When Worlds Multiply

A side note on the original 1933 novel and the latter 1951 Hollywood sci-fi movie, When Worlds Collide. They could as easily collapse, implode, or multiply. The original film was billed as the biggest shocker of all time, a tale of a rogue dwarf star smashing into planet Earth. It destroys every living creature, ending life as we know it. It sounds believable. The film Don't Look Up is an example of what was once science fiction is now a reality check. Every week in the news, there’s some asteroid or meteor that barely misses our planet. It’s a big event that hasn’t happened yet.

It’s not the world that’s crazy, only the people who inhabit it. That's what makes the globe go spinning like a crazy gyroscope, cranked up on coke and vodka, not the soda pop, wired to the tits, in drunken fits. It’s only fiction for an inexact science. If you have the time, we have the space continuum. There’s no straightforward way to see where one world ends and another begins. Tourists without a destination are hell-bent on self-destruction. Do we really know anything about everything other than what’s told to us by well-meaning nincompoops and conspiracy theorists? It doesn’t make this doomsday scenario any better or worse than the other impossible Armageddon or apocalyptic terrorist-driven end game. Party over? What? You were expecting the divine rapture? That Christian pipedream where the chosen ones are spared and whisked away in a rocket ship to heaven or oblivion. That’s one way. Or they just float upward, disappearing into the clouds, akin to alien abductions. Your choice.

It’s no surprise that churches are closing their doors in record numbers. The age of unenlightened, mindless consumption. We’re weaned on a regular diet of low-fat half-truths and gibberish biblical lies. The empty calories of hope, faith, and charity leave us feeling hungry for more. It’s a thin veil of malignant thoughts and maudlin prayers. Muddling through the muck of indifference while staring up, squinting to the sky, blinking wide-eyed at the starry night's dark glow. Where’s God when you need him? Jerking off in some parallel reality where you have a crush on your teacher instead of your friend. You were there before you were born. Somehow living a normal life there and a sordid excuse for existence over here. You can be in two places simultaneously.

There are so many poor, lost people on various planes of being. It’s a repetition of getting born and dying over and over. It’s entirely possible in another world. In one world, there’s World War III; in another one, there’s no war, it’s 1000 years of peace, and it’s your wedding day. Then, next to that reality, you’re the teacher you had a crush on in an alternate dimension. And in another universe, you’re the teacher. It’s not that simple an explanation, but that’s the way it is for the sake of argument. Did you get the memo from outer space? The guy pushing the button isn’t the same person pushing the same button as they were a few seconds ago. Random frequencies send waves of electron energy to the brain receptors and change the bandwidth of the signals. It sounds like changing the radio dial and picking up signals from places nobody knows. The intergalactic pulse of harmonic resonance buzzes around beady heads like flies in a giant room without walls, windows or doors. The ceiling expands as the void fills with empty space, bouncing around anywhere it feels like it. These unpredictable heavenly bodies move forward and then move backwards in time, turning in every direction at once in no time.

It’s part of the not-so-divine plan and confusing problem-solving process when natural selection comes and goes and how it arrives unexpectedly. Being there is only part of the process. It’s a journey of not simply being in two places at the same time, existing and exiting multiverses among myriad galaxies all at once. In a split second. Now here, now there, then gone. Vanished from any trace of memories in a split second. Appearing in the same place looking at stars, planets or UFOS but changing again. Then pop up, moving somewhere else. Those annoying dots of pinpoint light twinkle in the background of a night sky. Time stops, starts, then sputters off into another future past, just over the next horizon when brightness goes dark into everlasting distant worlds.