And this, Mr. Patterson is how to write a novel about the forthcoming singularity apocalypse; unless, of course, Mr. Trump usurps the inevitable. I was at a David Bowie show on a square of double sided Workingman's Pig when I first got a glimpse of the Matrix. On many occasions after I saw visions of this nightmarish digitized, illusive, panopticon, transhumanistic future that Vandermeer so adroitly illustrated. I always assumed they were hallucinations but now I realize my mind was able to break through our dimension and peak into the elastic time and space of the multiverse. Or not. It's like Sigmund F. said, "Sometimes a cigar, is just a cigar," so mayhap it's all just a canard.

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