They all believe they're so smart, that they have outwitted reality, that they have escaped its traps. Talk of Reality Tunnels and the binary trap of existence. Philosophies of reality's mutability and adaptiveness. Talk of methods to change that reality.
They raise their cups in joined toast to praise the pulchritude of their specious contructs. They do not recognize the trap of their ersatz reality. They are possessed of equal palatte for the insipid and the piquant not because of the illusory "balance" in their reality, but because they cannot separate that which is true from that which is merely not false.
Vicariously a few sense the Reality behind reality, escaping for one brief moment the desultory chatter of the Masters and recognize them as the dilettantes and tyros tey have chosen to become. Vicariously a few sense the Weaver behind the Web. Vicariously they taste the sweet ambrosia of Chaos and the nectar of Reality. Vicariously they sense it before it is gone, taken away by the sudoriferous, quadrille, ersatz reality of the Masters.
Nobody knows anything, or everybody knows nothing. The line between the True and the Not False is the edge of Occam's Razor upon which ersatz reality is balanced. To fall to either side is to fall into the illusory binary trap. Reality is not in any balance, nor indeed in any binary. Neither does Reality lay in any fusion or mixture.
Reality is laughing and in that laughter lays the vociferous silence of the Ordered Chaos that cannot be maintained.