I was listening to a podcast where some nerds talked about Robert Nozick's experience machine, which I hadn't thought about in a long time, because of an episode of that Black Mirror thing.
And I think the ineffable thing about material reality that I wouldn't give up and that immediately and decisively shoots the experience machine proposal down for me actually is that inescapable sense that the world is fake. Because while having to make the world a layer deeper of a fake to get away from that feeling of plastic unrealness appeals to my appreciation of surrealism, it's actually several steps too far.
Every step of any kind is two steps too far and even the hypothetical best possible life you'd objectively love every moment of because you were remade into something that can feel enjoyment is in fact a fate worse than death. Probably especially that one.
Sure, there's no point in defying the absurdity of life, but what's the point if there's no absurd to defy? Isn't the most perfect life one of radically and defiantly choosing to participate in an absurd festival of meaningless frivolity that you barely experience because it's all wrapped in an impermeable layer of metaphysical plastic?
Is this the perfect life? Is that why it feels so fake? Is that my leap of faith? Is this the best of all possible worlds? I owe an apology to Leibniz. Or the Matrix film series.