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This is going to sound so incredibly silly, but I had a strange thought the other day.
I had just woken up from the most vivid, most cinematic dream I've ever had. There were characters, a storyline - the whole bit, it was fuggen surreal. After said dream, I had this thought.
What if we're harvested for our dreams? Consciousness, or rather sentience, is merely so your brain can compartmentalize the days events into an entertaining screen play for some alien race or super computer? Maybe the reason suicide is so difficult is because its in this "upper beings" interest to ensure that it has a near infinite amount of "dreams" to harvest? Like having crops that can't go bad.
