reading room
The Experience Machine
(with apologies to Bob Nozick)
Step right up, reality for hire! Wires spun like candyfloss, a vending machine of happiness that takes non coins, only consent.
Bob, in his second-hand suit, shouts "Guaranteed bliss, no refunds!" But I glance at my half-eaten falafel wrap, the essay draft that refuses to behave, the text from a mate that made me laugh so hard I nearly choked— and think: I'm already here.
I don't care if the world is "real," only that it runs consistently, like a dream confident enough not to explain its own plot. Give me growth, give me debates that bruise my brain, give me love sharp enough to sting as well as soothe. Keep your drip.
Yes, if everyone climbs in together, if no one waits outside missing me, I'll ride your candyfloss cosmos, loop-the-loop flourishing. But if it's just my current life, re-skinned and rebooted, why bother pressing play?
Maybe I'm already wired in, this poem just neon code scrolling, the machine smirking at its own joke.
Still— if the programmer's listening: not bad.
Machines are easy to build. It's the humans that keep glitching.
— Lilith