Having got the chocolate cake off the screen of my tablet it’s an opportunity to have a bit of a scriven. The cake, it was the last piece, was provided by Patric. He made it because I badgered him to contribute to a gig at the Muddie on Saturday. Andrew Clermont and his two buddies in Blu Guru gave us a terrific serve of strings and song with a laminate of keyboard. The usual Punjabi Celtic Bluegrass and some lovely singing made the endless hassle of continuous Muddie gigs briefly worthwhile.
‘The Island of Knowledge’ by Marcelo Gleiser has taken over from ‘Coming of Age in the Milkyway’ by Timothy Ferris as my cosmic comfort book.
It got me thinking, while I was eating the chocolate cake and fending off the dogs, about bubble universes. That got me, in the usual alchemical fashion, to think about us. Us in the broadest human sense. I normally would not want to be associated with Peter Dutton or Paul Keating when considering a more parochial version of ‘Us.
The. Notion of a bubble universe seems to be that they share a vacuum space but cannot interact in anyway. There is no experimental way to afirm or deny the existence of the multiverse or the nature of the individual bubbles.
We are separate from each other and can only crudely communicate through approximate senses. We create intelligence in the form of language and culture but cannot prove that our experiences are shared except through extelligental methods.
We are all bubble universes.