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'The world' is an idea, nothing more. It is the same as the universe in that respect, and also the same as what some might call the multiverse, oxymoron though it may be. It is nothing more or less than the borders of a defined reality - a land, a planet, a plane. A shard of reality, or a grouping of shards. A whole lot of nothing. A whole lot of something.

Are you confused? You shouldn't be. Nothing in the world is confusing, for the world is made up of confusion. And confusion, at least, is understandable. We know what it is. We see it and we say, ah, yes, it is confusion. We nod amongst ourselves and we look on, oblivious.

Call the borders of the world Oblivion. Call them nothing, and assume there is nothing to it, or that if there is, it does not concern us. But of course it does not concern us; space moves only so quickly, and time only so slowly. There is only so much within range of anything. A pocket of oblivion. A pocket of reality. It's real to us.

The ladybug sits on the desk in the cold of the dusk. The ladybug is dead.