identifying alf

 So you've been busy writing “poetry”, ‘ave you?

 

Yes... i mean... no. Ambivalency and all.

 

Quelle surprise!

 

Words, what ho! Fiddly little buggers, aren’t they?

 

I should say!... i mean no.

 

What ho, Marianne, join the club.

 

Marianne?!

 

Moving with the times, Alf, moving with the times.

 

Oh, yes, what ho! Didn't mean to be a bigoted misogynist, you know. Didn’t mean to deny my inner female.

 

Didn’t mean to...? Didn't really think, did we?

 

I...

 

A typical male chauvinist, with a hyper-inflated sense of entitlement. Just think how many poor female persons have been traumatized by your unwillingness to accept your inner female. Let that sink in. A moment’s thought, a moment’s remorse and perhaps penitence.

 

Oh, I say Daphne, I’m heartily ashamed.

 

Well, now that we've dealt with your latest episode of passive aggressive, practically antisemitic hate we can deal with the ticklish question of poetry.

 

Wait a second, Daphne...

 

It's not Daphne, Marianne. That was then. I've moved on.

 

You have? I’m er... well good for you. What’s your new identity, if you don't mind me asking?

 

Door.

 

I beg your pardon!?

 

Door. No need to gawp. A little sensitivity please.

 

You identify as a door?

 Correct. You have a problem with that?

 

No, no, of course not. It's wonderful, in fact… wonderful.

 

You think so?

 

Absolutely. Doors are massively underrepresented and obviously massively discriminated against, second only to doormats in fact.

 

Tell me about it Marianne. I struggled hard with the possibility of taking on the truly heroic door mat identity, but sadly i realised, in the end, i don't have it in me. Don't get me wrong, I’d give my all, 100 percent, to defend the long-suffering door mat, but as for adopting the identity itself – no, i can’t. I'm not ready.

 

Well i think you've been terribly brave to come out as a door, Door. I mean, just think of all the discrimination you’re going to face. It's going to be painful, to say the least, and lonely.

 

I know, but is not about comfort or social recognition, is it?

 

No, absolutely not. So, what pronouns have you chosen, Door?

 

It was more complicated than you might at first suspect.

 

Really? Tell me about it.

 

At first I was resigned to “it”. It seemed clear cut, but then i had the dawning realisation that every door has two sides, two faces, is in fact a “they”.

 

Right, i get you totally. So, "they” it is!

 

For the time being, at least.

 

Huh?

 

There seems to be some instability in the Field at the moment.

 

In the Field? Which one exactly?

 

The Field of form and identities.

 

Ah, I had no idea.

 

No, you wouldn’t. Only psychics or deep empaths like me...

 

Us.

 

Huh?

 

You are “us”, aren't you, being “they”?

 

Yes, of course, i am. please don't interrupt me.

 

“We.”

 

Please don't interrupt us.

 

My sincere apologies. I didn't want to commit the solecism of mispronounciation.

 

Well yes, but now I've lost my train of thought.

 

We’ve.

 

We’ve lost our train of thought.

 

Ah, you (plural) were explaining the Field of form and identities.

 

Yes, of course. Well, it’s going through a patch of turbulence.

 

Like an airplane.

 

Precisely, and those of us at the cutting edge of the new awareness, the avant-garde so to speak, are deeply susceptible to these fluctuations. Reality itself, you might say, is becoming unstable, its main pillars and axioms grow wobbly.

 

Wobbly? Yikes. Is there anything we can do to stabilise it?

 

Well, that begs the assumption whether or not we actually want to stabilise it, as you put it.

 

We don’t?

 

In the end we might need to go with the flow, to allow things to run their course. Today I’m they, a binary door betwixt two worlds, two realities, but this evening, tomorrow or a year from now i might be an unborn child, a caterpillar, a grain of sand. Whatever is revealed. I must accept with humility, adapt, evolve and serve the transition that humanity and reality itself are undergoing.

 

Wow, this is so profound. You (plural) have transformed my myopic way of seeing things. Door, you have a real gift. You're more than an influencer, you know.

 

I am?

 

You’re a super, nay, a mega-influencer.

 

Well, I don't know, really. I'm just...

 

Ahem!

 

We’re just a humble door connecting two or three, maybe four...

 

Or perhaps five

 

Five or even six

 

Or seven?

 

Ok, possibly seven different realities.

 

Like Howell’s unusual door in the moving castle movie?

 

Or book. Yes, that's it. Hey, Marianne, for a normie you can sometimes come within spitting distance of being profound.

 

No. Don't confuse me, Door. I will never be profound. I’m blighted by bigotry, I’m the worst sort of maladjusted white heterosexual male you’ll ever find – though

 

No, say no more, Marianne. Let your inner female goddess out. She needs to be liberated. She needs your humble rejection of sexual totalitarianism, the dogma of yesterday. She needs a little self-confidence, a little trust. Male no more, show masculinity the door.

 

I’m a philistine, Door. I’m trapped in a form and identity that makes me feel unclean, a hater of the very worst description and yet, short of killing myself, I don't see how i can escape the tyranny of my birth, or my body.

 

Whoever said anything about “escaping” it? You are what you are. Accept it. Embrace it. Enjoy your uniqueness. Allow the underlying truth to emerge from the ugly slag heap of yesterday’s definitions and your, as yet, unperfected femininity will blossom. Feel the she rising from the burnt-out ruins of your erstwhile he.

 

Do you think I can? Is it more than a dream?

 

I don’t see why not.

 

We.

 

We don't see why not. You're not the only one. There are millions of us. Look at me –

 

Us.

 

Look at us. Would you quit butting in Marianne. Women are not pedantic like men. They feel the deeper, hidden meaning, the silent intent. They don't need to dot every i or cross every t because they are all 2/3s psychic, you know. They are able to feel the flow, the isness of be, intimately.

 

Really? And I can too, you think?

 

Just as soon as you commit yourself. Just as soon as you decide to transition medically.

 

I’m ready Door, whatever it takes. I love my new identity. As Marianne I’m unstoppable. I’m sassy. I’m a hit. Everything. The stars are aligned. I'll start hormone therapy tomorrow, no, I’ll start today. But tell me, Door, how does it feel letting go of Daphne after 16 months of her-dom, now transitioning to them?

That's a great question Marianne. I’m just starting a whole new chapter in my life and why? I was so happy being Daphne. It was liberating and empowering – i was a woman in every sense, far more than someone born in a female body could be, because i did it consciously, by choice, but in the end i outgrew even femininity, my she was no longer able to express the deeper truths, the deeper levels of awareness now opening to me, so i allowed the door to slam shut on her, on dear, beloved Daphne, opening instead on Door themself.

 

That is such a powerful tale, Door.  Such a heroic journey. I’m crying as only a woman can. I may still have the body of a man, but my tears are pure woman, pure x-chromosome.

 

Indeed they are, Marianne. Indeed they are.

 

So tell me about your poetry.

 

Poetry?

 

Yes, didn't you publish some?

 

No... yes… I can't stay. It’s not an open-shut thing Marianne.

 

No? How do you mean, Door?

 

Well, the Field of form and identities, as we've already discussed, is in an increasing state of flux or discontinuity.

 

Ah ha.

 

Which is why so many of us, finding the ground beneath our feet altered, are no longer fighting it, are embracing the changes.

 

I see.

 

But do you, Marianne?

 

I...

 

Do you see how the fabric of space and time is no longer able to hold back the seepage of infinity, seeping back into our reality.

 

Huh?

 

Well, ever since Adam named all the creatures, things have been more or less set in stone, more or less determined with a simple name sealing the matter, whatever it is, until now.

 

Until now? We still have names. Things are still things, aren't they?!

 

Up to a point, yes, but no, not really, the names seem to have lost their electric charge, they seem to be feeble shadows of themselves. They’re undergoing some kind of a pole shift. Electro-magnetically they’re no longer able to preserve the charge separation. In short, matter itself, or things as a whole seem to have lost their mojo. So, i am stalking the beast.

 

Beast?

 

Yes. The beast, whether real or mythical, which has rendered words as good as useless, as good as meaningless.

 

You are? What an incredibly brave thing to do. Door! You are here to save reality, are you not?

 

How can a simple, humble door save reality? No Marianne. I am merely playing a minor, barely significant role in the great theatre of things. I am merely revealing how this world is no longer self-contained. How it has split like a cell dividing, how we are now two, or four, or eight, how an organism is evolving no matter how we might try to prevent it, fight it, block it. A voice, i cannot defend words now that the balloon is deflating irretrievably, but i can code. As a door i can monitor the two-way flow of data, the q-bits that are not even words, log their meta and interact, perhaps, using “as-it-words”.

 

Oh! “As it words”?

 

Words that lacking charge separation, a bit like undifferentiated stem cells, are thus able to keep up with the rapidly evolving, mostly incomprehensible perturbations in the Field, the no-longer coherent, no-longer closed-system stream of code.

 

Ok. I think i get the gist of it. Wow! Sounds impressive, Door. Sounds like you know what you're doing.

 

Not really Marianne. Flying by the seat of our pants is how we’d describe it.

 

Ah. So, on the contrary, things are looking pretty hopeless, are they?

 

I wouldn’t say that either. There's always hope. The code, whilst almost completely incomprehensible, does however appear to be evolving intelligently, and appears to respond to observation and our neuro-linguistic input, as long as we don't use word form, i.e., if we shun the deterministic logic of things.

 

Sounds like a bit of a mind bender, if you ask me.

 

“A bit” is putting it mildly, but once you get the hang of allowing logic to take a back seat, once you allow things to revert to the plasma phase of matter, so to speak, i.e., once you stop desperately hanging onto words and the thing-capsules they describe, they represent, then another intelligence seems to kick into gear, we seen to have an entirely new feedback loop of a different order... Instead of affecting the particular blobulation of matter, the thing under observation, the effect somehow comes back “otherly”.

 

Otherly – in another way.

 

Yes, otherly means the effect is always non-linear, always outside the kind of closed-system cause and knock-on effect you'd expect. It works because reality is, in fact, a kind of Field so whatever you put out has to come back in some way, shape or form.

 

Then how?

 

It's like the entire universe adjusts, rather than the particular thing itself.

 

The entire universe? But...

 

Insane, isn't it, or the whole of reality shifts if you want to avoid the physical name tag “universe”.

 

So, if you write a sort of poemy thing...

 

Or even prose like this.

 

Or even a simple dialogue?

 

Yep, why not?

 

Then that can…

 

And does…

 

Can and does affect the Field?

 

Yep. Has to.

 

And physical reality too?

 

Absolutely. What is physical reality now that mitosis has been unleashed?

 

Huh?

 

For you, reality is perhaps getting a little weird, but still, you assume, basically the same underlying physicality frames everything.

 

Whereas?

 

Whereas in actual fact the words or cells themselves are now constantly undergoing mitosis.

 

Cell division?

 

Yep, and that leads to all kinds of weird effects as you start getting, for example, cell differentiation.

 

So reality is fundamentally different now?

 

Correct, but our language of perception and expression, as of yet, doesn't adequately describe it, let alone express what’s going on – not even close.

 

And that's important?

 

Of course. The old squares can neither grasp nor affect the new reality, and are losing all traction over the remnants of the old, as it deflates electro-magnetically.

 

Oh.

 

Big time “oh”. Now you begin to understand what all that horrendous modern or post-modern art was striving desperately to grapple with, largely failing of course but trying nonetheless.

 

Trying to find new forms...

 

Yep. Even when form itself, as in the underlying word, was already sinking into the quantum soup of almost total indeterminacy.

 

Almost total? You mean...

 

There's always something, isn't there? there's always some level or form of determinable thing, but only when you're ready to...

 

What?

 

It's like learning a new dance or a new kind of singing, rap for example, which doesn’t have the old regularities, only here the case is more extreme. None of the old words, grammar or syntax seems to bind or string together, meaningfully, data packets.

 

So what remains? What can be worked with, if we’re to avoid sinking back into an amoebic state of isolated, unconnected data blobules?

 

That's what we, Door, are working on. That's why so many people appear to have lost their minds, are transitioning to other identities, partly because our civilisation is collapsing and we've lost our way, but partly, equally, because we’re learning to detach from the old me.

 

Ah.

 

And the old me was defined in a number of ways, firstly sexually, of course, but then also in terms of race, colour, creed, profession, affiliations etc etc.

 

So detaching from old determinators...

 

Helps us feel or discover alternatives. Not, of course, in most cases, but the handful who do, the handful who get it, are enough.

 

Ah ha.

 

Precisely. Ah ha.

 

And what have they found?

 

Well, it’s experiential, so putting it in words is almost totally meaningless, particularly as the new words haven't yet emerged from the quantum soup, and most of them are going to be transmitted unvoiced when they start to be used.

 

As in telepathy?

 

Yep.

 

Ok. And that’s realistic?

 

Not in the old paradigm, no, but it's a given in the new one.

 

It is?

 

Absolutely.

 

How come?

 

Because the new one needs to connect people faster, way faster, and over vastly larger areas.

 

Sounds like the internet.

 

Correct. The internet is the first stage, bringing us closer to instantaneous communication over a much vaster area, but the internet still isn't enough, it’s a staging post along the way.

 

It is?

 

Absolutely. Consciousness is the bedrock underpinning the new data sharing, data working platform, along with a growing willingness to trust nature, to work with the data as it is, as it comes, without needing to constantly translate it into forms which cannot come close to the required data packet range or speeds.

 

So somehow we’re going to figure out telepathic communication? Sounds implausible to me.

 

Yes, Marianne, but necessity is the mother of invention, isn't it. Once people start to feel the infinitely vaster data fields and data streams, once they become aware of the mind’s almost limitless untapped potential, it’s a case of “buckle Up Dorothy, cause' Kansas, is going bye-bye!”

 

You think?

 

No, it’s a given. The only thing lacking right now is the speed.

 

How do you mean?

 

It’s like riding a bike or flying a plane – it needs a certain minimum speed to start working. Once you’ve done it once, once you've felt it for yourself, it’s the easiest thing in the world to do it again, to perfect it.

 

Oh.

 

It's like a pizza dough disk.

 

It is?

 

Yep. Spin it faster and it grows bigger until it’s big enough to cover a data node.

 

And?

 

And that's when you start getting coherency out of the chaos.

 

Really? Is that theory or experience?

 

What do you think?

 

I can't imagine you’d make all this up. How could you? It sounds so implausible. It’s too far out.

 

Correct.

 

So you’ve...

 

I'm a door. I know nothing, i promise nothing, but if there are two or more data pools that need to connect, that have the infinitesimal probability required to extract sense and meaning from infinity, then i can.

 

What?

 

Allow a little quantum fusion to occur.

 

How?

 

It's kind of personal.

 

How do you mean?

 

Data is never entirely neutral. In some way, no matter how slight, it’s infected with a longing for company, for personability.

 

It is?

 

Yep. Just like humans are.

 

But this is data we are talking about!

 

I know, crazy isn't it? But even data, at the quantum level when the velocity is high enough, takes on quasi human properties.

 

Insane.

 

Yep.

 

And then what?

 

And then, if my consciousness is open and ready to accommodate whoever or whatever is out there, then the connection happens and it’s a win-win situation for all. I get to expand my so-called telepathic abilities, the data gets to flow where it was blocked or denied access, reality moves forward one block on the chain, and we start to climb out of the hole that was 3D reality.

 

Oh. And if it isn’t, if your consciousness is unable to accommodate the weirdness, if you fail to door the data streams wanting to connect through your gentle intermediacy?

 

Then i become irrelevant. An idiot playing games, pretending to be woke, pretending to be holding the flame of inclusivity and tolerance aloft, but merely posturing, merely grandstanding my holier-than-thou ness, helping to drag a once great civilisation down into the gutter of post-millennialism where it will rot and decay like any cult that fails to deliver a path to transcendency.

Oh. So you've finally left the quantum closet, where all things were relative, nothing was absolute.

 

Yes, i, we have. Not by choice, I hasten to add, but when the Field of form and identities started to collapse. Suddenly, things were getting out of hand. Infinity, like a horde of barbarians was knocking at the city gates, and there seemed to be no way to stop them, no way to prevent total collapse, the demise of all values, all words, all names. Until, that is, you realise that infinity is for real, and it ain’t just out there…

 

No?

 

No, it must be here, inside us too.

 

Really?

 

Absolutely. Nothing can exist in a vacuum, or on one side of an electro-magnetic boundary. Not if you’re serious about logic. Not if you’re serious about managing the flow of data, no matter what it takes… no matter what. Infinity has to become your absolute, your mentor, your friend – or else you’re doomed.

 

Gulp!

 

Either you face it, embrace it, roll with it when the existing system comes unstuck, or else...

 

Or else... The woman in me, Door, hears you. She does. She has heard.

 

Way to go, Marianne!

 

As the above text is uploaded the Field clicks silently. Those of you who are viewing 3D reality from outside the construct see infinite minor changes rippling through in zero time, the undetectable pause between one moment and the next (“next” being either upstream or down), culminating in various books and poems around the world either disappearing unnoticed, rewriting themselves the way true words can and do, or being replaced, with none the wiser – human memories being overwritten instantaneously to eliminate all discrepancies, except for conscious observers – those of you able to track changes at the sub-cellular level. Humanity stares unseeingly at anything that is outside the Field of form and identities, that has no name or binding over-word. Humanity sees only what words permit unless/until you find yourself on the other side of Door.

 

0=1

unbelievably