Thursday, July 13, 2006
On the Matrix and Fantasy
[*Update - Pic below]
I've been thinking about the nature of reality lately, and am wondering if we do not in fact live in a matrix. If it turns out we do live in a matrix, it would not bother me overmuch. What would bother me is if I didn't have access to the programming, the controls.
This, to my mind, is a very interesting philosophical question [sorry March!]. Given the knowledge that your physical body is in a pod somewhere, but your mentality exists in an electronic matrix indistinguishable from "reality", would you choose to stay in the matrix, or would you want out, and life in the "real" world?
OK, you probably said that you want the real world. Most would. Now what if I threw a curve into the mix? What if I said that you could set up your own matrix? That you had control over the "reality" in that matrix? Remember, it's indistinguishable from the "real" world.
Is it a little bit harder now to decide? For those of you that believe in a God, or afterlife, that may impact your decision to some extent. After all, how you live here on Earth affects your standing in the hereafter according to most beliefs. Would God approve of a person living out some fantasy? Would He approve of you attempting to cheat the reality He has already set into motion?
What if you don't believe in a God? Would that make it easier to live in a manufactured fantasy, or would you feel that you're somehow cheating yourself from a true existence, with all its richness and mystery and randomness?
Me? Dude, I'd hop into my matrix faster than you can say "Jack Robinson". I like the randomness of the "real" world, so I'd leave that alone. But I'd make a few small modifications to my personal circumstances.
I'd set me up in a nice sized mansion on a hill, looking down onto an unspoiled lush valley with a clear blue stream running through it. It would be unsettled by humans, but lovely naiads and dryads would live there, and I'd frolick naked through the woods with them, gyreing and gamboling in not-so-inocent play.
My mansion would be many rooms, one being a huge wood-paneled library, with every volume and tome to satisfy the most sere scholar. There would be a music room, with the finest crafted instruments at my disposal, which I'd play with virtuosic flair. There'd be a media room, filled with hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of the most excellent sounding components: a system so powerful that it would cause the involuntary evacuation of one's bowels, and a widescreen television so large and clear that it was like a matrix unto itself.
In the kitchen would be a tap for hot water, and a tap for cold water, and a tap for pineapple juice. It would flow non-stop, fed from the pineapple juice resevoir just over the hill, millions of gallons of pineapple juice in reserve for my consumption thereof. In the master bathroom would be stone and marble and gold fixtures, and the shower would offer hot and cold taps, as well as a special showerhead that blasted pineapple juice at 50 p.s.i. Whilst showering, I would masturbate in the fluid such that the runnoff would be two parts pineapple juice, one part my semen.
The mansion would be a tribute to my polygamist leanings, filled with filles of every hue and texture. They would have the intelligence of a female blogger, the beauty and body of a Hungarian princess, and the desire to fornicate with me like a bunny rabbit jacked up on crystal methedrine. And I, like the true gentleman that I am, would oblige them their desire.
I suppose I could go on and on, but I realize that this post should engender some debate as to the philospohical questions raised above. I would like to read some of that debate. I'd like every reader of this blog to chime in -- that means you KP; you too Nobby. I refuse to post anything further until I get some debate. I mean it, I'm on hiatus 'till I gets me some talk. Even if it's just your own matrix fantasy. Or if you think I'm full of steaming poo.
What? You don't give a crap if I stop posting? Fuck you.
So I was rapping with KP yesterday about his comment, and I was trying to explain some quantum physics to him, but he just kept looking at me with this blank stare. Rather than assume his incomprehension was my fault [through some failure to explain properly, or incomprehension of the subject matter on my part], I immediately insulted his intelligence, and said something like,
"Dude, your brain is like a walnut floating in a bath of pineapple juice."
And then I drew a picture so he could understand the image better. Apparantly, Hotwire is not the only artist in the house: