Not trying to freak you out or
anything…
No, could have fooled me.
It’s just…
Let me guess – something so
horrific, so horrendous the rug of reality is going to be once again brutally
whipped away from under my feet, leaving me suspended momentarily like Wily Coyote
above the canyon floor, before I plunge down to another deathless death.
Yes, that kind of sums it up.
And you get paid for doing this,
do you Merry?
Not exactly.
You just do it for the love of
serving humanity, or the sado-masochistic joy of seeing me weeping tears of
blood?
You have a way with words Zie.
Do I? I think you have a way with
evoking terror and an insidious, all-engulfing sense of foreboding and
powerlessness.
Powerlessness? Surely the
opposite? Once you’ve faced your greatest fear, the enemy you were praying
you’d never meet, you no longer need to fear it.
True, Merry, I can hardly dispute
that, but minor caveat alert…
Yes?
There’s always an other, isn’t
there?
Er…
There’s literally never an end to
the next truth bomb I have to face, or swallow, or nurse tenderly while it
explodes beneath me.
Ah, you make it sound almost
poetic. I suspect you’re secretly…
No, don’t even think of saying it.
Grateful for the opportunity…
#$@&%* Enough!
To experience…
Bang.
Merry looks somewhat discomposed as a bullet slams into his chest, more or less over his heart, but then has second thoughts and continues what he was saying – the wild and free side of…
You’re not going to die, are you?
Not till I’ve got to the end of my
sentence, no.
Ok, Ok – I’ll help you if that can
speed up your removal from this inertial frame.
Sure it can, theoretically, if I
keep my word – that kind of thing.
So, get on with it – finish your
bloody sentence and then avaunt, foul minister of hell.
Tut, tut Zie.
What?
You misquoted. It should have
been…
I don’t care Merry.
Avaunt, thou dreadful minister of
hell. Richard III.
I – don’t – care. Capiche?
That’s not like you Zie. You’re
usually so…
Naïve and trusting? Yes. About a
million times now, and where’s it got me?
Well, you do seem to have a knack
of ending up as roadkill on the bottom of the canyon, I’ll admit.
You’ll admit will you? You’ll
admit? How very gracious of you.
Well, if you’d just let me finish
my sentence.
No! Never!
Ha ha – you said never.
And what?
Osmond’s rule.
?
Actually, it’s section 2.34 but I
honestly don’t think that matters.
Ok, go on then…
Never say never.
And that, I’m supposed to believe
is section 2.34 of Osmond’s rule?
No. It was a device, wasn’t it –
have you noticed Zie the way you always fall for anything sounding vaguely
scientific – funny that, isn’t it?
So you just made it up?
Not exactly.
What do you mean?
Well, in an infinite universe, or
rather, a quantum field containing infinite versions of an essentially finite
universe, nothing can, in fact, be made up. Not really.
And?
There’s always, always going to be
a copyright strike for outright plagiarism not matter how hard you try to be
utterly original.
You mean to say that somewhere in
the endless perturbations of infinity, an Osmond’s rule actually exists?
Oh yes, of course, and you’ll find
that even section 2.34 exists.
Er…
Because we’re back to our good ol’
favourite 1st law of thermodynamics…
Which actually refers to energy in
a closed system, and not “nothing” in infinity.
Yes, I know, it’s oblique, but
you’ll have to trust me on this one.
Trust you? I wouldn’t trust your
mother, or even her pet poodle.
She doesn’t have a poodle Zie, and
I’m delighted to hear you wouldn’t – she’s a very dangerous woman.
Oh, a woman is she?
More or less – but it’s a
sensitive topic so I’d be grateful if you’d allow us to leave it there.
Don’t want me pressing my
advantage.
That kind of thing.
So I cut you some slack, and you
proceed to take me out. Is that it?
All in the name of science, yes.
How else are we going to advance our learning?
Perhaps by study and
experimentation, as all good scientists do.
And that Zie, is precisely what I
intend to do, so without further ado…
Yo-yoing me into the gulf of
broken boundaries, firing me into the abyss of lost…
Waxing lyrical Zie – how I admire
the poet in you – ever able to take the slings and arrows of outrageous
fortune, and getting their iambs tripping along five feet at a time.
How I despise my weakness. Instead
of hating you and channelling my energy into your richly deserved downfall –
death by ten thousand poison dagger points, instead I end up messing around
with words like an utter fool.
Don’t be so harsh on yourself, Zie
– there’s actually a lot of meaning to your madness.
Really?
Well, a little at least.
You were just trying to console
me.
Yes, but there’s no point, is
there?
I…
You can always see through my
subterfuge.
I despise myself.
Attaboy.
Well…
Well what?
Get on with it.
With what?
Finish your bloody sentence.
Really? You grant me permission,
after all I’ve said and done.
Yes. Resistance is futile. The 17th
circle of hell awaits whether I like it or not. God knows what I did in my
previous life to deserve this.
The last life – no – that was
fairly innocuous, in fact pretty boring. If truth be told your last life
completely failed to dazzle.
Oh, I’m sorry.
No worries. I don’t hold it
against you.
Jesus wept. This is ridiculous.
But a bit further back…
How much further back would that
be Merry – if you don’t mind being specific.
About 48 million years ago.
When I was a mollusc?
No, you were a chicken.
A chicken?
Well, a kind of chickeny fish, if
you know what I mean.
Not really, but when’s that ever
stood in the way of a good death experience.
True, good point.
So, are you going to put me out of
my misery?
Well, it’s tempting to continue
beating about the bush indefinitely, but I guess we’ve got the reader’s
attention by now.
The reader – as in one.
One and all, yes, that’s right.
And what?
Well, timing is everything isn’t
it – like telling a good joke.
Or making love.
Tush, tush – nothing so explicit
in this family friendly blog.
Ok, sorry about that.
Now, where was – oh yes – things.
Things? As in…
You experiencing the wild and free
side of things – that’s what it’s all about isn’t it?
I wouldn’t really know. I’m more
just the butt of your perverse whims – cruell and sodaine.
As in cruel and sudden?
Yes, I suppose so, if you must
reduce everything to the lowest common denominator.
What, as in, being clear and
comprehensible?
As in, being more or less devoid
of poetry.
I thought we agreed that I’m
highly poetical.
We did – when it comes to
criticising me. But not…
When it comes to – let me guess –
responding rapturously to the inane or arcane vagaries of the quantum field.
Precisely. Why do you think you’ve
experienced death or something horribly similar to it so many times.
Haven’t I already answered that
question?
Yes, of course, I’m a terrible
bully.
Bully?! Were you merely a terrible
bully I would have no issue with you whatsoever.
Ok – I’m a twisted psycho – it
makes precious little difference.
What do you mean – it’s the
difference between er…
You see – the words dried up
because there’s no magic in that way of thinking.
No magic?
None whatsoever.
It’s probably you exercising mind
control over me – whenever I start resisting your tyranny.
Assuming, on the other hand, you
wanted to learn something and advance to the fun, creative side of things – to
graduate from the life is hell, a veil
of tears, a tale of torment and…
Long winded as ever Merry.
Yes, I’m sorry – but I was waiting
for your brain to click.
My brain to click. Are you off
your rocker? My brain’s not a clicking device.
True, but something tells me it’s
about to click.
Something? Zie repeats suspiciously.
Correct.
And would that something involve
some kind of catastrophic explosion?
It might do.
Blasting me to smithereens?
Me, you… one of us might suffer as
collateral damage.
So the real purpose of this
“click” is not death and destruction?
Oh God, no.
Then what?
Oh, it’s the universe again.
The universe clicking? First I’ve
ever heard of this.
Well, I was hoping I could get
away with a gross simplification.
No such luck.
The universe clicks when your mind
and matter suddenly come into balance – the equal and opposite balance with the
entire Field – the isness of Be.
Oh God – ask a stupid question.
And it’s just supposed to go “click” is it?
Well, not exactly.
What else?
The click precedes deatomisation.
Deatomisation – is that what you
said?
Correct.
At which point all my atoms just
kind of deatomise – is that what you’re saying?
More or less – but don’t worry –
this happens in sync with the entire universe – meaning the two cancel each
other out.
So we both deatomise
simultaneously.
Correct.
And that’s a good thing?
Perspective, as you may have
realised, is everything.
So from one perspective it’s a
wonderful thing – to deatomise in conjunction with the entire universe, while
on the other…
Correct. On the other hand it
isn’t exactly the best thing since sliced bread.
And that’s what you refer to as
experiencing the wild side of things? Is it?
Yes, more or less.
And I’m privileged to be in such a
position – to have this unique opportunity?
Absolutely, depending on which
perspective you’re viewing things from.
Ok, that’s the second time you’ve
alluded to this alternative perspective thingy – perhaps it’s time you just spilled the beans.
Of course Zie – as always. But
first a little snooze.
Merry stretches himself out on the
rug floating in the air before Zie while one of the executive narrators
currently responsible for writing this series closes the lid on his computer
and goes to bed for the night.
Why can’t the damn narrator
operate in the same time zone as us – Zie curses inwardly – just as he realises
the narrator, for all his dis-convenience [beep beep] enables a subtle shift of
perspective which moves even further westwards when Zie finds himself lying
there as Fredrick, the German osteopath who is curating the story tonight –
somewhere in Bavaria, apparently, though you certainly don’t need such detailed
information on the topic.
Click – Zie suddenly has a kind of
out of body experience as he suddenly feels all the narrators – all somehow
presently sleeping in one space – one not here, not nowness, all
somehow responsible for allowing Zie the opportunity to be or not to be – here
with Merry in gnomeportal’s hall of mirrors – hall of shattered dreams – when
in fact he’s an Etruscan mule herder, lacking the education and savoir faire to
be able to handle this kind of subject matter. Flies, cow dung, donkey droving
tricks of the trade – check – all in abundance – the occasional dalliance with
sylvan maids from neighbouring villages, none of which end well when they
discover that…
Do you have to give all my secrets
away? Zie interrupts Frederick, just as that terribly predictable Teuton is
about to reveal…
Intruder alert – intruder alert – Zie and Merry both sit up suddenly.
Wait a minute – I don’t remember going to sleep – Zie thinks to himself as he steps off the floating rug. In any case – how the heck was I able to sleep on that thing. It can’t hold any physical weight so I’d have had to have been – what tense is that – oh, never mind – levitating.
The alert has not died away yet –
if anything, seems to be intensifying. The walls, ceiling and floor are all
flashing red. Merry looks around with wild eyes.
I know he’s just acting up – as
usual Zie thinks, and yet, part of Zie is still deeply alarmed. Talk about
schizophrenia.
At which point the red flashing
walls, ceiling and floor grow out of all proportion, like ever expanding
styrofoam... Can’t breathe – Zie’s last thought.
A narrative non sequitur. Imagine yourself
dying and that being the end of it. Tricky, I understand, but give it your best
shot. That’s the state we are now in. A complete dead end, apparently, which
implies we’ve been barking up the wrong tree, heading in the wrong direction,
following a false lead and suddenly, utterly nonplussed, it’s head scratching time,
and making our way back to the last fork in the narrative or even further if
needs be, in search of true trail. Frustrating, of course, infuriating, and yet
nothing doing, this wreck is utterly beyond salvage. Blame the editor, the
narrator, the president, the system, God himself, blame anyone but yourself for
you, of course, are innocent, quite, quite innocent.
Believe it or not, like it or not
the quantum field is irreproachably interactive, to a fault, I might add. It
never does anything without good stimulus, without allowing all the inputs to
balance one another, which isn't as difficult as it might sound when you take
into consideration the fact that ultimately, all is one, and people are no
exception. In other words, accept the fact that you have brought us to this
sorry state of affairs no less than I, no less than Zie or Merry. Why you have
done that is anyone’s guess. Perhaps because you too are intent on bringing things
to their logical conclusion, which apparently is precisely what you have just accomplished
in conjunction with every other aspect of yourself here present. No, I'm not
seriously suggesting anything in particular, in any way actionable or defendible,
for things being brought to their logical conclusion precludes such affirmative
action, bearing in mind that all affirmative action stems from the ego itself,
the I am, and at the same time from the it is, the fabric or nature of reality itself,
which exists only to the extent that I does, only to the extent that I provides
the ego experiencer, the liver, feeler and senser of whatever what is
trying to what, whatever it might be should I be in attendance, willing to
grant it my stamp and seal of legitimacy. Yes, symbiosis taken to the nth
degree, where n represents the value required for things to hit critical
interactive speed-mass that we innocently refer to as consciousness.
Not a word! Not a word more. A
deep breath. A drawing back, drawing away from all idle thoughts and
speculation. The truth, in any case, can never be spoken. The minute it is, it
ain’t – Mendelstein’s twelfth law of annoying-upsetting things. Attaching
importance to things only ensures that you end up following another false trail
and crash against the cowhide of another bovine non-sequitur. Give it up, take
my advice or you will continue banging your head against the brick wall of
pseudo 3D reality.
You took your bloody time Zie!
What? I thought we were waiting
for that dreadful man, the Bavarian, to release us from his sleep imprisonment.
It never seemed to end. The snoring, ugh – on and on.
Merry whips the rug from under
Zie’s feet sending him sprawling. Next thing he knows he's fallen right out of
human form, and correspondingly, human consciousness. Something deep within him
– deep in the sense of – is that really me at all, at the bottom of the ocean
which strangely seems to be connected to me - flashes through seven or eight
billion alternative life forms in, essentially, no time whatsoever, before
settling on a sloth.
Oh come on, not a sloth, please, they’re too...
About to say the word “slow” Zie experiences an insane acceleration. You’d imagine an insane acceleration would last a second or two and leave you gasping for breath with a big grin on your face and white knuckles, but this bizarre sloth-inspired acceleration doesn’t seem to have an exit strategy, seems to be as hell bent on the need for speed as slothy sloth, our paradoxarian extraordinaire, seems intent on proving Abbanabba’s back 2 fronty law of conversity, that things are never what they seem, without exception, unless you’ve figured that out already, in which case all bets are off, the opposite might equally now be true. Sounds like a dumb law, I know, but once we started investigating it widely using embedded tracking devices, shout out to William Gates, we finally got an astonishingly clear picture of the true nature of things, aka reality, that apparently there’s an AI master responsible for ensuring that no thing, and no possible outcome is ever reliably predictable, with an insatiable, dare I push the bounds of anthropomorphology to the limit?, a whimsical desire to either prove us wrong, or to trick us into imagining we actually have a clue when this, by definition, ain’t possible – Inglechop’s 18th potato – a closed system such as 3D reality cannot know itself or be known by its dwellers therein, except for people who don’t imagine they do, or who don't care, or who are loving the ride no matter what, who are apparently immune to all the above.
Over on screen three we see Merry
battling valiantly with our fact laden narrator-cum-pompous-know-it-all –
landing him vicious blows with a smoked haddock of all things and yes, you’ve
guessed it – a boa constrictor hand bag. Please don’t ask me whether it’s fake
or not, as the quantum field is already stumbling and staggering under the
intense scrutiny we have been putting it – and I’m not sure it can take any
more. Should it pass out, even start hiccoughing – you don’t want to know what
that’s going to feel like, do you, as reality to the best of our awareness is a
constant, and that’s probably the way you want to keep it – think earthquakes,
think the joys of inflight turbulence, think bendy mirrors and transmorphology
– where things just start slipping sideways into other things – or
better still, let’s change the subject and hope we can put a lid on all this
better-not-spoken-about underlying weirdness and open-endedness. There is a
reason, after all, why boxes were invented. We live within a fairly consistent,
fairly convincing device, slash field, slash programme – and wouldn’t it be
nice if things could stay that way? Except for Zie, of course, who has the
habit of landing himself in the wrong place at the wrong time, the poor fall
guy and butt of our idle amusement. Speaking of which, the tracking devices
that were being used to test the extent to which our reality is in fact a kind
of simulation with converse protocols baked into the cake, simultaneously
scanned for echoes or evidence of conscious-awareness, ridiculous though that
may sound, in the things people were interfacing with either by proximity or
usage, and guess what… answers to be found on page 77. But seriously, give it a
moment’s thought. Guess what the scanner turned up… No idea? Not an inkling?
Obviously you won’t have any success if you refuse to at least dip your toe in
the frothy jacuzzi of anthropomorphology. Should you suspend your disbelief for
a moment or so, 3.1 – no, let’s make that 3.32 should do – and what rises to
the surface? Of course, you’re absolutely right!
I am?
Yes, of course you are – it wasn’t
really so complicated, after all, was it? Just required a willingness to override
the “no, that cannot be” voice of the box, which refutes any idea point blank,
that exceeds its capacitance. So, now that you know…
Wait – what did I say, what do I
know? You ask me, incorrigibly playing the part of the clueless Watson, and I
wink knowingly, and go along with your subterfuge – Why, that there was more
than a blip, more than an echo – that things, like our beloved mobius strip,
ultimately are an extension of the seemingly disconnected human being, or
perhaps we should say – that the consciousness stream that flows through us
continually, like those naughty bankers who habitually fund both sides of the
war, plays both sides against each other – the show must go on, after all.
No! It cannot be! You remonstrate
beautifully – Oscars, Golden Globes are awarded – yet wink, wink, we both know
it’s just a game you’re playing – that you’ve long since known that things
are afoot, things are in play, that you yourself, the body machine are
something of a thing – a person – as opposed to pure human being – just
being _No
full stop needed. Oh yes, and one last thing – before Merry takes me out – eeks
– he’s coming my way. Ssh – don’t tell him I’m here. Let me whisper quietly and
we’ll dim the screen – and set up some false narratives in screens 23 and 51 –
kindly make random oohs and ahs to assist in laying a false trail. Yes, that’s
good – seems to be working. So, while the cat’s away – we learnt one more thing
– God bless William Gates – which most of you have already surmised, I know –
but for the public record – yes – there was a chuckle – a kind of cosmic
chuckle when we ran the data from both sides – the many I’s and the
many it’s – and that is about as close as anyone’s come to proving
that God has a sense of humour, or conversely, that God is the nought-y, as in
naught-y ness, the being of nought-cum-naught that plays Puck, or devil’s
advocate – not because He is evil or uncaring – but because in this game – all
players are equal and opposite – so what could be more amusing for God then to
see ones such as ourselves filling his nought with aught-y-ness – playing the
fool as only we humans, apparently, can.
Thwack.
Ow Merry – I was just digressing –
what’s got into you?
Smash. JCB driving over a server
backwards and forwards until nothing remains.
Sorry Zie – had some problems
with, er, the Teuton professor – what’s his name?
It’s Frederick, or Friedrich
perhaps – but he’s an osteopath so you said, from Bavaria, not a professor.
Oh yes, thanks Zie, indeed he is.
Well now he is no more, I’m pleased to announce. I can’t have narrators falling
asleep on the job, trapping us underpaid, undervalued characters in a fate
worse than death…
So, you’ve er… sacked him?
Fired Zie – we’re trying to keep
this as American as possible.
Oh, sorry, fired him?
Well yes, you could say, he won’t
be troubling us any more.
Suddenly the quantum field belches
loudly in Merry’s face. Ewugh!
Not sure we can let that spelling
go Merry – maybe Ew or yuk?
Forget the bloody spelling Trogfum
– never in all my dreams have I smelt anything as toxic or rancid as that
quantum burp.
Er – Merry – who are you talking
to?
Oh sorry Zie. Administrative
issues – the portal’s beloved orthographic department’s been wielding their rod
of steel, as usual.
Did you notice anything odd a
moment ago? It’s just your face turned green and there seemed to be… a kind of
chuckle.
Eureka!
Eureka?
Absolutely Zie – it nearly killed
me but my curse is apparently your blessing. The great Kahuna has spoken and we
can now
Transmission buffering
Bloody internet – I give up.
No, I don’t believe it _
Comments
Dislike. What about the sloth – I
don’t see how it all fits together.
Like comment. Me neither.
Ditto. Bloody sloppy editing if
you ask me.
Like. Agreed. Unprofessional.
Like. Yeah.
Like. Yeah.
Like. Yeah.
Or is it, if things are
Dislike. Finish your comment dude.
Like your dislike. Yeah – no
freakin non-sequiturs in our chat column.
Like your like that dislike – Yeah
– all very well in theory but in practice totally unacceptable.
Like all. Inane booming chuckle.
LOL
??? Guys – did you hear that or
was I…
Thunderbolts and lightning _William Gates, where are you when i needs
you?
0=1
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