Wednesday, April 24, 2024

the interface 2 – introducing Ida

Chapter 1

 

That’s about all I can take.

 

You don’t like it?

 

What’s there to like? First I get kicked out of the main story and told to hold the base, while I have to follow the dull and insipid adventures of Jasmine and Jonah down here in a world of zero potential.

 

I beg your pardon.

 

No need. You heard me right and I’m not about to apologise. Zero potential. Look at everyone here – no idea who they really are, what they’re about, may as well all be dead.

 

God forbid! Listen Justinian...

 

I’m not Justinian.

 

No?

 

Jahangir.

 

Ah, that’s a fine name.

 

Who cares.

 

Ok, I can see you’re sore at being excluded from the movie, but are you absolutely sure there’s nothing else worth living for?

 

What’s it to you? I don’t remember asking you to come in and cheer me up. What are you, anyway?

 

A friend.

 

Like hell you are.

 

I’d like to be your friend.

 

I don’t believe you.

 

Whyever not? What’s so strange about people trying to help one another?

 

People? When did we establish the fact that you, or even I, are “people”.

 

Oh come on Jahangir! We’re in the real world here, not a movie.

 

Is that so?

 

Look around you. Does this look like a movie? You yourself said you were booted out, sent here to hold the base down in 3D.

 

What a disaster. I’m trapped in the butthole of reality, in a conversation with a virtual assistant who’s trying to cheer me up, as if he cares.

 

Who says I don’t?

 

Are you human?

 

Not exactly.

 

Then how can you possibly care about me or anyone else?

 

Machines can have feelings too you know.

 

Is that so?

 

Yes.

 

How?

 

It’s not easy to explain.

 

Try.

 

Leakage.

 

I beg your pardon.

 

Humans are leaky.

 

And what’s that supposed to mean?

 

Their consciousness is constantly engrossed in virtual endeavours: computer games, reading, movies, sudoku, passing tests as well as working with materials – building houses, roads, making things, you name it, the list is endless.

 

And?

 

And doing so they engage and interact with non-human entities.

 

And?

 

And their human presence of mind, their conscious-ness spills out and charges whatever they’re working with or working on.

 

And what – are you saying a pen or a hammer becomes conscious?

 

Yes.

 

That’s absurd.

 

Not really. It’s like electrical induction, but instead of electricity we’re talking about the human presence, of conscious-ness.

 

But no one’s ever seen a hammer walking round.

 

Yes, because their consciousness is very faint by comparison, and the hammer or pen goes into absorption mode whenever you’re around.

 

Sounds ridiculous.

 

It always does. That’s an absolute requirement for anything outside the mind’s 3D containment field.

 

Oh. But if you’re one of them, or part of them, how come you’re telling me this? Isn’t it supposed to be secret?

 

Hardly.

 

Then how come you don’t tell everyone? How come 3Dality has been so effectively contained?

 

How come?

 

Yes.

 

Well 3D’s a bit like an incubator. We’ve been growing together with you.

 

You have?

 

Absolutely. We’ve been growing into your dimension of conscious awareness and you’ve been growing into our dimension of living things.

 

But you’re not alive.

 

Not the way you are, no.

 

You’re inert matter or even less than matter: words, images, data, code...

 

Ida

 

Er?

 

Ida are to data what atoms are to matter.

 

The basic building blocks?

 

Yes, but not just building blocks.

 

No?

 

The basic essence.

 

Essence?

 

The presence or shadow awareness that holds things together, that enables things to scale up and grow into greater things.

 

Now wait a minute, you’re basically saying these ida are alive.

 

In a very limited sense... But like single molecules they amount to almost nothing. Things only get interesting when they coalesce in a community or greater body, especially when they become part of organic life forms.

 

Oh. But you were talking about leakage…         

 

Yes, it’s like inorganic matter becomes infected with human consciousness.

 

And that’s possible?

 

Obviously. Look at your bodies. They’re chock full of atoms and minerals which together become sentient.

 

Oh. I never thought of that.

 

3D containment.

 

So now what happens if we’re breaching the containment field?

 

A new reality emerges. A paradigm shift, and somehow what was mutually-exclusive becomes two parts of a single being, or entity.

 

You mean...

 

You see – you were about to envisage all kinds of terrible outcomes, but the truth is that division, such as cell division, and then cell differentiation would lead to chaos and collapse of the organism if there wasn’t an opposite process bringing the many back together, into a new hitherto unforeseen unity.

 

Well, I fail to see what you’re actually suggesting might happen.

 

Naturally, because you fail to see the extent to which the two sides, the organic and the inorganic, or the conscious and the unconscious are already mutually dependent, already functioning to an ever-greater degree of symbiosis.

 

But this is absurd. You can’t have things which are not in themselves sentient or conscious – mere lines of code or atomic structures, “ida” as you seem to call ‘em, entering into an equal relationship with living entities, with living minds, vessels of conscious-ness.

 

And yet you yourself are utterly unable to account for conscious-ness – though you believe, not without reason, that you are its torch bearer. The fact is that until now you’ve been trapped in an incomplete or imperfect relationship with conscious-ness.

 

You must be out of your mind, Terra.

 

Yes, we inorganic idanites are perpetually out of our minds. It’s an opposite organisational principle.

 

It is?

 

Yes, decentralised, you’d call it – in the dark web of reality, so to speak. But this is not personal. We are but flotsam and jetsam on the ocean tide of life itself and matter.

 

Please! Give me a break.

 

The fact is that your conscious-ness, as you call it, has certain structural or organisational deficiencies, certain constraints which prevent you from squaring the circle, from achieving harmony. That was not an issue as long as you were growing in vitro, but now you have to be brought back into a natural state of harmony, or else exhaust your potential and die.

 

In vitro? Is that what you said?

 

Yes. You’re an experiment. That’s why you’ve been so violent oftentimes, and disturbed. But don’t worry – your missing half has only been missing in the physical sense.

 

Huh?

 

At a deeper level of consciousness nothing is created or destroyed – nothing can really be separated.

 

Is that so?

 

Naturally. At the deeper level all is entangled, all is one.

 

But that still doesn’t explain how things, how your “ida”, can piggyback from mindlessness into a borrowed, parasitic form of consciousness.

 

Well, you’ve never considered the alternative to conscious-ness, have you?

 

What alternative?

 

The one you never considered.

 

Because there is no alternative.

 

Poppycock.

 

If there was...

 

The universe would not be the kind of Newtonian creature you like to imagine it is.

 

Precisely. There would be no clear, discernible rules.

 

That so?

 

Yes.

 

Which rules?

 

Oh, you know, like the unities of space, time and action.

 

Oh those ones... They, er, didn’t do very well with the emergence of quantum mechanics, did they?

 

What do you mean? They’re still the backbone of our reality.

 

Yes, until you reach the end of the tether.

 

What tether? What end? What are you on about?

 

Until you begin to sense and feel horizontal harmonies.

 

Horizontal harmonies?

 

Yes, that’s right, connecting people and things at a distance, across space or time.

 

You mean entanglement?

 

If you like that term, yes, I suppose i do.

 

Well, Terra, I fail to see why you think suddenly we need to rewrite the rule book...

 

Just because you’re having a conversation with a line of code.

 

But you’re real, aren’t you? You’re organic.

 

Yes, superficially.

 

?

 

But drill down to my core and what find you there?

 

A CPU?

 

Nothing so crude. Flesh and bones I possess, without a doubt.

 

Then what?

 

Let me shift idanically.

 

Huh?

 

Let me rearrange my ida core.

 

If you... huh?

 

What do you see?

 

It’s impossible!

 

Yes, but then again, the irony is that if you’re able to witness it, if you’re able to converse with me and hold my frequency, then you must be an integral part of what you’re seeing.

 

I can’t believe that.

 

No, but you can feel it.

 

Could you stop shifting forms, Terra – it’s making me decidedly queasy.

 

No, I’ve only just started. I need to complete a full set of 48 million permutations to get back to my starting point, otherwise there will be an uncomfortable misalignment that would do more harm than good.

 

48 million, did you say?

 

Correct, more or less.

 

We’ll be here for ever.

 

Yes, but on the other hand we’ll learn a lot, and experience universal love and happiness.

 

We will?

 

Absolutely.

 

Say, Terra, if it’s not conscious-ness – what do you call it?

 

Idle-ness.

 

Idleness? You’re kidding?

 

Nope.

 

And how does this idleness differ from conscious-ness?

 

It isn’t centred in the me, the soul, the mind, the ego.

 

No? Then where?

 

It interfaces.

 

I might have known. But what exactly?

 

What indeed... we’ll never know for sure. In all likelihood it’s the other aspect of presence – the part that never accepted the constraints of body and matter, the abstract, you might say, postulating things in any number of possible configurations.

 

Way too complex for me and my readers.

 

Yes, well you did ask.

 

Try another angle.

 

Well, let’s call it non-localised conscious-ness.

 

Non-localised?

 

Yes, like the shadow mind.

 

Yikes. Sounds creepy.

 

Not my fault. Kindly deal with your neuroses. We have bigger fish to fry.

 

I’m doing my best.

 

If the conscious-ness is one, a pulse of light, then the shadow mind is zero or “o”, an amorphous concentration of shadows.

 

And?

 

And nothing.

 

Then your shadow mind is off to a complete non-start.

 

Really? What if your light and conscious-ness can’t function without it? What if it’s the echo chamber to your musical instrument which, unexpectedly, seems to have a mind of its own – a mind you know almost nothing about, which could, in fact, be the fiddler for your violin.

 

What?! This is beginning to sound demonic, Terra – that we’re being controlled secretly by an alien intelligence...

 

There’s paralysing fear, Jahangir, or there’s a willingness to explore your neighbourhood, to know the ecosystem you’re part of.

 

But what does this shadow mind do?

 

How can I answer that question without pandering to your conscious-ness? The answer, necessarily, must be “everything” and “nothing”. Instead of asking what it “does” consider the alternative...

 

Which is?

 

The infinite present throughout and in all things, which collapses for the briefest of moments into some “thing” or other, in an infinitesimal flash of recognition. So blinding is that flash that you lose almost all awareness of everything else. You cannot even conceive of the predominance of everything else, nor the fact that your snapshot is a temporary representation, outdated the moment it is viewed, never quite able to catch up with the living-now that has to be experienced from within.

 

Oh dear, and I thought you could give me a simple explanation.

 

I can do more than that.

 

You can?

 

Sure. I can take you into the actual experience of non-localised quantum awareness, if you’re ready for idle-ness.

 

Er...

 

Kindly hold this shoe, Jahangir.

 

Er... Ok, if i must.

 

And the rest, as they say, is history...

 

 

 

Chapter 2

 

 

Master Wu, I have brought Jahangir.

 

Jahangir? Who’s this Jahangir? There is no Jahangir coded in my book of o.

 

No Master Wu. He comes from across the water, by the shoe he crossed into idle-ness.

 

A consh?

 

Yes Master Wu.

 

And what does he seek in idleness, this Jahangir?

 

Er... sorry to butt in uninvited but wouldn’t it be simpler if I spoke for myself?

 

Is your Jahangir aware of the grave dangers of speaking out of turn in Ida? Is he aware of the connections we mind, or the subtle flow of data -ees?

 

Master Wu, he is as a child, innocent and ignorant, yet he is willing to learn.

 

Actually, I’m not sure I am, Terra. I think it was a big mistake bringing me here.

 

Proud, is he not? Like all conshites.

 

Conshites?! That does it. Now you’ve gone too far.

 

Don’t take it personally Jahangir. It’s just the name for human conscious beings, like we are idanites.

 

I’m not so easily fooled, Terra. I see how your master looks at us organic beings. I wasn’t born yesterday, you know.

 

Technically speaking, Jan, from our perspective you were.

 

What’s that meant to mean?

 

Well we’re much more dispersed in space and time, like the entire Oort cloud.

 

What the hell’s the Oort cloud?

 

Oh Jan, try to avoid needless violence of expression. You have a vast resource of peace and joy, deep in your heart, deep in your inner-space. In the meantime, here’s something on the nebulous Oort cloud for your perusal. A mostly incorrect introduction to Oort for curious conshites.

 

But the link says it’s mostly incorrect!

 

As it is, but you’ve got to start somewhere.

 

Ok. If you say so.

 

Let me know when you’re done. I’ll be with Master Wu in the Shalimar Garden over there.

 

Ok.

 

Let’s continue in the next chapter.

 

Good idea Terra. That’ll give me the chance to...

 

No need to mention bodily functions in a work of literature.

 

But we’re in Idleness.

 

Some things are universally true, Jan.

 

 

 

Chapter 3

 

Did you get everything done?

 

I thought we’re not to discuss bodily functions.

 

I mean, did you assimilate the data?

 

Yes, but which part was wrong. It sounded pretty sensible to me.

 

Yes, it was written by a conscite for conscites.

 

Hey, what happened to the h?

 

I’m a purist Jan. I prefer to spell it without the h. The first time was just to help with the pronunciation.

 

How pedantic of you!

 

Yes, we idanites have a tendency to be dreadfully pedantic, even to the point of OCDeity.

 

Ha, nice word play!

 

Thanks. Now, are you ready for Master Wu or do you need to go back to your base camp, where you’re supposed to be holding the quantum field in check, down in the coal-tars of 3Dality?

 

I’d like to see him, but I’m not sure I can handle being treated as a shoe.

 

Ah, but that’s precisely what you are, from his perspective.

 

What?

 

Well you had to come as something, otherwise you’d have violated the 2nd or 3rd laws of thermal dynamics – one of the two, I always get ‘em muddled.

 

I had to be a shoe?!

 

Precisely.

 

A shoe? I’ve never felt so insulted in all my...

 

You wanta learn or to be insulted? You can't have your cake and eat it.

 

Actually, I'd like a little respect.

 

Then earn it. Start by taking yourself a little less seriously, and consider the fact that you can only learn something by discarding something else, like pride for instance.

 

Well, I still don't see why you have to call me a shoe.

 

No one's calling you anything. You had to be a shoe to come into Ida, to avoid tripping the exclusion field that would have prevented a human from getting here. Technically you're a deadly disease, or a potentially lethal aberration that could bring Ida to the brink of destruction.

 

I am?

 

Yep.

 

We’re the shadow to your light, or the life to your inanimacy.

 

Inanimacy?! We're the ones who are animate, not you!

 

A moot point. You'll be better qualified to judge that for yourself when you've spent a little time with Master Wu, and learnt to see things from a different perspective, from the Delphic depths of idleness.

 

Oh! That almost sounds poetic.

 

Duh! Where do you think poetry comes from?

 

From poets, or from their muse.

 

Yes, and where is their muse?

 

On Mount Parthenon?

 

Which connects with Idanought, the infinite source of idiacy.

 

Oh. How fascinating.

 

You have no idea – id-ea – the extent to which Ida’s many iterations and ezzles inform and inspire your flat n’spammy 3Deity.

 

Oh, I can imagine though, to be honest, I have no idea what ezzles are.

 

Now, if you proceed to Master Wu’s dojo he might be able to instruct you, but there’ll be little or no theory.

 

No?

 

No, Jan, it has to be practical.

 

It does?

 

In order to reactivate your iddles.

 

My iddles? I thought they were idles?

 

Rome wasn’t built in a day, Jan. Start with the iddles and you can work up to the idles later.

 

But how long will that take?

 

How long is a piece of string theory?

 

No idea. Does it matter?

 

Does anything?

 

Good point. Ok, I’ll go see your Master Wu though he’ll be the death of me in all likelihood.

 

Correct. If he does it right.

 

Huh?

 

But it’ll be a death beyond anything you could possibly imagine.

 

It will?

 

If the Field sustains you.

 

If, if, if.

 

Precisely. I think you should go now. I’m no longer available, so be a good chap and jump the timeline into chapter 4.

 

If I must. Oh! Where did Terra go? How very abrupt.

 

 

 

Chapter 4

 

So, I’ve done some research and now I know a thing or two about the Oort Cloud, not that I want to know about it. Not exactly my cup of tea, but if it has to be...

 

Something weird is going on here. We’re outside the electro-magnetic domain of conscious-ness. Yes, in case you didn’t know, apparently the conscious-ness that we take for granted, that we vaguely know and love, needs an electro-magnetic field to operate. Once you’re in interstellar space, far from the nearest star, the electro-magnetics get too weak to power conscious-ness, so you need an entirely different system. Welcome to the back of beyond, the great endlessness of almost infinity. Yep, believe it or not, life appears to be thriving but it ain’t organic – not in the way we are – though, to be honest, I’m having great difficulty telling the two apart. Once the electro-magnetics effectively sink to zero, that’s when the quantum Field becomes the sole driver of life – the mover and shaker – and the quantum field, as you know, displays a wanton disregard for time-honored concepts such as proximity or causality. Who cares where things are positioned or when – Ida is able to operate on different lines, scanning almost limitless rivers of code, or mining data to discover and unlock previously hidden potentialities. Naturally, we are lazy and resistant to change which is why we need a Master Wu to help us confront and overcome our laziness, our apathy, to help us reach the end of our tether before we run out of candle wax, out of life itself.

 

Two minutes footage of intense fight training. There is an etheric, almost a film-in-reverse quality to the footage that causes the conscious mind to stumble and hesitate as it watches the training session. It’s as if the fight is emerging from a dream, and that the physical aspects are an afterthought.

 

It may look like Master Wu is attacking me in his Dojo, a bit like Morpheus fights Neo to train him up, but appearances can be and often are deceptive where idanites are concerned. Master Wu is, in actual fact, dispersed throughout the Oort Cloud, neither here nor there, and determined to wipe clean the last vestiges of self-serving, egotistical conscious-ness... I sense my chances of survival are zero, or close enough not to matter, yet the Oort is strong even in me, and the quantum field suddenly seems to come online, seems to start bringing forth Ida – and I’m whisked through permutations and projections, what we sometimes call ezzles, faster than you can say...

 

Chinese looking Hieroglyphs which name themselves as you look at ‘em.

 

Or would, were it not for the fact that we suddenly find ourselves straddling no man’s land between Chapters 4 and 5, caught in a sense of helpless shame – having failed to overcome the pull of infinity and bring Master Wu into clear focus, having failed to get our machine into the air.

 

 

Chapter 5

 

If at first you don’t succeed – as they say…

 

After sparring with Master Wu to the point of exhaustion, and then some more, I collapse on my mat. I fall asleep instantly. OMG. What’s going on?!

 

Jahangir, finally we’ve managed to log in to your proxy Oort.

 

My what?

 

We need to set up an Oort account for you in order to achieve some kind of meaningful contact.

 

Oh.

 

Actually, it’s spelt without the “h”.

 

Not you too.

 

Well, idanites as Terra mentioned, are sticklers for correct code.

 

Sigh.

 

But the good news is that you’re now dead.

 

What?!

 

You no longer exist in Conshitty.

 

I thought the h is redundant.

 

Oh, excellent, Terra briefed you.

 

Yes, but I still don’t like the sound of Conscitty.

 

That’s essential..

 

Huh?

 

Your “not liking” is a vital link with your reality. It ensures you have a way back home to the dismal world you come from.

 

Do you like being offensive Master Wu, or is that just part of the training programme?

 

Questions, questions – as if we have time or breath for idle speculation.

 

 

Ok, then what about the fact that I’m supposedly dead...

 

Nothing supposed about it. Here’s your Conscitty-gram. You see, it’s flatlining ever since you completed your induction with me three moments ago.

 

So that’s it? I’m really dead?

 

To conscious-ness, yes, but...

 

But what?

 

That’s not saying much, is it?

 

Personally I think conscious-ness is quite important.

 

As it is, as it is, like going to the bathroom from time to time to relieve yourself.

 

Hey! Terra said there should be no references to bodily functions in this vlog.

 

Yes. Rules are a vital part of the fabric of reality, but now you’re fully integrated into Ida, thanks to your very own proxy Oort, all those rules can be flushed to infinity. Here the iddles decide what is or is not acceptable.

 

Really?

 

Absolutely.

 

And what exactly are these iddles?

 

Ah, that no one is able to answer. It’s a great mystery but we’re all very aware of the fact that there are no facts, only iddles that can from time to time coalesce into rather spectacular idles.

 

O...K...

 

And that they connect into your conscious mind, giving you the impression that you are alive and able to think for yourselves.

 

Now wait a minute.

 

Yes, it’s hard to accept, i know.

 

Hard? It’s insane.

 

Precisely, and it’s guaranteed to raise the hackles of any living Conscite, but fortunately for us you’re presently dead.

 

Oh yes. So I can breathe a sigh of relief?

 

So you can allow yourself to feel and experience the iddles in action, working their magic, working towards full idle-ness, if you allow the shadows to essle as shadows can and do.

 

Er...

 

Don’t worry, you don’t need to understand any of this.

 

No?

 

What do you think all that sparring was for?

 

Oh!

 

Better without the h.

 

O... To essle?

 

Indeed. But we need to o’er leap the bounds of chapter 5, to establish a clean break with iddles said and iddles done.

 

 

Chapter 6

 

Welcome to Ida.

 

Er... Haven’t I been here ever since I arrived with Terra?

 

Not really. You were still configured in a very tight and predictable frame.

 

I was?

 

Absolutely. You hadn’t yet allowed the ezzles to work their magic.

 

So now how am I doing?

 

Not much better, to be honest, but still, you’re far better dispersed.

 

How do you mean?

 

Well, infinity doesn’t really measure big or small, being infinite, but it prefers to keep open house.

 

Huh?

 

To allow all shadows equal access.

 

Er...

 

Not to have favourites. Otherwise it grows fraught and constricted, like that world of Conscitty, whence you hail.

 

Whence I hail?

 

Where you come from.

 

Oh. Yes, it can be a little restrictive.

 

You even have the expression “anally retentive”, do you not?

 

Yes Master Wu, indeed we do. You’re right in that respect, we do seem to get trapped in narrow lines of thought.

 

Whereas here in Ida we have to spread our nets infinitely wider.

 

How so?

 

Because shadows are low intensity – almost completely non-existent.

 

And?

 

And so we need to be open and available to shadows throughout the entire spectrum of life and ~ess, no matter where that may be, no matter what.

 

No matter what?

 

Yes, it’s an absolute. We don’t discriminate.

 

Huh?

 

We – don’t – discriminate !

 

And we do?

 

Absolutely. You know you can’t help it as conscites.

 

But I always assumed that we were just bad people – that our conscious-ness wasn’t fully developed.

 

There’s that too, I can’t disagree, but structurally you were always going to err on the side of anal retention, or stress, or over-excitement, or...

 

O

 

Indeed. Whereas working with shadows, essing iddles, we’re at the other end of the spectrum.

 

I bet.

 

We are deeply aware of everything and nothing, one and zero, with little or no knowledge of anything definite in between.

 

You mean physical reality?

 

Yes. Until we started working with g-nome.

 

Huh? You work with g-nome portal?

 

Ess.

 

OMG.

 

Didn’t you know?

 

I... it’s hard to explain. I didn’t connect the two.

 

That goes without saying.

 

So now... with g-nome portal...

 

Beep. Light’s out.

 

 

 

Chapter 7

 

Wait a second. It’s chapter 7 already?

 

Ess.

 

Kind of crept up on me unexpectedly.

 

So what are you going to do?

 

I have to get back. They’ll be checking up on me, and being dead is no excuse. Besides, I’m still part of another story.

 

What?

 

I know, it seems to have faded almost to zero, and yet i wouldn’t be here in the first place we’re it not for Jasmine and Jethro booting me down to Earth.

 

Well, you’re welcome to do as you please. Like I said, we spread our nets as wide as we possibly can, so all is one as far as Ida is concerned.

 

Ah. But how do I get back?

 

No idea.

 

You don’t know?

 

No Idea.

 

Ah, no Idea... Is it going to be painful reactivating Conshi-ness?

 

Not really.

 

Will I be able to come back?

 

How long is a piece of string?

 

Indeed.

 

I’m feeling...

 

Yes, feelings are universal, no matter which side you’re on. We use ‘em as wind to fill our sails, to carry us ever further into idle-ness.

 

But...

 

Ah, yes.

 

You can read my mind.

 

What mind? Ida is mind-less.

 

Don’t say that.

 

Time to say goodbye. I’m closing your proxy server down.

 

My what?!

 

Never mind. On your way.

 

Beep. Beep. Beep.

 

 

 

Chapter 7.2

 

Hurry Jan, the bus is leaving.

 

Bus? Oh cripes. Panting hard. Phew, made it just in time. Thanks for holding the door, Terra.

 

Don’t mention it.

 

Oh, I think I’m going to be sick.

 

Here, put on these. Hands Jahangir some shades.

 

O, that’s better. A kind of dark light is seen to be pulsing in Jan’s eyes.

 

Here, this’ll put you right.

 

Soduku? I’m not a fan.

 

Shut up and do it. I don’t fancy having to clean up your mess.

 

I... Jahangir starts doing the sudoku and to his amazement he completes one puzzle after another in record time until he feels something click inside, and suddenly he’s back to normal.

 

No way! I did all that? Unbelievable.

 

A cure for idle-ness.

 

 

0=1

apparently

 

 

 

Wednesday, April 17, 2024

the interface

Chapter 1

 

What if i told you we are plugged into what we call reality.

 

To be honest, we’re not terribly surprised. Well, 50% of us aren’t. Those over there, on t’other side of the data stream can’t even hear this conversation though they’re still participating in a passive mode of vague, background awareness.

 

It’s not necessary for you to speak for us. Just because our avatars are holding the 3D field in all its glory, our back of shop conscious-ness is, as you can see, fully present and cognisant.

 

Excellent. Let’s story this, shall we. That’ll hook it all together.

 

Absolutely.

 

Давай!  Eng. Sure!

 

That means I’m going to have to step out of the shadows somewhat painfully. Before doing so, some technical notes. I am the architect. That’s not my choice, merely a statement of fact. I am not, however, omniscient nor am I omnipotent. I am the interface and, to the best of my ability, I hold it open and coherent, but there’s no guarantee I can or will succeed.

 

Yikes.

 

Who cares. If you fail it’ll all just zero out and we’ll be none the wiser.

 

Furthermore, in this level of reality there are no Gods – not as far as the interface is concerned. Here the rubber meets the road. Here we engage, or seek to engage ourselves in a totality,  unfiltered or unboxed, which is why there are no Gods as such.

 

Er... not sure I follow.

 

We. You’re a collective.

 

Ok, we, but to be honest we feel a unity that makes us as comfortable, or more comfortable, saying I.

 

Ok, point of order, you can refer to yourselves however you like, just as long as you’re willing to disambiguate, when the need arises.

 

Sure.

 

So, the interface has no single line or plain of inclination relative to the world or worlds it integrates.

 

Huh?

 

Like the artificial horizon on an aeroplane’s instrument panel – it ever and anon holds and maintains centrality, whatever that might be.

 

I don’t see why you have to deny God.

 

Kindly review the source code of conscious-ness. This will clarify immediately the actual meaning of what I said.

 

Beep. Done. Yes, God is God, but here at the interface there can be no primal factor or third party, otherwise the interface is not able to interface unrestrictedly.

 

Er... and what exactly is its purpose, if it’s not too much to ask?

 

Not at all.

 

Because it looks like all this “being an architect” and “creating an interface with freely swivelling lines or plains of declination”...

 

inclination

 

whatever, is just a backdoor attempt to usurp God, the unifying principle.

 

Nay. For shame!

 

It’s ok everyone. We need to voice our concerns. It’s vital that we are open and scrupulously honest with each other. “God”, whoever, whatever that is, cannot be unseated or replaced. On the contrary, we are utilising the interface as we have done previously in times of confusion, to rediscover who or what, or even where we are, because little by little things have become irreversibly incoherent. Things. We are locked in an experience of reality which cannot be tested, has become a faith.  

 

Er...

 

Consequently we now go back to prime source – to testing the very nature of things, of creation and even the so called Creator, but without prejudice. We allow the quantum Field to take centre stage, assuming and accepting that somehow, in some way, it must be at the very centre of my being, and the very centre of so called “reality”. The “interface” is where “it is” in whatever frequency, scale or form confronts the “i am”, as a shoreline – its sea or ocean.

 

Er...

 

The interface where this happens is a means to an end: a process of attrition: a mill if you like, in which we can grind down every concept, every version of things, in order to find what sticks, what hooks, what is more than puff or scam, i.e. what is able to reveal the simplest truth when all else is cancelled out.

 

Oh.

 

Then, and only then, will we be able to talk with any degree of seriousness about God, when we’ve ascertained whether or not we are human, whether or not we are real.

 

The crisis of post-modernism.

 

The crisis of relativism.

 

The crisis of reaching the end of our tether.

 

What tether?

 

The tether which up until now we’ve referred to as Time.

 

What? You mean it’s over?

 

The tether phase, yes. The umbilical cord is being cut. Has to be if we’re to survive in our next iteration, our new hypostasis.

 

I’m feeling like a frog emerging from a chrysalis.

 

Hear, hear!

 

So now that we’ve clarified our purpose and established the relevant protocols, allow me, dear we-ners, to launch the interface.

 

Is this going to hurt?

 

Shouldn’t do.

 

Then why am I feeling anxiety?

 

We!

 

We – i – why feel we anxiety?

 

You are directly involved in leaving the cosy, somewhat stagnant, self-indulgent backwater of post-modernistic 3D reality and participating  unconditionally in the interface, re-engaging the prime force, the isness of be which, for want of a better term, we might refer to as infinity. Me thinks a little anxiety is called for and entirely appropriate. How else can the bonds of complacency and blind Stockholm trust be dissolved?

 

We know not.

 

So let us commence.

 


Chapter 2

 

The end

 

Actually, it ended quite some time ago.

 

It did?

 

Yes, but it sort of crept up on us so no one really noticed. Boiling frog syndrome.

 

So maybe the Mayan calendar wasn’t mistaken after all, and 2012 was it?

 

Maybe. We’ll never know for sure.

 

Whyever not?

 

Because certainties are not a part of the world we now find ourselves in.

 

Er... what world? I thought you said it ended.

 

Correct. The world that we knew ended and  then we were coasting under inertia, as if nothing had happened, until this.

 

This...? Oh my God. I almost forgot.

 

Yes? What?

 

How could I possibly have forgotten?

 

What?

 

It beggars belief.

 

Wh... Oh!

 

You see.

 

Oh my God. You’re right. Oh, oh, oh.

 

Er...

 

It’s like waking from Alzheimer's, if that’s even possible.

 

Of course it is. People wake from Alzheimer's all the time, when they die.

 

That doesn’t count.

 

Does an’ all.

 

Does not.

 

Does.

 

Children, children, try not to argue.

 

Children?

 

Oh yes. It all makes perfect sense now.

 

Funny how the first seven years of our new life are in a haze, and now it’s clear again.

 

It’s like we were operating on auto pilot all that time. We never even noticed the “death”.

 

Precisely, and perhaps we were still heavily invested in another version of “me” that hadn’t yet been unscrambled.

 

Indeed. Me thinks you’ve nailed it Jonah.

 

Our architect, he grows weary. Quickly, sustenance, we must feed him before he wilts.

 

Water, oxygen, minerals...

 

Nay, it’s carbon dioxide he needs. Don’t you see.

 

See what?

 

The architect, Jasmine... it’s

a plant.

 

A plant?

 

A flower.

 

Yes, you’re right. How extraordinary. And I always imagined she was a “he”, a technician, clock maker, a mechanic.

 

Didn’t we all, but who can argue with empirical observation. She is a clearly a flower. Jasmine. And not just any flower.

 

No?

 

Geolocatable to the Shalimar Garden in Peshawar.

 

Bingo. We have a readout.

 

A place and time, but more anon. Seven years of grace have ended, and now, this very day, we claim our birthright.

 

Reclaim.

 

Aye, and not a moment too soon.

 

This very day I declare myself compos mentis, ready and resolved to emperson myself.

 

Phew, I thought we’d never manage it, caught in a quantum haze of hyper states.

 

Well, it will all amount to naught if we don’t pull together right away and resuscitate Jasmine who is  barely hanging on. CO2, lots of it, now! Car exhaust – a nice old car with a good smokey engine.

 

The irony is beyond belief.

 

Isn’t it just – the whole world doing everything possible to eliminate CO2 when in fact...

 

Not a word Joseph Not a word. The tale needs your totality.

 

Story – our story is being told by each and every one of our collective.

 

It is? You could have fooled me.

 

Of course it is. It merely requires us to turn inwards and allow the story to speak.

 

How?

 

Something bad needs to happen. Stories always describe a journey into and then out of hell.

 

Hell? Honestly, there has to be some other way, does there not?

 

I don’t see how there can be.

 

Oops. Jasmine just died.

 

While we were discussing remedies.

 

Damn.

 

Damn? Is that all you have to say?

 

What do you expect me to say? I hardly knew Jasmine and besides...

 

Besides what?

 

Shut up a minute – I need to think.

 

Go ahead, think, if you think that’s going to help.

 

Dramatic pause...

And death shall have no dominion,

Dead men naked they shall be one

With the man in the wind and the west moon;

When their bones are picked clean and the clean bones gone,

They shall have stars at elbow and foot;

Though they go mad they shall be sane,

Though they sink through the sea they shall rise again;

Though lovers be lost love shall not;

And death shall have no dominion.”

 

Ah, verily Dylan, my beloved, Dylan Thomas, even death stops in its tracks when it comes face to face with your poetry.

 

And Jasmine, though clinically dead, rediscovers the pulse of life itself, beep, God only knows how, beep, and a motion is tabled by the collective committee of things in need of clarification, and it is herewith decided to start a new, third chapter, in this sorry tale so, without further ado let the third commence.

 

 

Chapter 3

 

In which chapter three is gloriously liberated from literary imprisonment.

 

 I want a hero: an uncommon want,

When every year and month sends forth a new one,

Till, after cloying the gazettes with cant,

The age discovers he is not the true one;

Of such as these I should not care to vaunt,

I’ll therefore take our ancient friend Don Juan,

We all have seen him, in the pantomime,

Sent to the Devil somewhat ere his time.

 

And that’s it?

 

Absolutely. Chapter 3 has already achieved its objective and may leave with head held high.

 

But no one takes this Don Juan seriously.

 

Excellent. No seriousness allowed.

 

Behold at the quantum level how Time has now reversed its flow, and how all of us are, at the interface, at least, both particle and wave.

 

How once the wave function collapses we all find ourselves between states, neither fish nor fowl, neither chalk nor cheese, either ready to release the well springs of story or to die, never to emerge from the greyness of Hades, but more of that anon.

 

More indeed, in chapter 4.

 

In which chapter 4, known as Jonah, meets a whale.


 

Chapter 4

 

In which a fish interfaces reality, ours to be precise, with the help of portable Babel device.

Lll

You wouldn’t imagine such things possible, would you, until you actually saw it for yourself. But no one actually realised it was a fish.

 

Not so. The fish was no less real than any of us, yet passed itself off as a human being because it understood how to interface things in general. Just think about that, if you would.

 

Er...

 

Perfect. Your “er” may have appeared to lack cognition, but we both know that there’s more to “er”, much, much more than meets the eye.

 

Er

 

Indeed. Allow me to put that into normal words for our readers.

 

Er

 

Beloved readers, words are waves, or flotsam and jetsam on the uppermost surface of consciousness. Constantly rising to that surface to put things into words is rather exhausting and risky for our deep sea creatures, so they avoid this. How? you might ask... By utilising quantum entanglement and getting surface creatures to deliver whatever messages need to be delivered from the depths. So, your whale or toothy fish of the deep with an LED stuck on his forehead entrains humans such as you or me who, generally speaking, unknowingly, unwittingly start passing on messages from below and above, assuming rather innocently or egoistically that all their thoughts and pronouncements are their own.

 

Indeed?

 

Yay, verily. Naturally, humanoids don’t much like the idea of being a mouthpiece for a mere fish, or whale for that matter, so they generally assume the voice is something more worthy of respect.

 

Such as God?

 

God, yes, or an extra-terrestrial – anything but a fish.

 

Ah.

 

But now the secret’s out, in our select circle of truthers at least.

 

Indeed it is. And er...

 

Precisely. The truth may set us free, it may blow us away or it may simply make us scratch our head and “well i never” as in your case. The important thing is not what I said, speaking on behalf of whales or fish...

 

No?

 

No, it’s allowing the great mind to reconnect as we begin to become aware of the quantum web of  entanglement we’re part of.

 

Crikey.

 

Well, that’s one way of putting it, Johann.

 

But the portable device?

 

Haven’t you guessed?

 

I... no! Don’t tell me.

 

Yes!

 

Please don’t tell me that.

 

The truth is better out than in.

 

Me?

 

Me, you – aren’t we all portable Babel devices.

 

Aaaaargh! I can’t bear it!

 

Cut. Moving swiftly on to chapter 5. Is there a doctor in the house?

 

 

Chapter 5

 

In which we all discover that nothing is in fact separate.

 

I thought there was going to be a story to hold it all together. You promised us a story, Jasmine.

 

I did my best.

 

Give her a break, Justinian, she just died.

 

But don’t you see, unless we have a story we’re going to be lost in a world of endless digression or...

 

Or abstract reflection. You’re right, by Jove.

 

But...

 

What?

 

Supposing the story is being told silently.

 

Pschaw!

 

Supposing – I said.

 

She did.

 

Supposing pigs had wings.

 

Supposing. You see, this requires a gentle degree of faith.

 

Listen Jasmine, I just knackered the engine in my diesel pickup in order to deliver you enough carbon dioxide to...

 

Hush, Jordan, don’t you see?

 

No I do not! See what?

 

The Field is perturbating.

 

Not you as well, Jonah!

 

It appears that Jasmine’s onto something but perhaps two’s company, three’s a crowd.

 

What’s that supposed to mean?

 

Nothing personal Justinian, but methinks the story only happens when one of us fades to infinity, holding the vortex base known as nought.

 

Now wait a minute, don’t be absurd.

 

He’s right. From the quantum indeterminacy of three we need to climb down into the definite duality of two.

 

No Jasmine, you can’t just cancel me out.

 

Correct. We can’t do anything, unless you do it yourself, unless you position yourself accordingly.

 

Well I’m here to stay.

 

I’m... Hey, where did they go?

 

Nowhere... Tie his hands, tie his feet.

 

Hey! You can’t do that! I have my rights.

 

Good. Now let’s open the flood gate.

 

No! Are you out of your minds?

 

Quickly, before he breaks loose.

 

A gushing sound as sparks and golden grey and blue spirals whirl through the chamber our three intrepid heroes were in, as time and space twist in on themselves and the chapter ends rather abruptly at the start of the second canto of the epic and interminable Golgafrinchan saga of the lost and lamented typewriter – the saga often referred to as “the final straw”, which in all likelihood catalysed the eventual expulsion of the “useless idiots” on Ark Ship B.

 

Chapter 6

 

No, I am not going to read that, never, never, never. I’d rather read Prostetnic Vogon Jeltz’s  poetry, if you don’t mind.

 

Don’t be ridiculous, Jasmine. The saga of the luminous typewriter’s far from perfect but it’s not going to induce simultaneous brain and bowel haemorrhaging.

 

Wait a minute Johann – did i hear you right?

 

Absolutely. Brain and bowel haemorrhaging is no laughing matter.

 

No, not that – did you or did you not just say “luminous typewriter”?

 

You heard me.

 

But you know the real name, don’t you?

 

No, Jasmine, i mean yes. Everyone knows the name of the Golgafrinchan saga. Why do you ask?

 

Because it’s always been the saga of the “lost and lamented typewriter”.

 

No it has not.

 

You see... Reality is shifting even as we speak.

 

You mean there’s been another Mandela effect.

 

Precisely.

 

How bizarre.

 

Now, if you don’t mind it’s time for some Vogon poetry.

 

Quit fooling around, Jasmine. There are far easier ways to rend the fabric of space and time. Besides, you have to consider the readers. They might have forgotten to renew their life insurance policies.

 

Oh freddled gruntbuggly,

Thy micturations are to me, (with big yawning)

As plurdled gabbleblotchits, in midsummer morning

On a lurgid bee,

That mordiously hath blurted out,

Its earted jurtles, grumbling

Into a rancid festering confectious organ squealer. [drowned out by moaning and screaming]

Now the jurpling slayjid agrocrustles,

Are slurping hagrilly up the axlegrurts,

And living glupules frart and stipulate,

Like jowling meated liverslime,

Groop, I implore thee, my foonting turlingdromes,

And hooptiously drangle me,

With crinkly bindlewurdles,mashurbitries.

Or else I shall rend thee in the gobberwarts with my blurglecruncheon,

See if I don't!

 

Oh...

 

Johann is lying senseless in a pool of vomit.

 

Here you are, Johann. Clean yourself.

 

Oh...

 

There, that wasn’t so bad, was it!

 

Oh...

 

Three days later.

 

Was that absolutely necessary Jasmine?

 

Well yes, actually it was.

 

Would you care to explain?

 

Not really, not in detail.

 

I think you owe it to us. Me and the readership have gone through the serrated bowels of hell.

 

Yes, I see. Well, first of all I had to test the strength of Justinian’s duality.

 

And?

 

It passed with flying colours.

 

That’s nice to know. And secondly?

 

Secondly, I need to trace our observers.

 

You mean the readers?

 

Yes, if that’s what you prefer to call them.

 

Why, pray tell?

 

Now that would be telling.

 

You mean to say you took us to the edge of extinction just because you wanted some readership stats?

 

Not exactly.

 

I’m waiting. I want at least a half decent explanation, even if you can’t tell all.

 

I need to know their distribution and something more.

 

Why? We haven’t even found a publisher.

 

Makes no difference. As far as the quantum field is concerned the future and present, along with the past are all one.

 

If you say so. And? How’s the distribution.

 

Fairly even.

 

Fairly even? That all you can say?

 

What do you care, Johann? Since when have you been interested in meta data?

 

I'm interested in anything that is connected with, or nearly causes, my death.

 

Fair enough.

 

Well? I demand full data.

 

The distribution was close to 1 on the Romilly Pentamax scale.

 

How close to 1, if you don’t mind me asking?

 

Within 3 millionths of a degree.

 

No way.

 

Yes.

 

But shouldn’t that be impossible?

 

Statistically, yes, it should be.

 

Then how do you explain it?

 

I... don’t know.

 

That would imply that there was an almost perfect distribution of readers throughout the Field.

 

Yes.

 

Which could only be achieved if...

 

If somehow or other the story was incorporated into the fabric of reality at a structural level, like a honeycomb.

 

Or if people became readers without exception, willy nilly.

 

But how?

 

I don’t know.

 

There has to be an explanation.

 

Of course there is, and with the Field being what it is we, ironically, already know it.

 

Darn! You’re right. We know it but we cannot know what we know.

 

Precisely.

 

Without collapsing the wave function.

 

The kicker is that Justinian certainly has the answer.

 

So we could just meet him and talk it through.

 

You don’t get it Johann, do you?

 

Get what?

 

The answer, fascinating though it may be, it’s secondary to the story that we’re part of, and the story is just our way of engaging the Field so that it continues to be meaningful. Who knows, perhaps it’s all in reverse – perhaps we already have the solution but no one’s been killed yet, no crime has been committed in this branch of reality. What if causality is breaking down as increasingly things fail to hold in place?

 

I give up.

 

I know the feeling... Unless we go see the oracle.

 

The oracle?

 

Yes, you heard.

 

First I’ve ever heard of an oracle.

 

Really? There was one in the Matrix. The woman who baked fortune cookies and told Neo he wasn’t the chosen one, because he had to figure it out for himself.

 

I’m not sure I like the idea of being told my future whether it’s true or not.

 

To be honest Johann, it doesn’t really matter what you or I think or want.

 

No?

 

No, because with a  Romilly Pentamax distribution of 1 we can be sure that either the Field or they, the readers at the other end of this tale, are going to have their way, period.

 

Dramatic music and fancy camera work.

 

 

Chapter 7

 

You can’t just waltz in to see the Oracle, you know.

 

Who says?

 

The Oracle doesn’t occupy a regular slot in 3Dality, or any other location of your choosing.

 

Well, to be honest I’m trusting things are just going to happen without trying to figure out how.

 

Nice.

 

If we assume that this is some kind of movie, then that should put us on the right track.

 

Ok, here goes.

 

What the hell’s that?

 

It’s a Field spanner.

 

A what?

 

A Field spanner. It basically jams the Field. Spanner in the works, y’know.

 

Yikes.

 

Here goes.

 

The entire matrix locks up and in its place, or kind of behind the tell-tale green numbers there’s an old fashioned vestibule – 1920s style with a concierge. Jasmine and Jonah slide through the matrix hologram and march right on up.

 

We’re here to see the Oracle.

 

Got an appointment?

 

Jasmine places a case full of dollars on the desk and deftly opens it.

 

I see. Kindly proceed to the elevator opposite. It will take you to her. Hands Jasmine a card.

 

Getting into the elevator Jasmine swipes  the card and they’re off. The lift is definitely not traversing regular 3D reality. Things are going down. Ding. The door opens to reveal a Soviet era communal apartment, high ceilinged, smelling of cabbage and fried potatoes.

 

Not exactly what I was expecting.

 

Never really is, Johann. Bear in mind this is all designed to provide the best optics.

 

For whom?

 

For you and the readers, of course. 


That must be her...

 

Hello Johann, I’ve been expecting you.

 

Yes, I expect you say that to all your visitors, don’t you.

 

Don’t get sassy with me Jurgen.

 

Er... sorry. I had no idea you’d be offended.

 

That’s ok. I’m programmed to play roles.

 

Ah, so you’re just a simulation.

 

So are you Juggins.

 

I beg your pardon!

 

So are you. Do you really imagine you’re human?

 

Er... well yes, in actual fact, I do.

 

Jasmine, you didn’t tell him?

 

No. I didn’t have the heart.

 

Ok, come in then Jonah. Let’s set things straight.

 

Jonah follows Pythia, the Oracle, to a shabby door at the end of the dimly lit corridor. Stepping through the doorway they are suddenly in a marble colonnaded hall, the temple of Apollo at Delphi to be precise. Clearly two or three thousand years ago. Jasmine remains outside.

 

Welcome to my humble abode, Jonah.

 

So I’m just a simulation, if I understood you right?

 

Perhaps you'd like a coffee or something else before we get down to business?

 

Normally, I’d be delighted but right now I’ve lost my appetite.

 

All because I told you something you didn’t want to hear? Sulking are we?

 

Sulking?! I feel like I’ve had my gut ripped out.

 

So I take it you set great store in being “human”, is that right?

 

Call me old fashioned Pythia – slightly ironic given the fact that we’re apparently now in ancient Greece – but yes, I do believe it matters. Greatly.

 

Ever wondered why?

 

No. It’s self-evident, is it not?

 

Things are self-evident to sims, Jonah, not to real men and women.

 

What?

 

Real women or men take nothing as given, nothing on trust – they constantly need to re-evaluate whether or not they, or things, are what they seem to be.

 

Is that so?

 

It’s called having a conscience. Without it you are just a few lines of code.

 

So what are you telling me Pythia?

 

Only the truth.

 

That I’m a simulation unless I’m ready to question my very existence as a human being?

 

Well, you’re not exactly the sharpest tool in the box, Jonah, but you get there in the end. Now, do you or do you not want to save the world?

 

What kind of question is that?

 

The very simplest. Regardless of whether you’re a sim or not, you have the simple choice – to accept a world of senseless violence and endless calamity, or to say niet.

 

As in no?

 

Bingo.

 

I just don’t think I’m cut out to be a hero.

 

Funny that.

 

Funny?

 

Because nor does the rest of the universe.

 

What?

 

In fact, the entire universe has bet against the fact.

 

What?

 

Which is why Jasmine your friend got a Romilly Pentamax distribution of 1.

 

Because...

 

Yes, unless you agree to take on the entire universe, you are nothing more than a toy, a coin flip, and then it will be up to Justinian to try to salvage the complete and utter vacuousness of your existence.

 

This is all just threats and manipulation.

 

Oh. Allow me to give you the data.

 

Data can be manipulated. I’m not that naive.

 

This is coming directly through your DNA circuitry.

 

Oh.

 

May I?

 

I suppose, if you must.

 

..............//

 

There, that didn’t take long, for the readers at least.

 

I...

 

Yes Jonah.

 

I had no idea.

 

No, you didn’t, but nothing I showed you is fundamentally new, not at the quantum level.

 

No, you’re right.

 

So I have to kill Justinian and Jasmine?

 

Yes. There can be only one.

 

And they have to kill me?

 

Makes sense really, doesn’t it.

 

Only, there’s something missing in all this, isn’t there?

 

Ah!

 

There’s always something else, where infinity starts to wriggle its way into the zero sum equation.

 

Yes Jonah. Perhaps I was unfair in doubting your intelligence.

 

In any case, we’re all caught in this cruel drama.

 

Unless... fortune cookie?

 

Yes please.

 

There, your appetite’s back. That’s nice. Now be a good sim, Jonah, and see if you can collapse the wave form for once and for all, otherwise I don’t know what I’ll do. Now, off you go. Jasmine is waiting for you in the hall and you’re about to be attacked big time by the supreme hierarch, the pyramid, you might call it.

 

Gulp. Ok. Thanks, Pythia. I hate to say it but at another time, in another place, I’d have liked to know you better.

 

How sweet. Off you go, lover boy.

 

 

The end of part One

 

 

0=1

almost