Thinking

I've been reading Breanna's post- her poem "Flying Wings," which does cover a lot of what we talked about on Monday and Anne's notes on what we talked about: “...the final belief is to believe in a fiction which you know to be a fiction because there is nothing else.”
We need to give up illusions and replace them with fictions.  I guess the difference would be knowing it's a fiction rather than being stuck in a fantasy you didn't create.  This is an excerpt from Woyzeck.  I posted this on Facebook, because I thought it was funny in the context of the translation I had, but also because it stirred something in me. I don't know what it is about it, but it seems to sit in that illusion/ fiction discussion.  I just can't figure out which is the illusion and which is the fiction. Was it the world before or the nothing afterward?
I hope when we strip away illusions, they won't all be this depressing. 

"Once upon a time there was a poor little girl. She had no father and no mother. EVERYTHING was dead. NO ONE was left--in the whole world. Everything. Dead. So the little girl went out and searched night and day, and since, on earth, there was no 

one left, she thought she'd take a trip into the sky. The moon seemed to be giving her a friendly look but, when she came to the moon, it turned out to be just a piece of rotten wood. So she went on to the sun, but when she got to the sun, it turned out to be just a withered sunflower, and when she went on to the stars, they turned out to be just small golden flies stuck to the firmament-- the way a shrike sticks flies to a thornbush all in a bunch. And when she tried to return to earth, she found the earth was now just a pot upside down. She was now REALLY alone, and she sat down and cried. She's still there. Sitting. Really alone."