special relativity of travel

Time travel is the best kind.  You don’t have to move a muscle or start an engine.  You just flip the pages of memory and sit back and enjoy as images pass by on the projection screen of your mind’s eye.  There’s only one drawback; it involves getting old.  So, as with most of life itself, it all works out in the long run; the less you’re able to travel in space, the more you’re able to travel in time.  Don’t laugh at that old guy with spit dribbling down his chin; he’s trucking in his mind.  This world is science fiction, the fractal edge of the universe in the process of expansion, chaos meeting the void, waves crashing on the beach, the fragile border area between existence and non-existence.  This is Interzone, the international zone, the chaotic border where languages fall flat and desires become erect.   Modern standard Pidgin English is the lingua franca according to the fashions of the day, Chinese language torture, the tongue of half-baked smiles and crocodile tears.  This is science fiction; this is World War III; this is reality.  Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and have no idea where I am.  I search an empty mind for the most recent memory, any memory, anything.  What’s a computer without an operating system?  Insert boot disk.  Finally a reference point emerges and the rest can be extrapolated.  Sometimes I wonder if a different memory had popped up, then maybe the entire extrapolated world would be different.  Is history constantly shifting its point of reference?  IS there such a thing as objective reality?