You see, my wife and I are aggressive yet conservative millionaire investors — I see the universe as an illusion, that with enough data points you can find enough random points to draw any competent conclusion you want out of the coincidental alignments of filtered data sets — thus I make no bones about the fact we invest where it gives the highest yet relatively safe ROI.
This joker doesn't know I'll get him
because I'm a copyright lawyer.
I'll go after him
like I went after the other joker.
- The guy who stole your play.
- That's on Broadway.
That's on Broadway...
I told you this already?
About how this guy must've stolen
my play out of my briefcase?
I'd be a well-received writer by now
if it weren't for these jokers.
But I'll get them. I'm not taking
any chances. This is my new baby.
That’s why I have the confidence to write about what I wish, to seek out an original character or storyline and post it here, to create a universe that so closely shadows our own it could be real.
That’s why I can make satirical riffs on predicting the future because as much as I have to depend on over seven billion people on this planet to make my investments pay off and would love to see reality match my inventively magical imagination, I know it won’t.
Instead, I make sure our investment grows more than it shrinks, depending less and less on public opinion polls or other feel-good nonsense amongst the throngs of the unenlightened.
I am quite sure millions of people will suffer in order for us to reach the billionaire level.
I would like to pretend that they won’t but I stopped lying to myself a long time, at the age of five when the veil was lifted and I became fully conscious of the “emperour’s new clothes” effect, completely understanding that the memes and symbols we overlay on our sets of states of energy are invisible, imaginary smoke-and-mirror tricks.
Why, on a quiet Sunday evening, after viewing the film “Magic in the Moonlight” and feeling like I could have written that screenplay (and maybe did, in a way, on Mars), I can face the reality that our beautiful little fellow, our Cornish Rex house companion, Erin, has stopped cleaning himself, then wet a washcloth with warm water and wipe down his body because he had lost control of his bladder again and slept in urine that soaked bed coverings I had washed and dried earlier today.
I slept with Erin for half an hour while this blog entry wrote itself in my thoughts.
What is reality? Reality doesn’t exist. These words are an illusion, sleight of hand, the magician’s diversion from something else so alien, so exotic, that you might barely have an inkling what’s really going on but most likely don’t…and it doesn’t really matter.
Thank goodness, I find beauty in that, with which I can turn back the covers, crawl into bed with Erin and disappear into whatever dream world I make up tonight.
I am a chameleon tapping out a rhythm few can hear but most can understand (sometimes better than I understand myself!).
Thus ends today’s meditation on Sunday…