A vanished mountain and a stream, the sound of bells, and all gone now for me, entirely gone.

I and my stories and novels often write about counterfeit worlds, semi-real worlds, as well as deranged private worlds,

inhabited often by just one person, while meantime the other characters either remain in their own worlds throughout or are somehow drawn into one of the peculiar ones.

This theme occurs in the corpus of my 27 years of writing.

At no time did I have a theoretical or conscious explanation for my preoccupation with these pluriform pseudo-worlds.

But now I think I understand. What I was sensing

was the manifold of partially actualized realities lying tangent to what evidently is the most

actualized one, the one which the majority of us, by consensus gentium, agree on. Although originally I presume the differences between these worlds was caused entirely by the

subjectivity of the various human viewpoints, it did not take me long to open the question

as to whether it might not be more than that, that in fact plural realities did exist

superimposed onto one another by so many film

transparencies. What I still do not grasp, however, is how one reality out of the many becomes

actualized in contradistinction to the others. Perhaps none does, or perhaps, again, it hangs on an agreement in viewpoint by a

sufficiency of people.

More likely the matrix world, the one with the true core of being, is determined by the programmer.

He or it articulates, prince out, so to speak, the matrix choice, infuses it with actual substance,

the core or essence of reality, that which receives or attains it, and to what degree?

That is within the purview of the program.

This selection and reselection is part of general creativity, a world building, which seems

to be it or his task, a problem perhaps which he or it is running, which is to say, in

the process of solving, as a computer would, variables along the linear time axis of our universe, thereby generating branched-off lateral

worlds.

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