Have decided that my inability to find The Water Flows Eastward poem confirms this theory. Whatever generates the hologram flickers and poems vanish from the book you read them in and glasses' cases vanish from the backpack you put put them in and inspectors from the Metro Property Assessment Commission (Money Grubbing Moguls) have no reality at all at all. Nor do the bills they deliver. Am tickled at science confirming what the Buddha taught. All *is* illusion ommmmmmm
Though there's room for the old limerick:
There was a faith-healer of Deal
Who said,'Although pain isn't real,
If I sit on a pin
And it punctures my skin,
I dislike what I fancy I feel.'