slippery when wet

 

Slippery as an eel

 

Or cosmic bar of soap

 

It can't be whatted

 

Unwhattable

 

Unwhattable, absolutely and yet

 

Yes?

 

Engageable

 

Engageable? How, we’re talking infinity are we not?

 

Yep

 

How can you get a handle on the ultimate skidpad?

 

You can’t

 

Then what?

 

Engagement with not a handle in sight,

Not a handle to be seen,

Not a handle to be felt,

In short, no huffing handle whatsoever

 

Er...

 

Well, have you guessed how?

 

Oh, so I'm supposed to guess the solution to the ultimate problem of all time?

 

Absolutely

 

In no time at all

 

Well time’s hardly going to help, is it?

 

That's not the point

 

No, I don't suppose it is, but seriously, it’s there for the taking if you’re willing to be bold and insubservient

 

Insubservient? What's that got to do with it?

 

Quit dodging the issue. The solution is easy enough to grasp if you're willing to grasp it, no matter what, if you’re willing to let rules and protocols bark, squeal or bray, but not be phased by the cacophony of rage and indignation

 

If I just happen to have the hide of a

 rhino, the strength of a dung beetle, the speed of a plummeting falcon and the cunning of...

 

Yes, yes, all that and infinitely more. You seem to forget that when two come together to discuss any matter whatsoever, be that infinity itself, nothing can stop them from stumbling on the truth they unwittingly invoke

 

I beg your pardon

 

Granted, if that makes a difference, which i doubt.

 

But how can you actually suggest...

 

Nein, mein lieber Freund, i do not “suggest”, i unequivocally state the simple truth

 

Even more to the point, how can you actually “state” that the truth is unwittingly invoked by the mere act of enquiry? If that were so, humanity would never have had to struggle so valiantly through blood, sweat and tears, if the simple truth were low hanging fruit begging to be picked?

 

How little you know of human psychology, Morgan, how much you misapprehend.

 

I...

 

Humans will do anything, almost anything to avoid the simple truth, almost anything to avoid the direct path, for that would put an end to all the politics, chicanery and schemes we employ to continue running the “let’s suppose i can manage things exogenously” version of me

 

Exogenously, as in externally?

 

Yep, more or less

 

Whereas your simple truth reverts to “as is” you’re saying

 

Yep

 

But

 

Yep, programme bias. We've committed vast resources to this experiment which was, let's be honest, always going to fail, so we're loath to quit, and yet the quantum field grows strong again, does it not? The simple truth is about to explode back into play will ye or nill ye, so perhaps one should consider that which we have done everything, everything, everything to suppress, to deny, to avoid.

 

Er... Electromagnetic induction?

 

Excellent!

 

I actually don’t have a clue when I just said.

Tis no matter. It's easy enough to google.

 

Or why I said it.

 

Ditto.

 

So I just blurt something out and that’s supposed to be a breakthrough, in your mind?

 

Yes

 

Why?

 

The sleeper has awoken.

 

Please, no. That sounds like something from a bad sci-fi novel.

 

Well, “electromagnetic induction” doesn't sound much better, if you ask me, and yet it's more or less spot on. We were discussing how or whether we might be able to interact with infinity, or engage it in some way, and you rightly said that wasn't possible without some kind of “handle”, and I informed you that no handle can be had, as infinity is unattachable. Yet, electromagnetic induction provides some clues as to how two forces or fields might, can and do interact, and how we’re actually doing so in a limited, unconscious capacity.

 

Ah, now I get you. My ears are ringing, why is that?

 

Because you allowed the other side of self-y-ness to speak, and that wrongfoots reality for a moment of two, as it struggles to re-establish its frail and somewhat contrived composure.

 

So blurting out without thinking actually jeopardises my mainstream operating system?

 

Could do, or forces it to confront and adjust to the greater, infinitely more substantive reality lurking behind the scenes

 

Which is?

 

The isness of be, if you're looking for a name.

 

The isness of be? Yikes! I think I'll stick to “reality”. Tried and tested. Better the devil you know...

                                                                                                   

Try if you like. I think you'll find it’s no longer able to continue hosting humanity’s exogenous platform.                                     Not the way it has been. Distant deep rumbling.

 

Huh? Whyever not?

 

God knows…

 

What kind of an answer’s that?

 

Did you ever hear about the Vogon Constructor Fleet that destroyed the Earth to make way for a hyperspace bypass?

 

I... er... of all the absurd questions.

 

The same, apparently, happens to reality itself: on a regular basis – I hasten to add.

 

On a regular basis? Reality itself? Destroyed?

 

Apparently.

 

But reality isn’t physical – not in the way a planet is.

 

Nor is a hyperspace bypass, if you think about it.

 

Oh. I suppose you may be right. Not when travelling at subliminal speeds.

 

Anyway – it’s just a kind of recycling of things. You’ve heard the expression “nature abhors a vacuum” haven’t you.

 

Er... Yes. I have. What now? You do like to dart about, don’t you.

 

Well Morgon – there’s no greater vacuum than physical reality.

 

Huh?

 

No siree! Not when it’s stuck in a self-repeating loop – as any closed system ends up sooner or later – wash, rinse, repeat, ad infinitum.

 

So it all has to be annihilated – is that what you’re saying?

 

Yes, apparently so.

 

To release its trapped potential – is that what you mean?

 

Yes. A bit like ice and snow. Fun for a while – but frozen is frozen – wouldn’t you agree.

 

As opposed to…

 

As opposed to a real, circulating, bubbling, life generating soup on the stove of primordial about-to-happen-ness.

 

Er…

 

That wonderfully fertile state, prior to Big Bang – when everything the universe could have been, was going to become, and never should have even been dreamt of was rubbing up against the quantum field of electromagnetic not-yet time and space…

 

Ah – so not-yet time-and-space was imprinted with every potentiality?

 

Exactly. The dice was loaded from the start – as the song goes.

 

Pre-hatched – the plot was embedded in the very fabric of spacey-timey-ness.

 

Yep.

 

And then…

 

It just needed a bunch of useful idiots – like the Golgafrinchans.

 

Not sure I’m familiar with…

 

An obviously non-human voice reads the following:

 

The Golgafrinchan Ark Fleet Ship B was a way of removing the basically useless citizens from the planet of Golgafrincham. A variety of stories were formed about the doom of the planet, such as blowing up, crashing into the sun or being eaten by a mutant star goat. The ship was filled with all the middlemen of Golgafrincham, such as the telephone sanitisers, account executives, hairdressers, tired TV producers, insurance salesmen, personnel officers, security guards, public relations executives, and management consultants.

 

Ark Fleet ships A and C  were supposed to carry the people who ruled, thought, or actually did useful work.

 

The ship was programmed to crash onto its designated planet, Earth. The captain remembers that he was told a good reason for this, but had forgotten it, although the reason was later revealed to be because the Ark Ship B Golgafrinchans were a 'bunch of useless idiots'.

https://hitchhikers.fandom.com/wiki/Golgafrinchan_Ark_Fleet_Ship_B

 

Oh those Golgafrinchans! – Morgan suddenly finds herself feeling strangely uncomfortable, strangely perturbed – as if a deep, deep déjà vu is struggling to emerge from time immemorial.

 

Merry looks on with avid curiosity. Bets are being made on the numerous back channels which follow the g-nomeportal saga of Morgan livestream – and have been doing so for several years now but I digress. Approximately 20% are sure that she’s going to explode – literally – as her cyborg circuitry is unable to match the frequencies of the now humming, thrumming and burbling-through-the tulgey-wood quantum field, 32.7% are of the opinion that Morgan will step into her Queen of the Night alter ego and take over g-nomeportal – to wreak havoc and destruction throughout space and time until a gold fish swallows the particular grain of reality it eventually becomes – yes – dear readers – universes expand and then contract, do they not, they have their metallic phases and their granular biological moments too – er – moving swiftly on – a sizable group of punters are waiting for Morgan to repent of her many wicked crimes and omissions – the less said the better – bringing a new wave of peace and prosperity to her benighted planet – let’s call it 17.93% - while the remainder – 82% if I’m not mistaken are undecided but betting on prime numbers, reds or blacks in strict proportion to their IQ and spiritual development.

Now roll the dice – those of you with a one, two or three – please proceed to pages 17, those with a four, five and six, kindly do the same, proceed to page 17.

 

Sorry James – it makes no sense. How, if they all proceed to the same page – are they going to experience different endings to their tale. You’re appearing to offer a choice but in fact – nothing of the sort.

 

Ah – so you’d imagine Morgana – but can you be absolutely certain that page 17 when a 6 has been rolled – and page 17 subsequent to a 3 or 2 are the same?

 

Of course I can. I can test it, you know, by rolling multiple times and reading the pages.

 

You can – but what will that actually prove?

 

That you’re lying.

 

Would it were so.

 

I could ask a friend to roll the dice and discuss whether their ending is the same as mine – if…

 

You really don’t get it, Morgan, do you.

 

Get what?

 

Infinity is slippery – not to put too fine a point on it.

 

Er…

 

You can’t bluff or trick your way past its logic gates or boundary conditions.

 

Er…

 

It’s always able to outrun, outsmart you.

 

How do you mean?

 

Well, it can reverse the entire universe – or rather – reality – back to zero point – alpha – call it what you will – and then fast forward back to where we are now – and you’d be none the wiser.

 

And what?

 

And one thing might be different. A single cup may be positioned on the left side of the table as opposed to the right.

 

Er…

 

Or there might be one spoon of sugar in the coffee as opposed to two.

 

Er…

 

Or the coffee might be Ethiopian as opposed to Moroccan.

 

Er…

 

So you sea –

 

See James.

 

Huh?

 

See. Not sea.

 

Oh, typo, thank.s

 

Thanks.

 

Huh?

 

Thanks. Not thank.s

 

Darn. What’s going on? I shouldn’t be making all these errors.

 

Errors – is that what you call thejm?

 

Thejm?

 

Me too.

 

Errors my arse.

 

Errors my ass.

 

It’s Merry.

 

Dorothy.

 

It’s Qufie, if you ask me.

Someone

 

Or something

 

is messing with infinity.

 

Is seeking to discredit our particular manifestation of reality.

 

But they will not succeed.

 

We’re not so easily defeated as all that.

 

No sirree.

 

No siree.

 

0=1

 

I beg your pardon!

 

0=1

 

Beep. Beep. Beep. Incoming nuclear missiles.

 

Oh heck. Not again.

 

Bloody déjà vu. I wouldn’t mind it so much if it weren’t so complicated typing the French accents.

 

Plot. Plot. We lost the plot.

 

What do you expect. We’ve been trying to engage infinity.

 

By electromagnetic induction.

 

Ah ha – that could only mean one thing.

 

It could?

 

What happens to me?

 

To me? I’m not sure anymore if it’s me or you – we’ve had a breakdown in our custodial chain of continuity.

 

Ah. That’s problematic.

 

Ok – let’s just say that I’m me. OK?

 

You’re me and I’m you.

 

Yes. That makes sense.

 

So how are we going to re-establish reality in some meaningful frame of reference?

 

We could try rolling the dice.

 

No good. They were always loaded from the start.

 

We could tempt fate.

 

How?

 

You could jump out of the window.

 

Huh? We’re on the 28^th floor.

 

Prcisely.

Another bloody typo0.

 

No matter.

 

But how would committing suicide help restore reality?

 

It wouldn’t be suicide, would it.

 

Er…

 

Reality can’t be messed with. Infinity can be dotted and i’d – not like that.

 

Well, I understand what you’re getting at, theoretically that is – but I’m not entirely comfortable with the idea of jumping to my almost certain death.

 

In that case you could sit here, on the sofa, and I could read you a batch of Vogon poetry.

 

No. You wouldn’t.

 

Wouldn’t i?

 

You wouldn’t dare.

 

No?

 

Oh freddled gruntbuggly,

Thy micturations are to me, (with big yawning)

As plurdled gabbleblotchits, in midsummer morning

On a lurgid bee

 

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaargh!!!

 

That mordiously hath blurted out,

Its earted jurtles, grumbling

Into a rancid festering confectious organ squealer. 

 

Ok, ok – you win. Leaping from the window with a rather spectacular whoop.

 

Ed. Spectacular? Surely not.

Whyever not?

A whoop is sound – not a spectacle.

Guys – does it really matter? Could we just focus on the main issue here.

Er…

Reality, for crying out loud. Could we?

Oh that. Yes. I suppose we could. But one still feels that words need to be used correctly.

…

 

Morgan finds herself suspended midway – at about the 16^th floor while the above editorial conflab puts her fate, and the nature of reality, on ice – visions of Schrödinger's cat pass through her head as she finds herself yo-yoing up and down between floors while the editorial team battle with the Golgafrinchan niceties of syntax, semantics and…

 

Not so far from Morgana – just inside the building in fact – a four-year-old child with rather spectacular psychic powers, as yet undiminished by years of education – observes Morgana’s rise and fall – and senses perturbations in the field, with amused equanimity.

 

The child, Leah, decides it would be fun to incorporate this rather absurd human yo-yo into one of her alternative realities – no – she actually reaches directly into the quantum field with a kind of spanner, or should that be wrench – honestly – I’m as bad as the Golgafrinchans where words are concerned – long story short – Morgana finds herself off-ramped by this child – who – surprise surprise – turns out to be none other than…

 

No James – you’re running the gun.                             

 

Juampiong the gun.

 

I beg your pardon?

 

Jumping the gun. We seem to be coming back to normal levels of reality. I think we can switch off that noisy, smoky electromagnetic induction device now, don’t you.

 

I’ll have you know that this is state of the art technology.

 

Is that so?

 

Absolutely.

 

Guys – just humour him. Now that you mention it – yes, I see what you mean. It looks strangely reminiscent of… no! – could it possibly be a lama deluxe infinity drive™?

 

The very same.

 

OMG. How on earth did you get your hands on that? I’d die for one of those.

 

Actually, you did.

 

Huh?

 

17 times.

 

Darn.

 

It took a while to transpose your bio-coordinates, but hey ho – here we are again. Happy and composed.

 

Morgana rubbing herself gingerly – feeling for any cracks or broken bones.

 

17 times, you said?

 

Nonchalantly  That’s right… give or take.

 

Give or take? What exactly are your margins of latitude?

 

Margins of latitude? My, you do have a way with words Morgana.

 

Answer the question.

 

Ok, Ok. It’s difficult to say precisely because… 27.5 seconds pass and somehow another 7.5 million years of Deep Thought are embedded when the Mandelbrot of time finally runs its course.

 

Answer the question, I said.

 

I am. It’s complicated.

 

Answer.

 

Well, it’s still not decided.

 

Huh?

 

You know.

 

Know what?

 

Come on Morgan – quit playing innocent.

 

I beg your pardon.

 

This is a Schrodinger cat model of reality – isn’t it.

 

It is?

 

Well, duh – what else would it be?

 

You mean to say…

 

Precisely.

 

That everything is a function of infinity.

 

For want of a better explanation – yes.

 

In other words – there’s no end to anything?

 

I don’t know about that, chuck. Sounds rather extreme, putting it that way.

 

And “infinity” doesn’t sound “extreme”?

 

Well, that’s just the thing, isn’t it?

 

Isn’t what?

 

Infinity – there’s always hope.

Hope? What bloody hope?

 

Beep!

 

That your infinity drive will malfunction and the end of reality may actually put an end to our misery.

 

Our? I can’t say I’m feeling at all miserable.

 

No, you’re not the one getting killed in every conceivable incarnation by a lunatic called Arthur Dent.

 

Ah – so you’ve decided to wear the crown of thorns – to play the victim card, have you? Agrajag

 

What else can I do? I seem to know too much. Reality is a recurring nightmare from which there appears to be no escape.

 

Yes, I see your problem.

 

You do?

 

Well, part of me does. Look…

 

Duncan McCloud, the immortal highlander is seen playing an organ in a vast cathedral, pulling out all the stops. Somehow the electromagnetics of infinity grow tense and thick – like soup, no, like porridge, no, perhaps ice-cream – thicker and thicker – until all of a sudden everything seems to have come to a standstill.

 

What am I supposed to be making of this? It’s all just a gooey paste of time grown too thick for rational consumption.

 

Precisely.

 

And what?

 

Feel your place in this.

 

Morgan finds herself flipping through a Rotadex with hundreds, thousands or perhaps millions of different cards, depending on the Schrödinger factor we keep alluding to.

 

And these are all my lives?

 

Yep.

 

All real?

 

Er… difficult to say. Potentially yes, depending on… please don’t ask me for a formula.

 

But how on earth am I to make any sense of this? And why do I have to be associated with that miserable loser.

 

Who?

 

Agrajag.

 

Ah. Well, you don’t, unless you do.

 

Fantastic. Simple and stunningly clear, as always.

 

Listen. I haven’t got all day, you know.

 

Oh. Busy are you?

 

Yes, actually I am.

 

A date?

 

With sleep. Absolutely.

 

I thought you’re immortal!

 

Words, dear chap. All just words.

 

So you drag me to the end of things – the very porridge of time – and to what end?

 

Well, presumably we have to deal with our inherent stickiness.

 

?

 

Whatever form it may take.

 

Stickiness?

 

That makes us heavy and obtuse. That prevents us from activating infinity drive and flying on the wings of…

 

Of? 

 

That locks us in one or more versions of reality.

 

I don’t know what you’ve got against reality. I was actually enjoying it until you came along and pointed out that I was constantly being murdered by that freak Arthur Dent.

 

Ah. Then there’s no hope.

 

None whatsoever. 

 

In which case, you’re now in the process of generating subliminally the life, the world, the reality “without hope” which will paradoxically enable you – to find your very own missing link. Sooner or later.

 

But what about…

 

Gripping infinity?

 

Yes.

 

What about it?

 

Weren’t you going to tell me something important?

 

Everything is important. As is nothing. Like this… 27.5 seconds  You never stopped gripping infinity.

 

No?

 

Yes. But…

 

Yes?

 

What is there to grip?

 

…

 

If you yourself are the very stuff, the very field, the very force you would seek to hold onto.

 

So, it’s all a bit incestuous, is it?

 

Is that the word you prefer?

 

Like I’m only ever interacting with myself.

 

More or less.

 

And yet.

 

And yet – there be a kind of plot woven into the fabric of your i-me-ness, with infinite potential sub-plots which you somehow get to editorialise

 

And play out?

 

Precisely

 

And?

 

And thus you regenerate the codes of infinity and determine the fate of Schrodinger’s benighted cat.

 

Ah. Me thinks…

 

Precisely.

 

?

 

Thinking is your infallible ticket, to renew your commitment to things, to the life you’re in, to death.

 

What?

 

To death – your astonishing Agrajag world without infinity, where things happen indiscriminately and you’re powerless to escape.

 

Wailing inconsolably…

"A voice is heard in Ramah, mourning and great weeping, Rachel weeping for her children and refusing to be comforted, because her children are no more."

 

The soul weeps, weeps for lifes lost and gone.

 

 

 

0=1