The wonders of the absence of, the freedom from feeling connected to, the news of the day is hard to describe.

There is a running joke among the philosopher/humourist crowd about those who sit around reading the news and get infected with the “I’m directly responsible for world events” fever.

Bloggers and tweeters and social network feeders seem most susceptible to this condition that has permeated all walks of society throughout history.

You can use humour to relieve yourself of the imaginary burden of carrying history on your shoulders or you can build a network of people who actually change history.

But if you just sit around dreaming about dreaming about making change, then dreaming’s your output, not facts.

I use my network to dream about humour.

The network of my thought set, that is, extended to infinity like some moderncubistpostindustrialartdecoupage painting.

And now I find myself here, working with the scientists and programmers who’ve solved the multicellular division problem that will allow me to disperse and rejoin myself in another universe.

They’ve told me to expect a quantum disturbance.

I’ve told them to expect this to serve as a diversion from another storyline that will be told some other time.

I don’t want to say goodbye to the essence of me – my viewpoint, my style of humour – but it might be the price I’ll pay to go over to the other side.

A trailblazer for future generations that may never know I existed because I did but did not change history in any significant way.

Dropping pebbles in a pond at a scale I cannot imagine.

Inventing a whole new universe, without anthropomorphising it, without using communication methods with which our species is familiar.

And by inventing, pretending or not pretending to channel the “energy” of that universe to describe it here.

Tunneling, if you will, through our reality into that which is indescribable.

Imagine the encouragement of algae blooms in order to feed off that which feeds off the dead algae.

Twisting into braids to find the weave that best replicates something you’ve never seen or read about.

Trusting but never knowing you’re right.

A better chance of meeting microorganisms, or non-inert chemical/physical reactions, than anything else.

Not needing an audience dumbed-down to accept a suspended disbelief repeated all over again.

Knowing but never trusting you’re right.

Ignoring the backbeat of reality, reality, reality, reality, reality,… drummed into your thoughts.

Breaking yourself into microorganisms so you can slip through the keyhole and start anew, many parts of the old you dying along the way.

Never coming back, or if returning, appearing in so different a form that neither you nor the ones who knew you will know you.

Disrupting the balance of mass and energy.

Purposefully losing touch with reality because reality really doesn’t matter – an imaginary way of creating a new kind of anti-matter machine.

Creating reality that others like you cannot see or touch without giving up their precious, vested forms attached to and leaning on still others.

Still.

Not a moonshine still.

Peace.

Not at peace.

Moving.

But not moved.

An alien experience beyond alien experiences.

Getting there in, what would appear to you, billions of years.

But you’ve got to start sometime.

Fourteen thousand, three hundred and seven days to get somewhere.