Philip K. Dick for continually writing about worlds full of kipple—fake realities, badly constructed out of trash, hiding chaos and evil beneath. Dick responded that it was the only kind of world he knew, living in California.
At the time I took it for some kind of comment on the people of California—the fakeness of Hollywood, the flakiness of San Francisco. I now realize that it wasn’t a metaphorical comment; it was far more mundane than that. America is literally like that—a cleverly constructed fake. It’s insufficient to fool the intelligent eye, but just good enough that most people act as if it’s real.
The house up the street has mass-produced fake timbers on the outside. To my eye they look absurd, the woodgrain simply printed on in a repeating pattern. The average American walks past without registering anything odd about the scene. The same goes for the fake stonework, fixed—apparently without irony—on many buildings in downtown Boston.
So I live in a world which is (as Phil Dick put it) “only apparently real”. © mathew 2017
© mathew 2017