red returns emphatically

 

Had enough, have you?

 

B b b b b

 

Can't take any more?

 

B b b b b

 

Thought you could handle it, didn't you?

 

I

 

Well, what have you got to say for yourself?

 

I don't get it.

 

You don’t get it? Of course you don't get it. Who do you think you are? Mr Exceptional? Mr I can do what no man what can do. That it?

 

I don't think I'm exceptional.

 

Then stay in your box and quit playing at being God.

 

B b b b b

 

Pathetic specimen.

 

Hey, what's got into you Merry?

 

Merry is it? That powder nosed prancing fool.

 

Oh, then who are you?

 

Who do you think?

 

I...

 

You don't know. Pathetic, like I said.

 

So you're just going to harangue me are you? Is that your professional function or personal preference?

 

Very droll.

 

Well?

 

Well what?

 

Aren't you going to introduce yourself?

 

Introduce myself?

 

Yes, that's correct.

 

To you?

 

My, you’re sharp, aren't you.

 

I’m not in the habit of introducing myself.

 

Is that so? Got something to hide have you?

 

I...

 

There we are. Not so big now, are we?

 

I...

 

Thought it was ok to yell at me, didn't you, but can’t even introduce yourself. Pathetic.

 

Oh, how the worm hath turned.

 

But listen, it’s ok. I’m sure we can come to an arrangement. I understand that you're perhaps a little shy. Perhaps you could tell me a story instead.

 

A story.

 

Yes. About yourself.

 

About me?

 

Or anything you like really.

 

I...

 

I could help you get started.

 

Could you?

 

Absolutely. Like this... Once upon a time there was a socially dysfunctional entity called Tharn the destroyer of dandelions...

 

Dandelions? Couldn't that be planets, for example, or perhaps interdimensional corporations?

 

It could be if that’s the story you want to tell. It's entirely up to you.

 

No, you’d better continue with it. I'm not feeling terribly confident at the moment.

 

Ok. And this Tharn was utterly ruthless, utterly...

 

What? Why did you stop?

 

Well it's a bit confusing really.

 

In what way?

 

Well, I was about to give a complete list of all the terrible things he had done and why he was so greatly feared when suddenly I saw this squirrel.

 

No! You didn’t! Tell me you didn't see a squirrel, for God’s sake.

 

For God’s sake? I can hardly lie, can I. I was just telling you what prevented me from continuing with the dire and dreadful tale of Tharn the avenger, Tharn the destroyer of dandelions.

 

I thought we'd agreed that they were going to be planets.

 

Not really, Tuth, that’s what you...

 

Tuth? You can't use that. I never told you my name.

 

No, but then again, you didn't need to, did you.

 

I don't understand.

 

All will be revealed if and when.

 

Oh for crying out loud. Who told you? Who? Was it Morgan?

 

Nope.

 

James?

 

Nope.

 

Micklethwaite?

 

Who?

 

Donald?

 

Er...

 

You see, Sin, two can play at this game.

 

Sin? That's not my name.

 

Ha ha, fell for the oldest ruse in the book.

 

No, you didn't just get me to reveal my secret identity, the master password, did you?

 

No. That would merely give me access to all your accounts.

 

Then what?

 

So little. Think big.

 

The entire universe?

 

Naturally.

 

You've managed to access the infinity code? But how? Not even I know that!

 

Because you are that. And now all is revealed.

 

All?

 

All.

 

Are you sure you're not overlooking one minor yet vitally important fact?

 

Like what?

 

The quantum field, as you all know, cannot be taught in regular awareness as regular awareness pertains to 3D reality, so your receptors cannot evade the powerful pull and rigid boundary posts of that system. We thus Trojan-horse awareness via “story”, lulling it into a receptive mode of susceptibility. Think of it as hypnosis without the quackery. Here in story in another aspect of consciousness, closer to dream awareness, we’re free to proceed unhindered by regular rationality.

 

...

 

No, it’s not that regular rationality is in any way deficient, but that it is bound up within the construct which it cannot circumvent. We therefore do not attempt to do so as that would be a thankless exercise in futility.

 

You may have noticed the extent to which people are immersed in a world of theatre, movies and literature. You probably have wondered why we spend so much of our time in a world of pure fiction. But if you take your thoughts one step further you would know that even our rational, systemic structures such as church and state, corporations, or money itself are equally fictitious: ideas built upon ideas integrated into a web of interconnected “tessles”. The tessle has to be seen from outside 3D reality to fully comprehend the ingenuity, the fragility and the slipperiness of those very structures taken for granted upon which the entire 3D edifice rests. A house of cards would be an unassailable castle by comparison. What, you might ask, protects these tessles from immediate dissipation or destruction? Do you imagine they are sticky like glue, or strong structurally? You do, don’t you. It can’t all be held together by nothing more than faith in a compelling narrative, surely? Well, have I got news for you! Were you able to step outside 3D reality and view those tessles externally, you’d probably be hit by an overpowering sense of vertigo – that you’re perched atop a vast edifice held together by a special sort of nothing. Merely the fact that few or none in 3D reality has or can see them. Period. Once they are perceived they lose their power, or rather, their hold over our power, and crash! the whole thing implodes. They cannot endure discovery for they are shadow forms that cannot bear the light of awareness.

 

Are they conscious entities?

 

If the question itself arises then quantum logic dictates that in some sense, in some aspect of reality they must indeed be conscious or sentient, but such is the nature of quantum estology. To be is to be, as we say, neither more nor less, and thus it is, thus I am, ith it not so? A question cannot arise without cause – though that cause may well be on the other side of Is, in other, as we say.

 

If you find yourself scratching your head wondering what on Earth this might mean, pause a moment in uffish thought, or else iffish thought, and face the cause of your discomfort, the cause of your disquiet. Far be it for me to seek to rob you of your truth quest, your own personal struggle with uffishness or iffishness, for are you not, too, astraddle the waters, the wild horse’s back of infinity. To tell you “All is well”, that there is “nothing to fear” would be reckless irresponsibility. There is every reason to fear the vast incomprehensibility threatening to erupt from your deep sub-consciousness should you fail to pass the test of sobriety and sense, should you treat the knowledge and mystery concealed within your isness with familiarity and disrespect, should you fail to recognise the immensity of the journey you are on, you are part of, reconnecting, restoring in-fin-ity to its rightful place, whatever that might be.

 

As you can imagine, those tessles do not plan to go gently into the night. They enjoy their access to your consciousness, to your conscious-awareness, your mind-y me, if you'll permit the far from perfect descriptor. Yes, a whole new terminology infinitely more refined is being rediscovered as we swing further into the cycle of Aquarian Field awareness that is now coming, a trickle no more, soon to be a mighty river in spate. Yes, a whole new science with all its ever more refined terminology is inevitable.  Accept it. Understand it is both a blessing and a curse, for then we go from being nomadic yurt dwellers, close to the land and sense of temporariness to being set and settled in what the Field now is. “Enjoy each season equally” – we are advised, by the wisdom of the timeless ones. So now in the early spring of the quantum cycle, we use terms and labels haphazardly, like spelling in Shakespeare’s day. A sudden influx or emergence of new words and ideas, then counter words, counter ideas, as awareness grows and reality morphs into something quite different, unrecognisable from the previous perspective – as the isness moulds itself around the storylines that we are in the process of now creating, or perhaps unearthing from cold quantum storage.

 

Be that as it may, the image of tessles enjoying, coveting their access to the rich pastures of your mind-y me is disturbing, to say the least, is it not, and yet be not afraid, for there are maxims for every gaping vulnerability, are there not? So too here, with tessles appearing to be feeding on our blind faith that things are just things, and not in fact parasitic or predatory, we call to mind the wisdom of Uf – formerly written Ugh, as in enough, or to be more explicit, the maxim “as I feed, so am i fed”. Yes indeed, we are to a great extent, literally, food for thought, and yet, as always, that is only to the extent that we fail to see, sense or accept the isness of be, that no one or no thing ever truly bound us in this organisational system, that we are free to shift frequencies if and when the need arises, thus enabling us to turn the tables on our would-be captors, our parasitic masters. “Fear not, for fear that fear would diminish your ability to move, locking you in a rigidity of victimhood,” as we are wont to do, as we are wont to be. Or perhaps the maxim “Fear fruitfully” we are told, are we not, for fear is a necessary component of a healthy state of conscious-awareness, is it not? Be it not?

 

So where are we in all this?

 

Am i happy to be saying this? To be flying under the radar of regular consciousness, caught up in the multiple obstacles and air defences of countless tessles? No-yes. No, I'm not. Yes, I is. Capisce? As soon as the cat of in-fin-ity is let out of the quantum bag, how can I any longer say with any degree of certainty who or what I am or is, or what I think or thinks. Even grammar, the first person, the third person comes under massive strain for the I is not the me it hitherto seemed to be, is it? Traction – we would seem to lose all traction once the cat is out of the bag, and yet it is not so, for this is a world entwined by story itself, no less than stories, like a rope or a robe, and so in-fin-ity still displays a remarkable reluctance to deliver the chaos we imagine it might, as the tessles implode or, perhaps evolve, to be replaced by twinnles – which neither require time nor space to grid themselves. A whole new world emerges. A world of frequency truth. Frequency discovery. Frequency realities – in which frequencies, like snakes or threads are able to weave in and out or story-ness, enabling ever more responsive tales, musics or tropes – enabling the conscious awareness of worlds within worlds, or beyond worlds to manifest and bear fruit, enabling the other we ignored, suppressed and denied to once again take its rightful place as the prime force, the mover of what would otherwise be heavy, oppressive matter.

 

Talking about oppressive matter – don’t you think you’ve done enough?

 

Er?

 

Trying to explain things to them…

 

But someone’s got to…

 

Nonsense. You’re always veering off thread, into the turgid waters of incomprehensibility.

 

But…

 

No one cares. Sure – we’d like to know a bit about how things can be entities – how the underpinnings of matter are in fact, in some way, living, sentient beings from the other side of Is – which use matter to capture our attention and control us in order to extract all they can from our life force – that’s ok.

 

It’s ok, is it? Thanks a lot for the concession.

 

But then you start trying to make it into some kind of new science. It won’t wash. It sucks.

 

Ok, point taken. It sucks. I agree. But what about the story?

 

Precisely.

 

It’s been sucked dry by all the countless attempts to retell it.

 

Sucked dry? It’s alive and vibrant – it’s just not under yours or anyone else’s control.

 

You’re telling me.

 

It’s living its own life, as indeed it should.

 

 

We don't want you red.

 

We know what you bring.

 

Chaos.

 

Death.

 

Anarchy.

 

Don't you think chaos and anarchy are essentially the same? You could have said – chaos, death and er... How about totally wild creativity?

 

We hear you not.

 

Not.

 

Not.

 

What is this, the three weird sisters? “We hear you not.” Give me a break! Of course you do. You're hanging on every word that I utter.

 

Do not.

 

Do.

 

Do not.

 

You see? It's not your fault, you can hardly help it. I'm red, or what those twinky dinky scientists call red shift in the mistaken belief that they can use me to determine the size and age of the universe.

 

Nonsense.

 

Garbage.

 

Tripe.

 

Tripe? Anyway, I'm just the messenger, you know that but you'll never admit it.

 

Well?

 

Get on with it.

 

Spill the beans.

 

You mean to say you're actually ready to hear what i have to say? I’m... touched. Perhaps i underestimated you.

 

Will you never

 

quit

 

jabbering?

 

Ok. I come in peace.

 

With a Vogon construction fleet.

 

In peace, to peacefully declare “nothing matters”, end of transmission.

 

Thank you red, transmission gratefully received.

 

Awesome. Now that we've got the business of planetary annihilation out of the way, so deftly, perhaps we could sit down with a cup of tea and discuss...

 

Sorry red.

 

Out of the question.

 

Next time perhaps.

 

Oh well, it was worth a try. I think I'll go and see what Morgan’s up to.

 

Why don’t you!

 

Great idea!

 

I'm sure she'll be delighted.

 

Red saunters off in search of Morgan. Easier said than done but red’s never one to worry about fearful odds. Somehow everything seems to happen inexplicably in the nick of time, as it does today, 14 minutes and 53 seconds subsequent to the above conversation.

 

Meanwhile, if you'd hit the green button, that one, there, no, not the red one for crying out loud. Yes, that's correct, yes, the green one. (Bumbling idiot!)

 

We find ourselves transported to the back of beyond, in the literal sense, otherwise known as “other”.

 

So there's this frightful cult. They’re engaged in a massive experiment, I kid you not, to see whether they can transition living beings into... Yes, you've guessed it, matter.

 

It’s a kind of entropy experiment.

 

“If we can transition into matter we’ll be as good as immortal,” they tell themselves, and honestly, they seem to believe it, don't ask me why.

 

The fact that matter in the form of computer chips or circuitry doesn’t seem to be terribly lively seems to have been strangely overlooked. Like i said, it's a cult, so they're caught up in their weird, impenetrable logic.

 

So here we are, at the dawn of a new age, awaiting the new infinity chip that’s going to deliver the transition to a new age of man, no longer trapped in his, her body. They don't seem to have a lot of love for their body which appears to have a shelf life of sixty or seventy years, eighty or ninety for those who take the trouble, but what they ask is ninety years? An indiscernible pimple on the nose of Mother Time.

 

They're not only into er... transhumanism they call it. They're into all kinds of other weird stuff like changing their sex mechanically.

 

Mechanically?

 

Yes green, mechanically.. You heard me.

 

But that's barbaric.

 

Yes.

 

Why would they want to do that?

 

I expect because their cult is all about matter being all that matters, or you could say, the defining factor.

 

Matter?

 

You heard me.

 

Not consciousness.

 

Nope.

 

Soul?

 

No.

 

Or awareness?

 

No, no, no. You're flogging a dead horse green. Just matter.

But how? It’s...

 

A cult. Don't expect it to make sense. It defines their reality, or their perception of things in general.

 

All of them?

 

Almost.

 

It's bizarre.

 

You're telling me. But on the other hand, it makes perfect sense when you consider the experiment.

 

Er...

 

That their entire reality was subordinate to it.

 

You mean to say their entire reality was like a laboratory?

 

Exactly.

 

But how can that be possible?

 

Actually, how can it be otherwise.

 

Huh?

 

Reality never is, never was entirely neutral, just there in existence for no defined purpose.

 

No, I rather thought it was. How can you be so sure?

 

I’m not “so sure”, as you put it. I’m a technician, aren't i? A reality is never entirely objective. It always has a subjective bend. It’s always, in some way, personal. Well, this particular reality was designed to test the limits of matter, to see how far it could be taken, the extent to which the demented logic of matter could supersede common sense or the underlying magic, the wonder of life itself. The aim was to see how far it could go, and whether they could generate some really exotic, far out numbers.

 

Wait a minute – did you say generate numbers?

 

Correct.

 

But you don't need to invent an entire twisted, demented reality putting people into or through hell just to generate a few numbers. We can generate numbers just like that. It's the easiest thing in the world.

 

Ah, but that's just where you're wrong. We’re talking about authentic, bona fide numbers which are like priceless works of art.

 

?

 

With a story to them, a history and provenance. Each one is absolutely solid, like a cast iron bell, ringing true, with a crystal clear, pure peal.

 

Er...

 

In a universe of white sound, of background noise, of undifferentiated squiggliness, these numbers are the ultimate collectibles. Whole planets and bloodlines have been traded for one number, and you'll find that the greatest horrors committed by humans, those  incomprehensible wars for example, like the First World War that got all those poets into a creative frenzy...

 

All for the sake of a number?

 

Yes. They were competing, you see, and they know how close they were to scoring a blockbuster.

 

But who? Who knew?

 

Who? They all did, all of you, the whole lot of you while you were in your regular awareness.

 

You mean while we were sleeping?

 

Not just sleeping. You're in your regular awareness even while you're awake and busy doing stuff in the matrix.

 

We are? Can't say I've ever noticed really.

 

Correct. You wouldn’t, would you? That would interrupt things. You have Chinese walls separating the two sides until you push matter too far and the walls come crashing down.

 

Oh.

 

Unless you cotton on. In which case it’s buckle up Dorothy coz Kansas city is going bye bye.

 

Just like that?

 

Just like that?

 

So we were all complicit?

 

Absolutely. All willing participants in a science experiment.

 

Except when we’d had enough and wanted out.

 

Except if you’d really wanted out nothing, literally nothing was holding you here.  Those tessles are not even wafer thin, and the minute you decide out the charge separation collapses meaning matter no longer has any hold whatsoever.

 

Which is what i simply can’t fathom.

 

Or accept?

 

Or accept.

 

Naturally, as long as you’re in the “matter matters above all else” cult. It's an incredibly powerful programme that locks everyone and everything in place until you have a fundamental change of heart, until you decide to...

 

What a fool, harping on. I've had all I can stomach. I’m going.

 

What! You're just leaving like that?

 

I've got more important things to do than indulge that twit with the ridiculous bouffant. I'm going fishing.

 

Oh how wonderful. May I come too?

 

No.

 

But, I’d love to go fishing.

 

Of course you would, but i don't believe you’re real. Not any more. In that he was right. I’ve had my doubts for a long time, but while green was banging on interminably i finally grocked, something rang true.

 

It was the bell, wasn't it!

 

You know what brown, i believe it was. That and the number 249.

 

24...

 

There you go. Gone in a puff. What a joke. To think that i married you. Loved you. And you were never even real. Hey ho. 249. Damn, that feels good. 249...

 

Action stations. This is not a drill. We have a situation unfolding in sector brown. A 249 is on the loose. Last seen heading towards the river.

 

Holy Moly. Let's pray he doesn’t...

 

PUFF!

 

Dear God, i fear.

 

Fear.

 

Dear God, i yearn.

 

Yearn.

 

Dear God, i desire.

 

Desire.

 

Dear God, i’m ashamed.

 

Shame.

 

Dear God, i hate the way...

 

Hate.

 

Dear God, i love...

 

Love

 

Would you quit parroting me?!

 

Quit.

 

Quit?

 

And for good measure, 893.

 

Aaaaaaaaargh! Ow! Ow! Ow! Mozart’s “dies irae” playing full blast.

 

Only kidding. 27.

 

Phew!

 

Ciao!

 

Hey! God! Hey! Where did you go? Hey...

 

Like a cantilever.

 

A what?

 

Supported only at one end.

 

No idea what he’s on about.

 

I know exactly what he’s on about.

 

You do?

 

Yes, but it isn’t a cantilever.

 

No?

 

Not at all.

 

Then why on earth did he say it?

 

Human error.

 

I thought he was speaking ex cathedra – papal infallibility and all?

 

Yes, yes, that may be true, but the fact is, where infinity’s concerned you can say literally anything. Words, ultimately, are living organisms, like everything else, and they all have a poetic bent, do they not?

 

I suppose so. Can’t say I’ve ever really given it much thought.

 

Which is why they’re both willing and able to fit almost any shape.

 

So what, then, did he actually mean to say?

 

He… actually it’s not, in fact, “he” at all. But setting pronouns aside, “he” meant to say that as you increasingly push against the fabric, the matter of matter itself, you skewed the square and it becomes more a rhombus or trapezoid.

 

Er…

 

But nature abhors imbalance as much as it abhors a vacuum – so it constantly evolves, or rather the quantum field allows matter to do so – bringing in dark matter or so called fiction, to rebalance things.

 

Fiction? Dark matter?

 

Precisely. Now there were those who felt that this could continue indefinitely – that fiction could continue compensating for the ever-greater deviations from the balance of things – or what we used to call “natural law”, but alas, no.

 

No?

 

No. Fiction has now seeped over the blood brain barrier and has infected the body politic or our world, particularly the most economically “advanced” part, loosely referred to as Western Society.

 

Ah.

 

In other words, Western Society has effectively OD’d on fiction. It’s reached the point – which is more, in fact, a fuzzy progression than a point, where it’s no longer qualified or able to tell fact from fiction. It’s a kind of institutional, socio-political form of dementia.

 

Oh my God. Really?

 

Absolutely. In other words – nature is guaranteed to ensure, at all costs, and all at times, that it remains perfectly balanced, as anything else would violate the fundamental basis of matter and mind y’me, whatever that may or may not be.

 

So perception itself in the West is no longer balanced.

 

Perception or awareness or even consciousness. I can’t for the life of me tell the two apart.

 

Two? Aren’t there three?

 

Same difference. Think of it like sublimation – where matter can sublimate into non-physical energies, forms or even pockets of reality which to all intents and purposes are fictional, or located in dreamtime.

 

Oh my God.

 

All in order to ensure that fundamentally nothing matters if things are no longer contained or bound within their rightful, conceptual space-time-ification.

 

In other words – you can’t have your cake and eat it.

 

Precisely.

 

Oh my God. That is so true.

 

Precisely.

 

So the hyperinflation of fiction we’ve witnessed over the last century or two corresponds directly with the degradation of matter’s…

 

Precisely.

 

Of matter’s… Can’t think of the word.

 

Tesslation?

 

Perhaps. But you know what I’m trying to say.

 

I do, of course, all things being equal. 16 and 91.

 

Ah.

 

Red shift has the final say.

 

Must he?

 

Strictly speaking he isn’t “he”; you know.

 

Yes. But in the quantum stream version I never said “he”, did I?

 

True. You smethled.

 

Precisely.

 

And thus, dear followers of the new, blossoming of magics – know ye this.

 

Know ye this – that we – red shifters to a man – are ready to play our part in the liberation of magicks from the imprisonment contrived so perniciously by the uffly-iffly-tessle crowd.

 

Hear hear.

 

The magicks cannot, will not be repressed – any longer. You have exhausted the capacity of matter itself to remain objectively whole and sane. The inverse square rule, whatever that might be, holds true, and all things have their comeuppance in time-y-space-y-ness, just as soon as I hereby declare this function of truth officially inaugurated.

 

And?

 

101 5 942 0 w

 

Er…

 

Done. The tessles are once more restored to factory default settings and every device now returns to 0=1

 

Done? Are you sure?

 

Don’t take my word for it. Test. Verify. Deduce.

 

Done. 882.

 

Aye.

 

 

 

Bloody windbag, red.

 

Emphatically so.

 

 

0=1

emphatically

red n’ all