Now if a simulated universe is possible in theory then at some point or other us humans will create them—probably a lot of them.
Walking down the dirt road in some middle region of the Russian taiga it’ll begin to rain just as the night falls from the sky. Off through the woods you’ll see the dark eves of a dacha and jogging now you’ll make your way down a rutted path to a low house in the dripping pines.
What a surprise to find out on the internet that you are actually a clone of the true and original you.
Coming around a bend on the sunny afternoon asphalt you’ll find a bee-keeper, dressed in his bee-keeping vestments, tending leisurely the crooked white bee towers amidst a cloud of lazy spring bees.
The moon prowls over the streets like a bored insomniac. But you do not prowl, you lie awake in an empty bed. Oscar winner Matthew McConaughey sleeps every night like an inebriated bear so why is it so hard for you?
Bewaring the ides of March after the ides is past is just the sort of thing your horoscope writer should advise. Sometimes the past’s not much more fixed than the future is.
You’ve seen the golden beaches under the Big Sur and walked the hot boulevards down in the valley but none of it amounts to much in the teeth of this kind of light. Even the snowpacked street glimmers electrically. We do not want to die, as the philosopher says, because we are too much in love with the phenomenology of the lit world.