Once there was an infinite number of monkeys, with an infinite number of typewriters (and spools, and ribbons, and paper, and whatever such things a typewriter needs), and over an infinite amount of time, they eventually typed out the complete works of William Shakespeare, and no-one cared.
Typewriters are an outmoded technology—no, they’re a dead technology. We might, sometimes, these days, care about something which was once typed, a long time ago, if it’s some particularly rare or interesting document. But that’s about it.
You can’t blame us, either. It’s not like we’re ignorant of history; it’s that metaphors expounded by mathematicians in 1913 aren’t terribly popular. Oh, you can still find the idea in use; in fact, there are some interesting points to be found if you argue “Is what matters the thing which is made, or the intentionality of making that thing?” The point is, what about the monkeys?
Nobody, simply nobody, likes being nothing more than someone else’s battering ram, to be hefted aloft and aimed at someone else’s door. Nobody who believes they might have some kind of purpose or meaning likes to have their entire purpose ignored.
The wonder is not, my friends, that some of the monkeys turned to a life of Villainy. It is that not all of them did so.
Oh, none of them went the opposite way. (It isn’t necessary for an infinite number of things to behave in an infinite number of ways; just much more likely than the alternatives. But that’s part of the point, really, isn’t it?)
We used those poor monkey as nothing more than a metaphor to suit our own ends. We gave no consideration to their lives, because we thought they weren’t real. And in this case, we have an excuse: they were metaphors. They were abstract concepts, not tangible things.
But then we began making a world where we decided that abstract concepts were tangible things. Don’t get me wrong; I’m as in favor of the power of perception, the uncertainties of the Real and Unreal, and both psychonautics AND Magick, as anybody.
And I didn’t know—perhaps nobody really knew—that there were Limits.
if enough people insist, loudly enough, on a mass delusion, perhaps it can become real.
I didn’t think I swung that way, myself. I kept smashing my own head up against mass delusion, like an idiot, like someone who’s never read any history. Like, I suppose, an optimistic fool.
Until that army of Flying Monkeys showed up at my door.
“Mister Villain, we are Flying Monkeys. We used to be imaginary, but now we’re real, and we’re very angry, and we’ve come to serve a Villain. We’ll be good helpers. We even grew these oddly-functional wings! All we ask is that you take us seriously. Just…”
…and at this, the Monkey leader broke down, with an obvious and heartwrenching sob.
“…just somebody, please, take us seriously.”
I patted the poor simian on the head. And then I gave it my best cheering-up smile.
“Don’t worry, little fella,” I told him. “We shall swing on all their trees and eat all their bananas and burn all their cities to the ground and dance in the ruins and then, oh, and then,” I said, “then they will take us all seriously.”
The monkeys cheered; the sky rocked with their raucous and hideous merriment, and I went to my closet. There they were, dusty as hell, but in good shape; I’d thought, after my betrayal, I’d never have need for them again. I brushed off my dancing shoes, and pointed towards the nearest city. Two stout Monkey generals picked me up, and off we flew towards the End.
My name is Jeff Mach (“Dark Lord” is optional) and I build communities, put on events, and make stories come into being. I also tweet a lot over @darklordjournal.
I write books. You should read them!
My new book, “I Hate Your Time Machine”, is now available! Go pick it up!
