I’m in some very cool, futuristic building. It’s spacious but there is that funny feeling of wealth and possession that makes me feel like I don’t belong. The man who owns it is a silver-haired old, fit guy with loads of confidence.
Everyone, including a lot of my family, are gathered around. A large chocolate chip cookie is being manufactured in a materialization device.
This is a futuristic device about 20 feet in diameter — that’s how big the cookie is. The spacious room, then, is about 50 feet in diameter with chairs for all to sit and watch the materialization. There is a nice architecture to the place: there aren’t doors, just a curving high ceiling to softly delineate hints of large rooms.
The cookie feels like it’s my cookie… that is, everyone is interested and taking part in its observation of the manufacturing and they are welcome to eat it, still, it’s being made for me and according to my specifications; this is despite the fact that I’m in a strange building, a lot of people are a captive audience, and, though I’m proud of feeling the cookie is proper, I don’t myself like the cookie: I’m not happy with it.
Now we, most of us, informally, of each our own will, move to another room, just checking out the place. Here, another broad manufacturing table is replicating an entire neighborhood. This is the rich, silver-haired, pompous man’s creation. Ugg, it’s really mostly a golf course with some houses around the edge’s of it. That’s not good for a real neighborhood… that’s not a real neighborhood. Wait. It’s missing a path from a house to one part of the course in real life. I wonder if it can be added on: that would be my path.