Last night, after athletic sexual intercourse with a Latino shepherd (I call him Tiddles, though his patronymic is Juández), I went to sleep. Usually, my well-chiselled and shapely reader, I drift into a contented slumber wherein Karen O performs benchpresses upon each cabinet in the flat, then satisfies every sexual whim nestling in the hinterland of my anima.
However, last night was devoid of such mirth. I began to think about the doppelgänger, a German word meaning a person who looks like you but isn’t you. I thought about other people out there who look like me, think like me, act like me, write like me-he-he, who might even – perish the though – be me-hee-hee! Oh, me-hee-hee! They wanna be like me-hee-hee!
What if in another multiverse, dear horny evangelical reader, a second M.J. Nicholls was out there, sitting in a poorly heated Edinburgh flat, drinking cheap supermarket cola, writing the exact same thing as this M.J. Nicholls in a blog produced in a parallel dimension?
Now, before we hypothesise, I should state my own position on the mysteries of cosmological infinity. I have recently become a member of R. Gon Buggard’s Religiontolgy. We believe that Hollywood actresses created the universe through the sheer power of their performances in heart-warming dramas about families in wartime. So Cameron Diaz is to us as much of a God, as say, God.
This being the case, we eschew all notions of the multiverse, although we do sort of agree with Hugh Everett’s many worlds interpretation: that a level III multiverse does not contain more possibilities in the Hubble volume than a level I-II multiverse. And that, in effect, all the different worlds created by “splits” in a level III multiverse with the same physical constants can be found in some Hubble volume in a level I multiverse. That’s just obvious.
But this waking dream of a second me, mimicking me, re-mimicking me, then mimicking me again, and then doing the same stuff as me, would not leave me! Do you feel sorry for me? And do you? And you? And you? In fact, when I woke up later that morning, I asked the second me what he thought about this paranoia:
“What do you reckon?” I asked me.
“Why don’t you ask yourself?” me asked me.
“Good idea.”
“What do you reckon?” I asked me.
“Why don’t you ask yourself?” me asked me.
“Good idea.”
“What do you reckon?” I asked me.
“Why don’t you ask yourself?” me asked me.
“Good idea.”
“What do you reckon?” I asked me.
“Why don’t you ask yourself?” me asked me.
“Good idea.”
[ad infinitum]
However, last night was devoid of such mirth. I began to think about the doppelgänger, a German word meaning a person who looks like you but isn’t you. I thought about other people out there who look like me, think like me, act like me, write like me-he-he, who might even – perish the though – be me-hee-hee! Oh, me-hee-hee! They wanna be like me-hee-hee!
What if in another multiverse, dear horny evangelical reader, a second M.J. Nicholls was out there, sitting in a poorly heated Edinburgh flat, drinking cheap supermarket cola, writing the exact same thing as this M.J. Nicholls in a blog produced in a parallel dimension?
Now, before we hypothesise, I should state my own position on the mysteries of cosmological infinity. I have recently become a member of R. Gon Buggard’s Religiontolgy. We believe that Hollywood actresses created the universe through the sheer power of their performances in heart-warming dramas about families in wartime. So Cameron Diaz is to us as much of a God, as say, God.
This being the case, we eschew all notions of the multiverse, although we do sort of agree with Hugh Everett’s many worlds interpretation: that a level III multiverse does not contain more possibilities in the Hubble volume than a level I-II multiverse. And that, in effect, all the different worlds created by “splits” in a level III multiverse with the same physical constants can be found in some Hubble volume in a level I multiverse. That’s just obvious.
But this waking dream of a second me, mimicking me, re-mimicking me, then mimicking me again, and then doing the same stuff as me, would not leave me! Do you feel sorry for me? And do you? And you? And you? In fact, when I woke up later that morning, I asked the second me what he thought about this paranoia:
“What do you reckon?” I asked me.
“Why don’t you ask yourself?” me asked me.
“Good idea.”
“What do you reckon?” I asked me.
“Why don’t you ask yourself?” me asked me.
“Good idea.”
“What do you reckon?” I asked me.
“Why don’t you ask yourself?” me asked me.
“Good idea.”
“What do you reckon?” I asked me.
“Why don’t you ask yourself?” me asked me.
“Good idea.”
[ad infinitum]
I'm sorry, Mark, you are no longer allowed to come with us when we drop acid and invade Pakistan.
ReplyDeleteDamn. Well, tell Derek to wish Derek and Mark a safe journey.
ReplyDeleteAnd to all a goodnight. And to me as well. Thank you. You're welcome. Shut up. OK.
ReplyDelete*dies* I'm with Derek. You found some brain bendies here...
ReplyDeleteSo did I. And me. And me. Shut up. OK.
ReplyDeleteSfunny, I had exactly the same idea last night:-
ReplyDelete"What if in another multiverse a second M.J. Nicholls was out there..."
I didn't think the ", dear horny evangelical reader," bit though - cos I was thinking and not writing a blog.
When I read this blog tonight, I thought "Well bugger me, synchronicity and all that".
Anyway, the conclusion I came to last night was....
"I truly hope so, else my dopplegangers in those multiverses would be sadly missing out".
We do have to think of others you know, not be all self-centred.
That IS odd.
ReplyDeleteWhat's ever weirder is that I was speaking to another ex-pat Mike living in Malaysia last night and he was telling me the exact same thing.
I was also speaking to myself last night and I warned myself that another ex-pat Mike living in Malaysia might comment on an old blog post, and to beware.
Small world, isn't it? Yes. I wasn't speaking to you. Oh, sorry.
Mark,
ReplyDeletego down to your basement (or attic, or shed or whatever) and check that there aren't any giant pods growing!
I had to destroy at least four last week alone!
Bloody clones. Bloody clones. Bloody clones. Bloody clones. Bloody clones. Bloody clones. Bloody clones. Bloody clones. Bloody clones. Bloody clones.
ReplyDelete