Multiply My God

“I’ve thought of myself as a loser for a long time.” He stood at the podium and announced into the microphone at a reading of his book that he thought of himself as a loser for a long time. “But,” he continued, “I cry at the end of every book I read. Good, bad or ugly, I feel connected and I cry. Some people claim atheists can’t feel connected. I feel the universe in me, the Spinozistic universe flows through me when the last page is turned.” He wasn’t reading from his book. He was just talking to us, sharing.

Maybe he was a loser. Maybe loser and winner are only defined by the individual. Maybe sold books and packed readings won’t make you feel like anything but a loser. Maybe he did cry when he finished a book. I don’t give a shit. Not one shit. I’m not here for this. I’m here to make money. That’s what I want. I won’t apologize for it, I won’t feel bad about the means justifying the ends, I’m only worried about the end and the end is money. When I have it I’m a winner, when I don’t I’m a loser.

II

I’ve just come from a working lunch. I made a deal that will make me more money. I smiled, I leaned in, I listened intently, I was funny, I was serious, I held the fork just so, wiped my mouth at the corners, and advised “Look” and “Listen” and “The reality is” a lot. I’m getting better at this and I was a natural to start. The amount doesn’t bother me anymore. I belong to a lot of money. More than most can fathom. The amount of money changes but people don’t. I started winning when I realized that.

Now this author, this self-proclaimed loser, can make me money. Otherwise I wouldn’t bother with him. He wrote a book, I haven’t read it, but it’s popular and he has certain appeal for sensitive people. People sensitive to the wrong things but sensitive. These wrong things these sensitive people are sensitive to are going to make me money. So I’ll sit through this reading and do some reading myself. I’m going to size this guy up, see though the words, watch the body, watch the eyes, feel it all and use it, to my advantage, for my end. And you know what my end is.

III

“And the universe begins anew every time I open a new book. Maybe you feel the same way. Maybe you smell the pages, check the copy write date, check to see how many pages it is, what the last line is…maybe you are assembling the universe when you do these things, your universe, only to enter a new one, to enter, engage, go through a portal, where…oh, listen to me,” he smiled. They smiled. Something was happening at this book reading. Something was happening at all his book readings. Some sort of collective consciousness, some sort of raising of awareness, a heightened sensitivity…odd…and maybe marketable…mass marketable.

No pun intended but the money is in the numbers. Volume. This guy, this author, he can spread it around like butter, cover a lot of ground, cast a wide net…and he’s going to do it all for me. He’s a continent size rake and the ground is covered in money. Here’s the beauty though, he won’t even know he’s making me money, he won’t know he’s being used, will think he’s just part of the whole that “couldn’t be anything other than what it is.” Can you believe he uttered those words? He’s the sucker born every minute that is going to round up the other suckers born every minute. This fucking guy, this author…

IV

“….go on like this. For shame. It’s just that you all are so friendly, so warm. You all know I give everyone a hug after the show right? Isn’t that what it’s all about? I’m so honored that you all came here tonight and that you read my book, I am… but,” he teared up a little and forced down a swallow, “nothing compares to being in this room with you.” The audience fawned. He could make people cry, he could make people laugh and he, this is most important, could make people feel. Feelings were in short supply.

V

Technology had changed people. The phones, the google, the instantaneousness of it all rewired people’s brains. There was a time when people had to think, had to remember, otherwise things were not going to get done, problems were not going to get solved. That all changes when all that is needed is data entry. The unskilled mechanistic inputting of letters and numbers regressed humans faster than anyone ever thought possible. There was too much to enjoy to worry. That same author, that guy, once said that he doesn’t have time to worry, he's too busy living. There should have been worry. There should have been studies, there should have been a philosopher, a psychologist, someone to…worry. No one did. And machines don’t feel. Something had been inverted: someone had probably once claimed that machines don’t feel but if you can feel but only do machinations, feelings become moot. And that is what happened. That is what the technology did. To you.

Now this guy, this author, was bringing people back. No one knows how it happened, how he was exempt; there are rumors about his birth, about accidents, about a prolonged blackout…computers down, data not being inputted…pain being felt in the mother somehow. But no one knows for sure.

“'With' didn’t exist for a while. Machines aren't ‘with’ one another, they are 'around' other machines; 'in the vicinity' of is not 'with'. I am here with you tonight and you are with me. Are you with me?” he asked the audience. Some people started crying, absolutely sobbing, knowing they had not felt or been ‘with’ anyone or thing for that matter for as long as they can remember. It wasn’t a renaissance in the room that night, it was just birth.

He was birthing people, this guy, this author.

Now me, I know that there’s money to be made in birth and death. The religions from back in the day made it a point to have a lot of rites regarding birth and death. Maybe money is my religion, my god. I’ll put a few rites around birth and death to please my god. Multiply my god.