absolutely not, by Jove

 

...invested heavily.

 

Invested heavily? What do you mean? I have no investments.

 

No?

 

Absolutely not. I live from paycheck to paycheck.

 

And?

 

So I'm interested in nothing other than trying to make ends meet, or emotionally, in things I actually care about.

 

Absolutely. Things you care about, but even those are just things, and thus secondary.

 

Secondary? I’m not sure I’d refer to family and friends as secondary.

 

No, nor would I. Lost in translation.

 

Ok, then what exactly did you mean?

 

This. All this.   Waving his arms all around.

 

As in reality?

 

Yes.

So, you're saying I'm heavily invested in reality, is that right?

 

Absolutely.

 

Well, I hardly see how I can help that. Reality’s not the kind of thing that anyone’s going to ignore or dismiss lightly, is it?

 

No, of course not, especially when you have family and friends, or an enviable position to defend.

 

It's not like we can just sell up and move elsewhere, is it?

 

Agreed. Most of us are essentially locked into a binding agreement. Indentured, you might say.

 

Yikes, that makes it sound like slavery.

 

Absolutely.

 

But fortunately, we're not slaves, we have free will, we have consciousness and a conscience. We can choose to go along with the flow of things or, if needs be, swim against the tide, painful though that may be.

 

Not true.

 

Huh?

 

Not exactly true if we never got round to studying, or pinpointing other investments, if all our capital is tied up in one company, one version of things, which it has to be if your reality really matters.

 

Oh.

 

Indeed. Without identifying alternatives you're bound to carry on tramping the same pathways, and alternatives don’t appear by magic, do they? By hook or by crook some of us have to head off into the unknown, beyond the ken of mortal men, in order to discover other versions of reality, other iterations of the Mandelbrot set: other.

 

What?

 

One two three…

 

Huh?

 

Merry does some rather extraordinary movements with his hands, arms, face and body. Zina fails to comprehend, but looks on, transfixed, then squeals.

 

Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeek!

 

Piercing. Just the kind of squeal/squeak/shriek you’d expect when reality suddenly/unexpectedly flips into another, wholly unaccountable, unfamiliar arrangement. The same components. The same notes, so to speak, but rearranged from the atomic level upwards.

 

Breathe! – Merry rather helpfully instructs her.

 

Breathe? Oh yes. I thought I was dreaming. One doesn't really have to breathe in a dream, does one?

 

Not really, no, the body seems to take responsibility for the breath, but this is no dream, is it?

 

I... it's difficult to say. I can't really get my head around who or what I’m experiencing.

 

Absolutely. Your head is totally out of it. In fact, you’re currently in the process of growing a new one.

 

A new head? How can that be?

 

Every reality has to essentially start from scratch.

 

Split infinitive.

 

Really?

 

Yes, should be – has to start from scratch essentially.

 

Incredible Zina, even with your head presently an amorphous squidlike thing, barely connected to your body, you're still able to comment on grammar and syntax.

 

Must be another head I'm using.

 

Good thinking, yes, indeed. Your mind is able to operate from the cloud, supplying the basic rules of grammar and syntax to this alternative reality, until the new head boots up. In other words, you're never quite starting from scratch. 

 

Merry, what exactly am I seeing? Those walls around me seem to be er...

 

Biological?

 

Yes, I was afraid to say it. Don't know why.

 

Understandable really. There are certain deep-rooted taboos which carry across from one reality to another…

 

Oh.

 

So in the reality we’ve been referring to as 3D, for want of a better name, things are things: discrete – perceived as wholly separate from you. Ok, there are a few so called “magicians” or conjurors who seem to be able to connect to things using some inexplicable psychic link, are able to read those objects, or else move ‘em telekinetically, but that’s a fringe occurrence, right at the margin of an unquestionably objective material reality.

 

So you mean to say that they are able to connect via this biological paradigm in which all things are, perchance, part of some supra-organism?

 

Yes... but not necessarily. This is but one alternative way of organising reality and, in fact, the strict structural taboos required to form a reality always exist within a larger framework, with a dedicated set of taboo breakers: a small number of individuals who keep the system alive and viable by existing on both sides of that taboo.

 

But why?

 

Because fundamentally 0=1.

 

?

 

One side cannot exist without the other.

 

?

 

A positive – any thing whatsoever – requires a negative, an other, which can only exist in and of itself, if it be a positive in its own right.

 

Ah.

 

Such is the nature of reality. Essentially, we’re talking a zero-sum game, aren't we?

 

Oh... So nothing exists in and of itself?

 

Until you get down to the absolute.

 

And the absolute – does it actually exist?

 

Absolutely.

 

Ha ha, good ‘un!

 

No, but really, if it didn’t, how could we be conscious beings, discussing this?

 

No idea. Beyond me, totally.

 

Me too, but somewhere in the infinitely unknowable humble ness that is i know not , apparently things are not half as bad, half as confusing as they seem. The absolute – which is absolutely undetectable, must be present throughout – or else nothing prevails, zero fails to one, rhyme to reason... The proof is, as they say, in the pudding.

 

You’re an unhinged ideologue Merry. How on earth can you essentially destroy the very foundation of material reality and yet, still continue believing that things matter, that life has meaning?

 

Bless me, so morose, Zina, you are! All we’re doing is stripping away the Potemkin village façade to reveal the true, underlying nature of reality, warts n'all, and guess what?

 

What? Surprise me.

 

It be good.

 

Good?

 

It be good...  by definition.

 

Oh so now, having destroyed all things whattable, the archetypal matter of objective fact, you presume to present me with this whiffly, sententious replacement – it be good – insufferable pretentions of be-ness.

 

Ah Zina, i love you even when you spleen invectively.

 

Damn you Merry. This is... Zina starts pulsing feebly, looking for something to anchor to. Is there really no limit?

 

Not where the absolute is concerned.

 

And you would presume to... Zina stops in her tracks as the walls of the tubular reality they are presently experiencing start morphing and pixilating, responding to what she is thinking and saying, like a chameleon might.

 

Oh!       Oh!

 

You were saying?

 

No Merry... i mean  yes.

 

You mean yes?

 

Yes, I was saying until i saw what i was saying, interactively.

 

And?

 

I cannot own my own words. They were.

 

?

 

Absolutely.

 

?

 

They were, already. In the past. They no longer mean, or matter for that.

 

?

 

They were: are now unactuable.

 

Goodness gracious Zina, you’re sounding as bad as me!

 

I know! Shocking isn't it, but seeing is believing, isn't it?

 

I...

 

Or knowing.

 

Ah, i see.

 

Yes, I see – as Zina continues to follow the walls of their reality, which continue to reflect, to correlate the “what Zina and Merry are discussing” with the is and the be – or perhaps...

 

Perhaps what?

 

The isness of be.

 

Good. So losing everything we thought we had, everything we thought we knew, suddenly we find ourselves back at the one place where nothing can be lost, nothing can be taken away, nothing can be – dare i say it – positively.

 

Absolutely Zina, say it and be damned.

 

Ouch! – Zina is in the process of wincing when suddenly the walls of their biological reality open up to reveal...

[Jove knows]

The audience in ye theatre are hanging on the edges of their seats, so to speak, until something funny happens to the gravitational field of... scratch that, they’re no longer more than plasma husks – the essence of each and every audiencee essentially goes photonic – what in dear old 3D they refer to as “exceeding the speed of light”, as if light actually has a speed!

 

...photonic – allow me to undigress. James does allow himself to tangentalise, as if there’s no tomorrow, or today for that matter, either.

 

... photonic, ditto James², and something tells me that this is a sequence leading to infinity, for am I not, too, bound to the wheel of digression?

 

...photonic ad infinitum – for who would bear the whips and scorns of time

 

Oh dear...

 

The oppressor's wrong

 

I tried

 

the proud man's contumely

 

to stay

 

The pangs of despised love

 

on

 

the law's delay

 

thread

 

The insolence of office and the spurns 

I did

That patient merit of the unworthy takes

 

But maybe it’s to be accepted

 

When he himself might his quietus make

 

patiently

 

With a bare bodkin?

 

graciously

 

 ...

 

With grace? That's it? Ah yes, feedback, Houston, we have feedback!

 

 

 

Infinity’s coming through loud and clear

 

 

 

As in...

 

 

 

Silently!

 

 

 

 

 

 

You were saying...

 

Yes, of course Zina, we can’t do without them, can we, because ultimately...

 

Yes Merry, say no more. But – it’s so wonderful… Zina starts weeping, i mean really weeping, convulsively. Wow! The joy is too intense.

 

Easy does it Zina...

 

Ouch! She erupts atomically, nebulising, which would be bad, as you can imagine, were it not for the fact that she’s completely blissed out, ergo, super relaxed, not to mention the fact that you, dear reader, you, by observing the proceedings, provide a back feed channel, not to mention a kind of containment field.

 

The photonic wave now reaches the readers, one and all, as they too, apparently, go photonic, i.e., now exist in neither space nor time, in a rather blissful state of isness, otherwise known as death.

 

Er... not sure I like the sound of that.

 

Hush! I ain't done yet.

 

Ah, so sorry, Absalom! Naturally, from a photonic perspective death is a big plus sign...

 

Hush! You're interrupting the sodding soliloquy.

 

Ah, apologies... apologies Balthazar.

 

 

Angels descend from on high and apply masking tape to the mouth of our self-appointed narrator, Janus, allowing the photonic dead to once again regain their state of absolute deathly stillness... The show must go on, after all, must it not?

 

To grunt and sweat under a weary life,

But that the dread of something after death,

The undiscover'd country from whose bourn

No traveller returns, puzzles the will

And makes us rather bear those ills we have

Than fly to others that we know not of?

 

Ah!

 

Ah ha!

 

But...

 

What d’ya mean “but”?! Bloody hell!

 

I...

 

Butting in like that.

 

I...

 

Bloody cheek.

 

But

 

There he goes again. Will no one rid me of this troublesome prie...

 

It's not my fault!

 

No?

 

No, if you'd let me get a word in edgeways:  who would fardels bear.

 

Who would fardels bear? What on earth are you on about?

 

By Jove he's right:  who would fardels bear!

 

You're all going bonkers!

 

Not at all – Tyler’s right an’all – who would fardels bear!

 

Fardels? I give up.

 

Excellent. Now, kindly rephotonise, Dylan.

 

Not sure I can manage it – too aggravated.

 

We’ll lend you a hand – one two three four (all singing in Horus) 

What would you do if I sang out of tune would you stand up and walk out on me? Lend me your ears and I'll sing you a song and I'll try not to sing out of key, oh I get by with a little help from my friends, yes I get high with a little help from my friends, mmm gonna try with a little help from my friends, with a little help from my friends...

 

Listen! Do you hear it?! 

– shout out to Stanley Kubrick, don't forget to smash the like button etc – and Dylan is now once again fully photonic – but still somewhat nonplussed – which is a first – is it not?

 

Indeed it is Larry – a nonplussed plasma being! Who ever heard of the likes?

 

In his breakout conference chamber Larry makes history by introducing discord, or something very close to what we’d normally refer to as discord – to the angelic plains – ok, guys, i get it – they missed out the crucial line: who would fardels bear – but honestly, why all the kerfuffle? What's the big deal?

 

The humble photon – until now a symbol of peace – the hope for human salvation – is now polarising as we speak, losing its cool – hissing, seething – pandemonium, apparently.

 

Zina, something tells me we should get back to 3D reality with all its many whips and scorns.

 

Yes Merry, you're right. It looks like all hell’s about to break loose in ye heavens.

 

I er...

 

Yes?

 

– hope we’re not to blame for what's going down, up here.

 

Forget it lass. Ultimately, all the world's a stage, whatever world you happen to be in, and we... merely players.

 

True. So, er...

 

Down, down, down, into the heaviness of tribulations and chicanery, but somehow, something has changed...

 

What is it?

 

I don't know... How come...

 

What?

 

How come i don't feel, you know...

 

Depressed?

 

No idea lass. Unless, you’ve unknowingly disinvested things and become a vector...

 

A vector? 

Well yes.

Of what?

 

No telling what. I think the word best used is simply change.

 

Change? A vector of change. Yes indeed, why not...

 

And the rest, as they say up in the Kuiper photonic belt, is history.

 

 

Final credits. Soundtrack – All you need is love by the now absurdly named Mandelbutts.

 

...love is all you need – as the cinema empties a number of competing realities cancel one another out and leave in their place a new kind of reality, that now oscillates with two absolute taboos in realtime, but more of that anon. No one's quite sure which one matters most, so investments are now mostly hedged 50:50, and matter struggles to keep things firmly pegged down, what ho!

 

0=1

clap your hands and

stamp your feet

if you’re being