Here's the rub, Rapp: the imagination which you claim is the figmenter of all of us figments itself, in truth, a figment of your imagination; the truth is that we are not, ourselves figments of your imagination, but rather that your impressions of us are figments of your figmentary imagination, which is a product, in turn, of your actual imagination. Not that it doesn't take considerable horsepower to dummy up a whole extra layer like that and then imagine everything into it, but much as I respect the heroic aspects of your delusion, it's a case of loving honor more and all that.


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