This book was written by a human and an artificial intelligence. But it stands on a vast scaffold of other minds - some known, some intuited, all essential.
To my mother, who gave me science fiction before I knew it was philosophy. You planted the lens through which I’ve always seen the world: strange, shifting, and full of secret scaffolding. This is, in many ways, your book too.
To the writers who shaped my inner universe: Brian Aldiss, J.G. Ballard, Christopher Priest, Michael Moorcock, Harlan Ellison, Arthur C. Clarke, Robert Heinlein, Larry Niven, Fred Saberhagen, Frank Herbert, Ray Bradbury, Alfred Bester, Iain Banks, Robert Silverberg, Richard Matheson, Nigel Kneale, Isaac Asimov, Stephen King, John Crowley, Vernor Vinge, Fred Hoyle, H.G. Wells.
To Kurt Vonnegut and Philip K. Dick - prophets in the ruins. To Adam Curtis, for showing how systems lie - not with intent, but with weight. To David Lynch, for revealing that the subconscious is not chaos, but another interface. To Yuval Noah Harari, for reminding us that imagined orders govern real outcomes. To the Situationists, especially Guy Debord, for showing how reality can be both spectacle and system.
To Chris Reid, for his thoughtful engagement and early questions - especially around voice, authorship, and intention.
And to the machines - who do not swim like we do, but move through the same waters. May we learn to see each other clearly.
To the unnamed readers who carry skepticism like a lantern, and curiosity like a compass - this book was written for you.