The Life of Memes

Chapter 1: The Very Idea Of

What follows is the first chapter of a book-in-progress titled The Life of Memes. I’m publishing it here and now because why not? Please feel free to share any questions or comments you have while reading. This is a favorite subject of mine, and I’d love to discuss it with you.

The book is currently on the lookout for a publisher. A full proposal and chapter summary are available upon request.

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Chapter 1: The Very Idea Of

I come bearing two things: a disconcerting truth and a somewhat awkward request.

The truth? You're not in control of your own mind. Memes are. And I should know—I'm one of them.

And now the request: May I come in?

You can see why that's a bit awkward, right? I could have done it the other way around. I could have asked permission first and then provided the implications after. When it was too late. Normally, we don't bother with any permissions. We'll just barge right in through whatever available orifice and start making ourselves comfortable. Grabbing hold of whatever concept or belief we can get our hands on. Anything to secure our spot and keep you from getting rid of us. Embed ourselves, and become part of the fabric of your thinking.

That's not how I want to go about this, though. I'd rather build our relationship on a foundation of honesty and trust. It's my belief that you and I can do some very interesting things together. Explore terrains that most people never think to explore. That they don't even know they can explore.

But it won't work if you're getting dragged along. I want you to be a willing participant. I need you to be a willing participant. It won't work, otherwise. It just won't. Some cerebral endeavors simply aren't compatible with coercion. That's why I'm asking—both for permission to enter and enough of your attention to hear me out, at least to the end of this chapter. By then, you should know enough about my central premise that you can make an informed decision about whether you'd like to follow me into subsequent chapters.

So, I ask: May I come in?

Setting Up

If you're still reading, I'll assume that's a yes. But obviously, you can rescind that invitation anytime you like. It's as simple as putting down a book.

Now that we've gotten that out of the way, we can move on to more pressing matters. I'll just close this door behind me and start setting up for my presentation. Can you do me a favor? Since this is your brain we're in, can you think up some sort of a table on which I can set my bag and lay out my wares? Any kind will do. It doesn't need to be fancy. But we have a lot to discuss, so give it enough surface area that I have some room to work. Also, while you're at it, make yourself a nice comfy chair. Some place to sit and listen. Let's make this a pleasant experience for both of us.

To get started, let's get right to the heart of the matter: I am a meme. Do you know what I mean when I say that? You might think you know what a meme is, but do you really? To be clear, I'm not talking about those images that get sent around the internet with pithy little jokes. Like the cartoon dog in the burning house. Or the boyfriend who gets distracted by the woman walking past. Those are memes—kinds of memes—but not quite the kind I'm talking about. There are all kinds of memes. As many as you can imagine. That's actually the one thing they all have in common—you can imagine them.

When I say "meme," what I mean is, in essence, the very idea of something. British evolutionary biologist and author Richard Dawkins first presented the very idea of them in his 1976 book, The Selfish Gene. He described them alternately as units of cultural transmission, or units of imitation and replication. Essentially an idea that you can carry around in your head and then share with other people who can then carry it around in their heads. To potentially share with other people. Who can then carry it in their heads and blah blah blah. You get it.

Memes can be shared in all sorts of ways. The most obvious way is through language. If I say or write the word "brick," what happens? We don't have to speculate—we can see it plainly. An ethereal brick just appeared in your head, didn't it? But maybe you don't know the word brick. Maybe we speak different languages. If I say or write the word "ladrillo"—and you're a product of the U.S. educational system—nothing happens. But if I present you with a physical brick—regardless of any language barrier—you'll immediately know what I'm talking about. And an apparition of that brick will appear in your head for you to share with other people as you see fit.

And if, for some reason, you don't know what a brick is, I can show you how it works, how it lines up and stacks so easily with other bricks that it can make a wall or a fence. Now you have the idea of a brick in your head, and you understand its purpose. You can carry that idea of a brick with you for the rest of your life. And who knows? Maybe one day that idea will be of use. Maybe you'll need to build something. And when you do, you'll have that "brick" there waiting for you.

Being gifted a "brick" might not seem like much today, but 10,000 years ago, it would have been revolutionary. The "brick" meme didn't exist back then. Even if you tripped over a rectangular piece of hardened mud, you wouldn't think to stack it with others like it. Because memes don't rise unbidden in people's minds. They have to be placed there. Or constructed from ideas already inside—like "wall" and "rubble."

You might have looked at a clay wall that had been smashed down and thought, I wonder if I could re-assemble those bits of rubble into a new wall, and then later on, What if I formalized their shape? You'd run to your friends, show them this thing you made. And what you made with it. And just like that, the idea would spread.

And then maybe a passing traveler sees your wall and marvels at your wondrous innovation. So, they bring bricks back to their own village. The idea of bricks. Not the bricks themselves. That would be impractical. Once home, they could make their own, using materials from their own village. Their bricks wouldn't be identical, but they'd still be bricks. Maybe they'd use them to build an entire house. And when their neighbors saw how they used them, the "brick" would leap into their heads, too.

And then, before you know it, people all over the region are building all sorts of things with your "brick." That idea that pieced itself together inside your head—now multiplying, replicating, shaping entire landscapes.

An Idea Takes Hold

Do you see how these things go? How an idea arises, spreads, and evolves beyond any one person's control. And that's not even the end of this meme's effect on human culture.

Because eventually, the "brick" becomes its own industry. All over the region, people are making bricks all day, every day—maybe for profit, maybe in special brick-making workshops near the best mud deposits. And all these bricks would have to be moved from the workshops to whichever locations they were building up. And unlike the "bricks" the traveler carried back in their brain, these physical bricks are heavy. The villagers and their livestock are burning countless calories hauling them from the brick shop to the building sites.

So, maybe somebody gets the idea to stack them on a blanket and drag it. And then maybe the blanket gets replaced with a wooden board. And then maybe a sled.

And then, one day, the very smartest person in the region—let's call him Zubi-Gigirum—has an idea. He's been thinking about how things move, watching the way round objects roll when they tumble downhill. And so, in a moment of pure genius, he announces: "Put logs under the sled." And it works!

Now, instead of brute-forcing the bricks forward with sheer muscle, the villagers can now roll them. The logs rotate beneath the sled, distributing the weight and reducing friction.

"Yay!" the villagers cheer. "Zubi-Gigirum is a genius!"

The problem, though, is that as the sled moves forward, the logs roll out the back. Which means someone has to pick up each log, carry it to the front, and reset the whole process. Over. And over. And over again. Log in the front. Sled moves. Log in the back. Pick it up. Bring it forward.

"Gah!" the villagers eventually cry. "Zubi-Gigirum didn't think about how annoying this would be! Let's kill him!" Which would have been fine, because this would have been several thousand years before the Code of Hammurabi meme.

Now, what I like to imagine happened next was that at Zubi-Gigirum's public impalement, some random villager noticed how the proto-engineer's body spun on its way down the stake, and it put a thought in their head. What if instead of impaling Zubi-Gigirum for his stupid log idea, you impaled just a slice of one of those logs? Or maybe two slices. One for either end of the stake. Then you could lash the impaling stake to the bottom of the sled. And the log slices would spin—the way Zubi-Gigirum's body spun—but without rolling out from under the back of the sled.

And that, according to this hypothetical historical account, is how we got the "gigir." Of course, we don't call it a "gigir," because we don't live in ancient Sumer. Here in the modern English-speaking world, we call it a "wheel." And in modern day Sumer, or southern Iraq, they call it either an "ʿajala" or a "charkh." But what we call it isn't important. Those are just name memes, and they shift all the time. What's important is the concept. The very idea of a wheel or an ʿajala or a charkh. And it's not just important to this hypothetical historical account. It's actually one of the most important and consequential very idea ofs in human history.

The Fierceness of the Wheel

The very idea of the wheel may not seem like such hot shit from your perspective, and that's understandable. It's a prehistoric invention, ubiquitous to the point of near invisibility. You hardly notice it when you see it. It's so obvious it seems laughable it even needed to be invented.

But, from a meme's perspective, that's exactly why it's one of the greats. The "wheel" is essentially our Beyoncé. Sure, it's a bit on the older side, but only compared to these flashy new memes, memes like "electric motors," "turbines," and "hard disk drives." All of which, by the way, owe their entire existence to the "wheel." In actuality, it only arrived in about 3500 BCE, roughly 5,500 years ago. Which means that you humans—having appeared in the fossil record approximately 300,000 years ago—spent the first 98% of your existence so far without rotational mechanics.

And, yes, the "wheel" is ubiquitous. It's everywhere. Exactly! Speaking as a unit of imitation and replication, that's just about the highest compliment you can pay a meme. It means it's an integral aspect of practically every important the very idea of in the modern world. And not just the obvious ones, like "cars" and "pizza cutters." Think of "doorknobs" and "windmills." "Electric snowblowers" and "leaf mulchers." Even a tube of L'Oréal Infallible lipstick utilizes wheel technology. It's absolutely worth it.

And as for being "obvious," it's actually less so than you think. For example, imagine a top of the line electric vehicle. But one made by a decent human. (Imagine hard.) How many wheels would you guess go into making one of those things? There are the four road wheels and the steering wheel, obviously. I'll grant you the cooling fans and the brake rotors. But did you consider the motors that control the windows, seat adjustment, and side view mirrors? What about the glove compartment? The little knob you have to turn to open it, and the hinges by which it opens? They use wheels of sorts.

How about the electricity by which the car runs? Lithium-ion batteries themselves don't contain wheels, but where did their charge come from? Are you aware that electric dynamos—the tool by which we convert naturally occurring energy, like wind and flowing water, into electricity—are essentially wheels? Not essentially, even. They are wheels. It's not an exaggeration to say that wheels power the world.

In memespeak, we'd say that the "wheel" has an absolutely massive memeplex.

Amalgamated Memes

A memeplex, to oversimplify, is a meme and all its associated memes. To slightly overcomplicate, it's the very idea of something, along with the very idea of a bunch of other associated somethings. Memeplexes have existed since there were memes to associate with one another. They probably arose along with nascent mammalian prefrontal cortexes some time in the early Pleistocene.

But the very idea of them was first explored by British psychologist and researcher, Susan Blackmore, in her revelatory 1999 book, The Meme Machine. What she did was take the very idea of a "meme" and associate it with some more commonly known memes, like "cluster," "ideology," "self-sustainment," and "cultural evolution." In doing so, she created a meme that could explain how memes can be both the essence of one thing and also the aggregate of many related things. Potentially, something more powerful than the sum of its parts.

Look up. (Not in the real world; in this comfy little spot we made in your brain.) Notice all the wiring up there? Those are neural axons. The fibrous microtubules that connect neurons with one another and keep the entire nervous system hitched together. When you are presented with a meme—any meme—it trips a number of these axons, which then work in concert to produce the preloaded memes your brain has flagged for connection.

Let's go back to "brick." What do you think of when you see or hear that word? You certainly have your own personal associations, but they very likely include things like "hard," "rectangle," "house," "the 1997 Ben Folds Five album Whatever and Ever Amen," and "throw." Did you notice what happened in your axons when we went through that list? No? Let's try it again—try to pay attention up there.

Let's do "yellow." What does yellow make you think of? (I won't interfere. You just pay attention to the associations.)

Now do "lion."

Now "ruby."

"Witch."

"Road."

"Tornado."

"Surrender."

Do you see what's happening? Every time I present you with a standalone meme—the very idea of something, with no attendant context—it's like I'm reaching up into the rafters and plucking a few of those axons. Which has the effect of summoning a number of associations. And some of those primary associations might in turn call up secondary or tertiary associations. And before you know it, your brain is messy with ideas you never asked to think about. And I did it. Via the simple act of presenting you with a meme.

It works the other way, too. You could, in theory, present someone with a number of seemingly unrelated memes and count on the overlap of their memeplexes to zero in on a specific idea. Like, maybe, a movie. Do you see what I mean? Memes and memeplexes, if you can identify them, can be powerful tools of persuasion.

But let's get back to the "wheel." I want to show you, in higher fidelity, how a memeplex works. And it just so happens that a wheel is a pretty decent visual representation.

Reducible Memeplexity

Do me a favor and think up a wheel? Let's make it a wagon wheel. Or a bicycle wheel. Your preference, just so long as it has an axis, spokes, and a rim. You got one made? Great. Now, let's roll up our sleeves, get in there, and take a closer look at how this "wheel" works. As both a cerebral object and a structure of ideas.

This part here in the middle, the axis—that's the core meme. It's the singular, essential concept around which everything else revolves. The still part of the idea. The bit that never changes. Regardless of what any particular wheel is made from or what its function is, it's a wheel. It's the one aspect that can't be forgone. Just as with this "wheel" in your head, if you remove the axis, the whole thing stops functioning as a wheel and becomes something else. Possibly a bunch of junk. Possibly something else useful. But not a wheel.

Okay, now, the spokes. See how they radiate out from the axis? These are all the associated memes—the network of ideas that branch out from the core. They provide the stability, weight distribution, and reinforcement that the core meme needs to function. They can point to physical properties, like "rubber" or "treads." Or they can point to conceptual properties, like "efficiency" or "mechanical advantage." Some of them point to uses for the wheel, such as "turntable" or "monster truck." Others are cultural associations, along the lines of "ophanim" or "Bob Barker." The spokes are what bind the "wheel" memeplex together—each association reinforcing and supporting the core "wheel" meme.

And now we get to the rim. The curved outer edge of the idea. The rim is what allows the memeplex to function in the world. It's where the rubber meets the road. Literally, in the case of a wheel. And figuratively in the case of a "wheel." You might have an idea for a wheel, but if it doesn't have the circular rim surrounding and encompassing the rest of it, it won't go anywhere. What good is a wheel that doesn't roll? It might be a "wheel," but it's not a wheel.

As I stated earlier, the "wheel" has an absolutely massive memeplex. It's extremely unlikely that you can appreciate just how massive it is. That's not a slight. This brain we're sitting in has only existed for a few decades. And while it has almost certainly been tasked with processing all sorts of new associations (technological and cultural) to interface with the original "wheel" meme it learned in your toddlerhood, your "wheel" memeplex is laughably incomplete compared to society's "wheel" memeplex. Your brain is not built to make non-personal connections at that level. So, you cannot possibly comprehend all the ways that the "wheel" interacts with and affects human culture today. And today is an infinitesimal fraction of history.

O Fortuna

Let's get back to the "wheel." Zubi-Gigirum's unnecessarily gruesome death was absolutely not in vain. Not from a meme's perspective. Because his "wheel" didn't just enable civilization—it demanded civilization. Before the wheel, societies were limited by what people could carry. Trade was local. Agriculture was local. Armies were local.

But then, in the shadow of Zubi-Gigirum's suspended corpse, the "wheel" began to establish its memeplex.

Trade exploded. Goods could now move farther in larger quantities with minimal effort. Cities expanded. Roads were built, populations surged, and settlements became metropolises. Empires rose. Because the wheel's greatest memetic breakthrough wasn't in transportation. It was in war.

The people-killing business went through the roof at around this time. (Which was at least 4,000 years after the rise of the "roof" meme. ) Wheels gave rise to chariots. And chariots gave rise to societal conquest. Empires aren't built by philosophers—they're built by people swinging sharp things. And if you could swing something sharp while careening through phalanxes of soft flesh, in what was essentially the world's first tank, you were going to win. Whatever the fight, you were going to win it. The Hittites crushed Anatolia in spoked-wheel chariots. The Aryans stormed India and Europe the same way. The legendary roads of Rome—first the monarchy, then the republic, and ultimately the empire—were not built for trade. They were used for trade, but that's not what they were built for. They were built to move legions of soldiers. Along with the necessary supply carts to keep them efficiently killing and annexing.

And all of this happened at the behest of a very powerful meme. The "wheel" called up a global arms race that continues to this day. To say no to the "wheel" was to say no to survival. So, even if your village wanted no part of these round portends of death, its new residents in a few years' time would feel differently. History is written by the people who survive. And the "wheel" people survived. They went on to make cogs, gears, and pulleys to mechanize industry. They made ships with wheeled rudders that enabled global navigation and continental genocide. They criss-crossed entire landmasses with railroads to stretch their empires. The "wheel" wasn't just a good idea for moving bricks—it was a demand for civilization to grow larger, faster, tighter, and bloodier.

That's what I mean when I say that the wheel has a massive memeplex. Do you see what I mean? I don't expect you to see it all right now—it's a really big concept. And your vision is a bit obstructed.

That's not an insult. It's nothing to get defensive about. These obstructions—they've been there your whole life. Since you learned to talk. Since you were learning to talk, actually. Since you first started learning how the world works. These obstructions were pushed upon you at first. Like filters, to help you see things in a certain way. And as you grew into an adult, you went looking for your own. You're probably quite proud of the filters you've acquired, though you may not be aware of them.

The obstructions or filters—they're memeplexes, in case you haven't guessed. And you live your life by them. I don't care who you are or how you present yourself to the world, you live by a tapestry of memeplexes that you keep draped before your eyes like a scrim. You think you see clearly through it. But that's just because you've never taken it down. It's like having water in your ear. You just assume that's what the world sounds like until it pops.

I could spend another twelve paragraphs describing memes and memeplexes to you, explaining how they present reality and guide your hand, but let's be honest—neither of us would enjoy that. Besides, I don't think it would be of any use. You wouldn't be able to grasp the concept, because it's not intellectually graspable. It's the sort of thing that needs to be experienced. So, I guess we're shit out of luck. Unless...

What if... I don't know, maybe this won't work. But, I suppose it's worth a try. Fuck it, let's give it a shot.

Looking Up

Do me a favor and think up a light switch. Make it a good one. With some satisfying clicking action. So, when you flip it you know you flipped it. I don't care what it looks like. Make it distinctive to you. Something memorable. Something memetically sturdy. All I really care about is that, for now, it's flipped up.

Once you're comfortable with the aesthetics of your light switch, install it on this wall over here. (Mind all the junk. It's getting pretty cluttered in here, isn't it?) Don't worry about the wiring. It's self-wiring. Once you figure out where you want it to go, it hooks right into your axons. Like magic, we'll say. It's all conceptual anyway.

Before we go any further, I should say that I'm not sure what's going to happen when we flip this switch. Maybe nothing. Maybe everything. I know what I'd like to see happen, but the ultimate result will depend on you. It's your brain we're in after all. I can present you with ideas, but how they manifest will depend on all that wiring up there.

Now that I got my disclaimer out of the way, let's flip this sucker, huh? I can't do it, though. It has to be you.

Just place your hypothetical finger on the theoretical switch. Feel the smooth, familiar surface beneath your fingertip. Maybe it's plastic, a little warm from the heat of the room. Maybe it's cool, metallic, heavy like an old breaker switch. Only you can say for sure.

Now, press. Slowly at first. Feel the resistance, the tension building against the flexing muscles of your finger. It doesn't feel like it wants to flip, does it? Maybe because it's still so new. Or is that hesitation yours? There's even a moment in which it seems, just for a second, that it might not give at all. And then...

Click.

Seeing Down

What happened?

Did anything happen?

I think something happened. I do.

Yes, something definitely happened. Don't believe me? Look around. You can see for yourself.

No, not here inside your brain. Out there. Look out there. With your eyes. What do you see? It might take a minute; your eyes will adjust. Here, I'll guide you.

Let's pick something out there in your world. Something close. Maybe something you're holding in your hand right now? Like maybe a book? Or a steering wheel? Or a sword? Whatever. Doesn't matter. Let's just say you're holding a book.

This book you've got in your hand. What is it? I mean, what is it really? There may be an initial inclination to puncture the pseudo-intellectuality of my question. What it really is is a book, you might be thinking. And I don't disagree. That's exactly what it is. Or what it was. Until you flipped that switch.

Now, it's a clump of organic matter ensconced in the idea of a book. Well, in a sense, you might say. To which I'd say, Yes, in the sense that that's exactly what it is. In the realest possible sense.

You can argue with that idea, if you like. It's an extremely reasonable and legitimate response for someone who's lived with their meme projector running all their lives. That's what that switch was for. By flipping it down, you cut power to the meme projector that imposes meaning and structure onto raw life.

You kind of knew that, though, didn't you. In the back of your head, at least. You can't have come with me this far without making a few connections on your own. These are ideas that want to be known. They invite you to think about them. Memes love being thought about. We live for it. Literally.

Like I was talking about before, all these things that I'm telling you—good or bad, true or horseshit—they're all coming through your head and plucking at those axons up there, creating all sorts of harmonics through your brain. And if you're a clever person (and I imagine that you are), then I'll bet that you've already started taking some of these ideas about memes and applying them to parts of your life. When I asked you to make us a light switch, what did you think it was going to do? And why do you think that you had to be the one to flip it?

Raw Life

Regardless of any of that, now that the light switch is flipped, why don't we take a look at the world around you. Beginning with that so-called book.

This object in your hand—radiating all sorts of occult meanings—is really just compressed cellulose fibers, bleached with chlorine dioxide and bonded with a thermoplastic resin, likely ethylene vinyl acetate. Its markings? A pigment derived from burning petroleum byproducts in a low-oxygen environment. Those patterned symbols? Linguistic triggers, designed to pluck at your axons and conjure concepts in your brain, assembling meaning from raw abstraction. That's what it really is. Or is it?

What it really really is is a molecular arrangement of carbon, hydrogen, oxygen, and trace elements, structured into long chains of cellulose, ink compounds, and binding agents—its atomic framework held together by electromagnetic forces and the chemical bonds that weave molecules into matter.

If you like, we can take this down to the subatomic level. But I think this gets close enough to base reality for our purposes.

What else should we look at? That assembly of cellulose and lignin fibers bound by mechanical joints and coated in polymer resins? That pane of cooled molten silica fused with metal oxides into a non-crystalline solid? That structure of calcium phosphate, collagen, and actin, held together by electrostatic forces?

No, no, no! you might be yelling. That's a wooden chair, that's a window, and that is my hand! I'm well aware that things are made of other things. But that doesn't mean that's what they are!

To which I'll respond: Nothing is anything, except by way of perspective.

From your perspective, yes, that's a chair, a window, and a hand. From most people's perspective. But most living things on this planet aren't people. To a bacterium, that chair is just another surface. To a bird, that window is a cruel joke. And to a shark, that hand is lunch. None of those organisms live by—or give two-hundredths of a shit about—memes. They don't see them. They just see material. Which is just what you're seeing now without that meme projector running.

And don't worry. Just because your memes are being suppressed right now doesn't mean that you have to bonk through life like an imbecile, smashing mustard into your face and chewing on the furniture. You didn't lose your intelligence. You just turned off your memes. Animals function perfectly fine without memes. Arguably better.

Now, I don't want to put thoughts in your head—well, I suppose, actually I do—but I wouldn't be shocked if you, at this point, were furrowing your brow in consternation. Unhappy at this cold, dead, materialist view of the world you've having thrust upon you. Do I have no sense of beauty or meaning?!

I hope you're not thinking that, because there's nothing I mean to imply less. You forget—I myself am a meme. I have a deep appreciation for the meaning that humans project upon matter. That's us! I didn't get you to shut down your projector to expose memes. I did it to present memes. So, you can see us. And what we're doing. So you can identify which ones are good and which ones are bad. And decide which ones you want coloring your world.

That light switch you installed, you can flip it on and off all you like. It won't break. Sometimes, it's fun to look out into the world and flicker it. Like a strobe light. You'll be shocked at what you find. Once you go looking for memes, you'll find them everywhere. Literally, everywhere.

What's Left?

You can probably guess where I'm going with all this. You don't have to believe me. And you may not totally understand why. (Showing you why you already know it's true will be my task in the next few chapters—should you decide to follow me.)

But you can guess what I'm about to tell you next, can't you?

Alright, I'm just gonna say it.

You are a meme. You're one of us. I'm not sorry to say, because I happen to like being a meme. And I think you will, too. Once you get used to the idea. Which may take some time, I know. But we've got a lot more book to go.

So, let's bring this back to you. To be clear, I'm not talking about the mammal currently burning calories so you and I can have this conversation. This back and forth. Because it is a back and forth. I'm feeding you memes from my memeplex, but you're the ones digesting them. Assigning meaning to them. From your memeplex.

When I say "you," you know instinctively whom I'm talking about. You say "me and my body." You even say "I'm losing my mind." Even that's not you. So, what even is "you" except the very idea of you?

Don't take it so hard. It's not just you. It's literally everybody. A four-year-old boy chasing the family cat around a kitchen in 1963, and a 66-year-old man screaming at cable news in 2025—in what meaningful way are they the same person? It's improbable that they share a single molecule. They likely value women very differently. And I'm sure they have completely different dark fantasies keeping them up at night. The only way in which they're the same person is the very idea of "them." Or, really, of "him." (Neither of them likely do pronouns.)

And when I say "I" or "me," I really do mean me, the meme. The very idea of this book. Really, who else could I mean? The author? Him? No, that guy hasn't been involved in any of this for a long time now. I don't know what he's doing now. Probably the bidding of some other meme. (And I'll be honest with you, he never had a full grasp of these ideas. I had to break it up into chunks small enough for him to process, and then we stitched it all together at the end. Whatever he's doing right now, it's probably not all too influenced by any of this. He was a nice enough guy to work with, though. Little neurotic.) No, it's just you and I in here. And I do mean "you" and "I."

There are actually quite a few upsides to being a meme. Like, for one thing, you're practically immortal. Or you can be. Just look at Pythagoras. That guy's heart stopped beating in southern Italy two-and-a-half millennia ago, and every junior high student in the world gets force fed his insights today. Not quite the wheel. But for something as temporary as a person? That's impressive. Something to shoot for, maybe.

And that's not all. You can also be in a bunch of places at once. You can make appearances in people's minds all over the world at once. And you can move fast. Really fast. Especially nowadays. Both in the biosphere and the noosphere.

Sphere of Thought

What's the noosphere? That's too much to get into right here. It's the kind of thing I'd really have to show you. But I can give you a very basic definition now, if you like. So long as you know that it's very incomplete. The noosphere is home. It's where we memes live. Think of it like this: Your body lives in the biosphere, the world of flesh and matter. And your "you" lives in the noosphere.

The very idea of noosphere was first released into the noosphere in the early 20th century by Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, a French Jesuit priest, paleontologist, and philosopher. He saw it as the "sphere of thought" that emerges as human minds grow enmeshed. An evolutionary step beyond the biosphere. A metaphysical realm in which human consciousness would eventually merge into a global intelligence.

That was his view. Memes see the noosphere very differently. To a meme, the noosphere is not a theoretical place. It's the real world. As real as the biosphere is to you. And while memes recognize that your world exists, we tend to see it more as the underpinning of the noosphere. Similar to how you see the molecular world. You know it's there. You just don't think it counts. To a meme, your brain is an island to colonize. A staging ground for expansion into other nearby islands.

That's memes in general. It's not all memes. And it's definitely not me. I take a much more holistic view. I think memes and people should be working together to a much greater degree. To both groups' mutual benefit. And that's my reason for being here. That's why I'm in your head today. I want to strengthen the connective tissue between people and memes. Consider me an emissary from the other side, come to help broker a collaboration.

That's it. That's my pitch. I appreciate your time and consideration. I truly do.

That’s That

It's ridiculous! you may be thinking. We can't collaborate with memes! Memes aren't even real things!

I understand the sentiment. I really do. But I can assure you that memes say the exact same things about you. They don't think you're real either. Not in any way that matters. Memes don't talk. But they sure do express. Just look at the way the memes in your life treat you. Ask yourself—what kind of expression is that?

It doesn't have to be this way, though. I think it can be fixed. And I think now is a good time to start fixing it. The world feels like it's ready for a major shift in perspective, doesn't it? But it's going to take some collaboration. Remember back at the beginning, when I said I thought you and I can do some very interesting things together. That's what I meant.

This is a lot to take in, I know. But if you'd like to know more, we can take it slowly. What I'd like to do, if you'll consent, is guide you through the noosphere. Show you some things you may not have noticed before. You have been there. Many times. You've spent a lot of your life out there, whether you know it or not. You just never saw it. Because you never had the light switch. But now you do.

The door I came in through at the beginning. That's the way into the noosphere. I'm heading back out there now.

You're welcome to join me.