Haptic Touch - July 28 2024

 

Haptic Touch

July 28 2024

She insisted we weren’t real.

That it was all a simulation

and we were merely code,

the ones and zeros

that made up the game.

Or were we the players?

So when our lives ended

would we slip off the headset

only to find that those 80 long years

full of triumph and pain

had taken mere hours to play?

Who knows

how many layers there are.

Of players being played,

and orders of reality

all the way down

to simple figures

on blinking screens

in green fluorescing light,

and all the way up

to a perfect simulacrum;

the most advanced game imaginable,

with multi-dimensions and haptic touch

and billions of active players.

What set it all motion

who could possibly know.

Is there a quantum computer

in a corner of the universe

spitting out scenarios

in infinite games of chance,

plugged in

to who knows what?

And which, since reality doesn’t exist

must be as insubstantial

as she insists we are.

But most if all

how could information

in and of itself

— zeros and ones

along with the odd entangled fraction —

possibly feel like this;

her body

tucked against mine,

her heat and naked thighs,

her curious hands, and urgent tongue,

the hunger in her eyes.

And why even care

about the nature of reality?

Because if it feels real

it might as well be.

And because while metaphysics

may sound scientific

it reminds me of religion,

no different

than theologians debating

how many angels

can dance on the head of a pin.

So if tonight

I’m so immersed in the game

that time has no meaning

why not surrender completely?

Let her imaginary numbers

do to my zeros and ones

whatever in the world she wishes.