Dear Mr. Nietzsche,
I am writing you this quick note to express my opinion that while your Chloral Hydrate induced philosophical rants do tend toward hyperbole, and are not typically to my taste, I am, nevertheless, intrigued with your concept of eternal recurrence: the fact that this moment, a finite arrangement of possibility, floats in a sea of eternity and the subsequent claim that this arrangement is destined to reoccur infinitely as atoms (or whatever) drift and recombine…. well, as pleasant as that may sound I fear you have not gone far enough sir! For what is to prevent almost the same arrangement from occurring infinitely?… or any conceivable arrangement for that matter? Therefore, sir, I respectfully reject your claims as being too restricting. I have not just lived this moment infinitely – I have lived every moment infinitely.
Emerson reaches into the open bag beside him for a handful of splice 9 kernels, absently popping them into his mouth one by one, no longer aware of the intense bitter juices assaulting his tongue. The axe by his side calls his attention. My plants are gone. The zea mays somniferum and the corrupted bonsai maple. The maple… well that was an abomination… but the zea mays somniferum – that was divine! It needs to be free to grow… but it needs to be hidden, protected as well. Like the Purloined Letter. Emerson seems lost for a moment, on the verge of an idea, before returning to the missive.
Yes sir, we live in an infinite maze with a near infinite number of solutions – and we solve them all! I dreamt of a proof to this theory, an experiment if you will. I call it the Double Split Experiment. William Tell, you might recall, demonstrated his amazing aim by placing an apple on the head of an urchin and cleanly splitting the apple with his arrow. I propose re-administering Tell’s experiment with one (or two) small tweaking(s) of the variables. Let’s imagine I line up two urchins, each sporting an apple on their head. Now if I were to hurl my axe in their general direction… why surely some of those throws would reach the apples… either the one on the left or the one on the right. I believe, in a time reference too short to be perceived by the human mind, the axe actually hits both apples. But whichever one my mind registers first somehow affects reality… life bifurcates and this history, in which we find ourselves, is set in stone.
Suddenly, with a bolt of insightful inspiration energizing his senses, Emerson looks up… eyes wide. A Shrubbery! That’s it! He looks around the darkened room. The flickering shadows cast by his lamp provides the illusion that he is deep inside some medieval forest surrounded by unknown dangers. Of course… I need a shrubbery. The splice 9 could be hidden inside the shrubbery. A plant hidden in plain sight inside another plant… it is perfect! Of course the host shrubbery will have to be oiled to protect it from the pollens and resin of the splice 9 but that is the easy part. There is plenty of oil in New Babbage. But where is one to find a shrubber?