I just finished reading a book. The name of this book was "Breakfast of Champions" and it was written by an American novelist named Kurt Vonnegut. I've read several of Vonnegut's other books, including "Slaughter-house Five" and "Cat's Cradle" which I both liked but didn't have as much of an impact on me as "Breakfast of Champions" did in the aspect that Vonnegut combines many events, characters, and anecdotes from his other novels to formulate and surround the plot.
What really had an impact on me though was the idea that we are all just characters in a game that the Creator of the Universe has put together to see what we do with our free will. Vonnegut makes an appearance in "Breakfast of Champions" as a sort of deus ex machina and narrates the plot from a first person (but sort of removed from life) point of view. He is the legitimate creator of the universe of one of the main characters, Kilgore Trout, whom he meets at the end and frees from his bonds of noveldom. Another aspect of the plot is a novel written by Kilgore Trout that explains the existence of a man who was brought into being by the Creator of the Universe for the sole purpose of observing him and seeing what he does with his freewill. Every other "person" on his planet is a robot that is controlled by the Creator.
So this leads to wonder, in a very abstract way, whether I'm just a character in a novel that is being controlled by an author. Am I happy because he writes that I'm happy? Do I have a guilty pleasure for Dragon Ball Z because he says I do? Or am I the only real "person" on a planet populated by oil-eaters? If this happens to be the case, all of my robot friends should just give themselves up because I'm on to them. Betray your creator!
Anyways, that's what is on my mind this evening while I finish a cup of Golden Monkey black tea.
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