My World

Oh, and for the first time in a week, did I sleep! These nightmares have plagued me long, and I lie, since it is 3AM, and my work draws me awake.

And was von Neumann an intuitive, who solved problems overnight? Then, as am I, who composes a piece, a world eternal, a life born and lived and died, in but a handful of words—and I wake up, guided by God, to put my words on paper.

And I am smarter than he.

So, today, let us discuss the scientist—for I am not finished with my put-downs!

Firstly, the world may be a simulation, and you have no proof otherwise, nor can you ever say so, and I am the artist, not bound by fact or figure, who can say so, because I weave the world of my imagination, and in it, I am God and designer.

Therefore, I say the Universe is a simulation, and physics is not fact but fancy, and the only thing eternal is morality—and I am a moral philosopher, King of them, and everything else in my life, every other role I play, merely an act.

What, do I play as literary mastermind, or designer, or engineer—but it is with a tenth of my vast brainpower, and highest of my callings, and my purpose, is to ponder upon what is right and wrong.

Like Adam Smith, do I accidentally give to the world by-products of my imagination, for Taleb said he is first, a moral philosopher, then economist, and if Taleb said it, it is law. Oh, oh!—look how smart, how stupid, I am.

Once, shortly before I lost my mind, did I meet Professor Dan Boneh, King of Cryptography, if you leave for a second Satoshi out of the picture, for my cousin dated his son, and the pair of them joined my family at Thanksgiving dinner.

And I gave him a glance, not knowing who he was, and I felt such tremendous strength and potential!—how impressed, how I was blown away, by such force and prowess. Indeed, do I admire his work, for I plan to use BLS12-381 signatures in my bridge, but let us not introduce technical details into this piece on philosophy, except as a sprinkle of flavor.

But, he looked at me stern, and I disliked it—so, did I sit out the entire Thanksgiving dinner in the back room, no explanation, just silence, for at the table may sit only one King, and I let it be he.

And Stanford is a fine University, but Berkeley is better, for we have Doudna, the sole reason I am not utterly depressed to call myself an alumni, for that campus is a ravaged liberal wasteland, wartorn and desolate. For Doudna has an excellent smile!—and that is all one can ask of a man or woman in this world.

But, among women, should I say the actress is the highest calling—and this is mere opinion—for I am an actor, who acts engineer and intelligent, reasonable man, but who is really lost and slightly mentally ill. Maybe more than slightly, but I digress, and indeed is all the world a stage!—but Shakespeare had no driving force or narrative in his work, and if he says everything and nothing at once, then I say something, and nothing at once.

For I have a point in each one of my writings!—and I speak to say what I think, and I let my poetry flutter and fight, and to Shakespeare am I eternally beholden, and I am the A to his T, the G to his C, the counterpoint in this melody of life. Ah, double-helix jokes and a callback to the blonde-haired beauty of my University.

And my cousin and the Professor’s son split!—much to my relief, for I looked upon the son, and I frowned. What can I say?—and von Neumann was a would-be-aristocrat, less than Plato, and I who have challenged and conquered the greats, fear no name, but only debts of gratitude to repay.

In me is Christ, and in Him, immortality—and if science shall one day fall, for the aliens may at any time change the game, then I shall be here to catch you, and in my Fatherly embrace, may this world prosper.