finally decided that life imitates art. I’m still sure of that one at least. So maybe there’s a way somehow to re-perceive Utopia as a place that exists, given the right conditions, given that people relinquish control,” said Jesse.
“Yes!” Screamed Jessica, rushing up to them with a stick and a snowball, waving them around. “I’ve been trying to tell you this for awhile now! Look. We can’t be concerned so much, we can’t be so serious, right? It’s not even about being “happy” by some random and individualized definition! It’s about not caring, like this stick and this snowball doesn’t care. You know the Native Americans believe that God is in everything. Even us. And if you think about it, what attachment does God have to an outcome? Our happiness is all based on a set of rules that are defined by lies. There is no such thing as happiness, only letting go to the attachment of happiness.”
“I get it, but you’re talking anarchy now,” said Jesse. “And I think Buddhism, but I can’t be sure.”
“It all the same thing. It’s the re-perception of Utopia. It’s liquid,” said Jessica.
“Finally,” said Muse.
“It took all night,” said Jesse.