Schrodinger's Cat Trilogy by Robert A. Wilson

michaelsonmorley regurgitation to the Hawkfouledest Convention in Elveron. Yes a forty-four-year-old male rising like Venus on fours out of the waves but aglow gleaming as in Botticelli: hir Self surprised at this astonishingly female body a really successful crossing and one hand crept as she slept toward the crypt rested there happy yes: it was true. A female body. She snored hoarsely.
    And Dr. Glopberger, like Baron Frankenstein, looked on his work and saw that it was very good. So far.

MURPHY’S RELIGIOUS
    I still recall vividly the shock I experienced on first encountering this multiworld concept. The idea of 10100 + slightly imperfect copies of oneself all constantly splitting into further copies … is not easy to reconcile with comon sense.
    —B RYCE S. D E W ITT “ QUANTUM MECHANICS AND REALITY .”
Physics Today
September, 1970
    They were sitting in a VW Rabbit on Market Street in San Francisco. The marquee across the street still said DEEP THROAT after twelve years. “They never going to change that?” Starhawk asked. “Everybody and his brother been there to see that Linda Lovelace swallow peckers by now. Hell, everybody and his brother been there twice by now.”
    “She could swallow my pecker anytime,” Mendoza said. Mendoza was a cop.
    “I seen a funny one the other day,” Starhawk said, starting to laugh. “In the men’s crapper in the archaeology building. ‘Linda Lovelace for President,’ it said. ‘Let’s have a
good-looking
cocksucker in the White House.’ College kids.”
    “They’re all a bunch of fags these days,” Mendoza told him seriously. “Fags and dopers. And they call us pigs. Anyway, what were you doing in the archaeology building?”
    “I like to study my people’s history,” Starhawk said. “There a law against that?”
    “The fuck,” Mendoza said, “I don’t care what you do on your spare time. You make out with those college girls? Don’t tell me, I know. You make out like a bandit. You’re the greatest thing come down the pike since Burt Reynolds, you are.”
    Starhawk started to clean his nails with an attachment on his key ring.
    “Tell me about the coke.”
    “Murph owns more guns than the army got, up in Presidio. He’s a real nut on guns. I mean, it’s your ass he catches you. He won’t think twice about it. A police officer catching a burglar in his own house, it’s your ass. You got to understand that.”
    “Dig,” Starhawk said. “It’s always my ass. You think there’s a crib worth knocking over they don’t have guns these days? Christ, there’s never been a better-armed country since we had the Revolution, is what it is. Even little old ladies. Even in Berkeley for Christ’s sake. This is no business for anybody got shaky nerves, these days. College professors, their houses are stacked with enough munitions for Black Panther headquarters. What I don’t understand is how come everybody in the fucking country hasn’t been at least wounded by now. Everybody’s even more crazy-mad than they are shit-scared. It’s like
High Noon.
You don’t have to tell me, be careful. I wasn’t careful, I’d be one dead Indian.”
    “Son of a bitch,” Mendoza said suddenly, sitting up.
    Starhawk was almost startled. “Huh?”
    “That dog,” Mendoza said. “You see that son of a bitch shit right on the sidewalk? They do that all over the city, the ordinance doesn’t mean a fucking thing. Dirty, filthy animals, I’d ban them from the fucking city entirely, I was mayor.”
    “Yeah,” Starhawk said. “That’s our chief problem here, dogs shitting on the street.”
    “It ain’t funny,” Mendoza said. “Filthy bastards spread all kinds of diseases. And you take your kid out for a walk and there’s two of them humping and the kid says, ‘Daddy, what are the doggies doing?’ What are you gonna tell her, is what I wanna know. Dirty, filthy animals.”
    “Yeah, but about Murphy and this job.”
    “Okay, okay,” Mendoza said. “I’m just