What do you mean “ended”?!
What does the word ended mean?
No, what do you mean?!
Me?
You!
Er…
You can’t just inanely assert that the world has ended. What
kind of insufferable presumptuousness is that?
I…
You think you can just claim to determine what is and what
is not real?
I…
That this is all just your personal dream? A figment of your
wonderful, oh so all-encompassing imagination?!
I…
That we amount to nought unless you should permit the
possibility that perhaps, just perhaps, reality is more than an extension of
your subjectivity?
I…
Well, what have you got to say for yourself?
I…
Get on with it. Speak or for ever hold your peace.
I…
Everyone knows how you like to hide behind your humble
little “I dare not defend myself”, “I dare not speak out”, “I’m going to use
the I dot dot dot defence – the right to twist the world around my little intellectual
finger, and then let it dangle passive aggressively for an eternity while the collective
mind of humanity, the collective psyche is utterly crushed by your heartless,
callous insinuations.” That’s the plan, isn’t it.
I…
Come, come Malcolm – you can do better than that.
You’re right McDuff, I can, but you know what?
Oh no, not the rhetorical question. Please tell me you ain’t
gonna resort to the rhetorical question, of all the infamous rhetorical devices
in your fearsome arsenal…
Ha, I… and Malcolm calls McDuff’s bluff
with a brazen display of utterly unbeatable insouciance. He allows his “I” to
expand from the little me of little me-ness, into the cosmic ego of Allness and
One and I-know-not-what – in other words – he utterly shifts the goalposts leaving
McDuff “stranded at the driveway, branded a fool, what will they say, Monday at
school…” if you know what I mean.
Is that Dies Irae playing in the
background?
Er – could be.
Or Carmina Burana?
That too…
Wait a minute – you’re supposed
to be the expert.
I know. Rather disturbing, isn’t
it. Green sector out.
Wagner. Valkyries?
Look – honestly – who cares. We’ve
all got the message. It’s one of those terribly dramatic pieces of music. Ok?
Can we move on, please?
Yes, yes, of course – but still –
it’s a bit strange, isn’t it – that green sector isn’t able to determine the
actual music playing in the background.
Don’t you start.
Huh?
You’re beginning to sound like
that twerp Malcolm.
I never said the world’s ended,
Ok.
You don’t need to, do you. If we’re
not able to determine what’s playing in the background then that says it all,
doesn’t it.
Er…
Slam dunker.
I beg your pardon.
Clear as day.
The reality platform is
evidently down for maintenance.
Ok – it’s just a maintenance job,
isn’t it?
Pchaw!
You can’t seriously mean to say
that maintenance downtime is equal to the world ending?!
It really doesn’t matter what I
say or think, does it. If reality is no longer operational as a platform – at a
system level – then what have we got?
Er…
Precisely.
Er…
That too – lots of it.
Er…
Keep it coming. The cat is out
of the bag – other is on the prowl.
But…
But what?
Things still look normal enough.
Inertia etc. Things are going to
look normal until the Titanic keels over and everyone’s in the water.
Or a lifeboat.
A little, teeny, piddly shrimp
of a lifeboat. Give me a break.
And then what?
And then you get to see the
nature of the beast.
Er…
You get to see the underbelly of
reality.
I do?
You, me, whoever, whatever…
And?
And what it takes to work through
all the internal contradictions, all the caveats and inconsistencies that have
built up over the years to heave reality over the precipice.
Yikes.
Instead of cutting her a little
slack.
Her?
Giving her a little freedom to
play and frolic while your left hemisphere tried desperately to process
everything mathematically
Mathe…
Geometrically
Geome…
Inductively
Induc…
All it required was a little, bare
modicum of respect for the other side of things – the wild side of is.
The what?
You heard… but oh no – you had
to have it all pat – all neatly coiffed, manicured, tailored… leaving no stone
unturned… No rough edges… And now… It’s heave ho, back into the bottomless
abyss we all go – splish splash – may as well make the most of things and do
our best to rekindle, rediscover the old joie de vivre.
Joie de vivre? I thought you
said the Titanic was going down?
Well yes, but what if, believe
it or not, we’re basically all creatures of that side too – the wild and curly
frizzy hair side of things – which can’t be plaited and straightened into a
neat coif?
Honestly, I don’t know. I…
Yes, Malcolm… I see what you mean.
You do? Then come, join me.
I…
Join me, I said.
I…
Fear – what is fear?
I be sorely afraid.
Good – then let your fear spread its wings and carry you out
of the ratskin you have been inhabiting, psychologically. Come. We fly.
We regret to inform you that this
show has been interrupted by the untimely cessation of reality. Please be sure
to tune back in, should the reality services platform be restored at anytime in
the – whatever.
Nail gripping stiff Joy – what a
show. What a show. Hey?
Bloody what, Chad, you’re
telling me, you’re telling me. I haven’t breathed for half an hour at least.
Me too. At least an hour.
An hour and a half.
What time is it, anyway?
OmG – you’re not to going to believe
this…
No!! You don’t mean to say…
As our two intrepid heroes look at
the face of time – the chronosphere reveals that time has ceased, neither tick
nor tock remains to be heard – utter stillness – and they feel it in their hearts,
and they feel it in their bones, and they feel it in an ickly tickly little
place which is the sense of time in motion – which we all seem to take for
granted, conveniently ignoring, like all those other little senses apart from
the five they talk about in school…
Do we have to go into that now?
I don’t see why not. It is pertinent
to the fact that reality is a rather more involved affair than we were choosing
to recognise.
Yes, but the drama – you’re supposed
to be hidden from sight. Now the punters can see the stage technicians. They
can hear all our dirty little remarks.
Ah – but they’ll remember none of
it. They’re all basically out of it.
Sorry –
to interrupt – just – I was wodering…
Shut up orange. You’re not welcome
on this editorial platform.
An angle
descends proclaiming – “blessed are the meek” and “first shall be last” or did I
get that back to front?
But I was
wondering about those other senses. I’m fascinated by what you had to say,
until the dialogue got lost in digression.
No one cares about you, orange. Bloody
Krishna dude.
Orange –
I care about you – and let me commend your meekness.
Oh wow – is
that the Orange Above Allness speaking?
Kind of.
Listen – heads-up – sense of time, sense of space and direction, sense of
motions and various levels of areas of awareness… and we’re just scratching the
surface.
But are
you the all-High Lord of Orangeness.
Does it
matter? I thought you wanted to get the info…
But I’m
lost in wonder and reverence. You’re speaking to me from the ultimate centre of
orangeness, are you not?
Honestly,
I give up. You try to do someone a favour and they get all wobbly.
You’re
coming from the All and One – the voice of God has revealed the extra senses to
me…
Sigh –
and you were doing so well. I give up.
The end
What do you mean the end? We haven’t even dealt with the central
issue of…
0=1
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