Today, I spent five minutes travelling from room to room in my house trying to stick a penny to the wall. I saw on Instagram that if the penny sticks, you can break out of the Matrix. Guess what? My penny only stuck to my finger–not the wall. So, what does that mean? The better question might be…what was I hoping to achieve had things gone my way?
Break out of the Matrix via this mysterious penny exit and go where? Whose to say I’m even in the Matrix? Honestly, truly…the coin may have stuck to my finger because I am the key that unlocks freedom. It’s all at my fingertips, literally.
I wonder how many people wrack their brains daily searching for an escape route. To jump out of the frying pan and into the fire, perhaps? Is the real reason the penny is being discontinued because they can shut down the whole game all of us are plugged in hopelessly to? The world may never know.
Ain’t no way out.
The only way out is through. I can tell myself this a thousand times, but the escape artist aspect of my ego refuses to believe it. Which is why I tried not once, not twice but three times on three different walls to secure a short cut.
Asking why the chicken crossed the road suddenly has deep, philosophical meaning at this moment. To get to the other side has been the historical response. However, shouldn’t there be a follow up question? Once he clucked his way across–what was his plan?
I live by the philosophy that “a good journalist always has one more question.” Historians should have intercepted that chicken’s journey and held a fuzzy clip-on mic up to his beak to interview that flightless bird.
If I can say with confidence that “Freedom and liberation are my birthright,” then why on earth did I go through the strenuous act of turning over my piggy bank, fishing out a penny and making a fool of myself? Perhaps because the Internet told me to do it?
A penny saved is a penny earned. I could have saved my penny and saved myself the trouble of walking up to a wall. That experiment taught me what I already knew. That is…to quote Future, “I got the keys.”
The penny stuck to me, not the wall. Shocking.
In the comments, there were all sorts of pseudo-scientists explaining metallic bonds between the coin and the wall paint –or even the studs behind the wall. They blamed it on the properties of copper–so on and so forth. Miracles defy logic, so I scrolled past all that intellect and set out to test the hypothesis myself.
These are my findings:
