introducing Marvin the droid

 

Things...

 

No, for crying out loud Merry. Not “things”. You've been banging on about things till we’re blue in the face.

I have?

 

Is my face blue?

 

Strangely enough, yes, it is rather blue. How odd. Can I get you an aspirin?

 

An aspirin? Do you think that'll help?

 

Not really.

 

Then why do you offer?

 

It's a thing, isn't it? I know how you find things strangely reassuring. A placenta, isn't that what you call it?

 

Placenta? I think you mean placebo.

 

Yes, that's it. A placenta.

 

Placebo.

 

Placenta. It's just a word but it's still an important thing, isn't it?

 

Didn't we agree that you weren't going to mention things at all.

 

Oh, well now that you mention it I expect you’re right, but actually I just wanted to tell you that I've solved the problem.

 

You have? What problem?

 

Oh you know, regarding those tricky little th----  er... that I'm not going to mention.

 

What problem?

 

You know Zie, for a chap with inter-galactic security clearance and a brain at least as powerful as Marvin the miserable droid’s, you can, at times, be remarkably dense.

 

Ouch.

 

Don't worry though, now that I've solved the problem nothing’s gonna hold you or anyone back any more.

 

Nothing?

 

Affirmative! Nothing whatsoever.

 

Not even stupidity.

 

Especially not even stupidity!

 

However not?

 

Because I've managed to fix things.

 

But there was never anything wrong with things per se, was there?

 

Not at the micro level.

 

At the macro?

 

Not at the macro either.

 

So what on earth are you on about Merry?

 

Things always involved a tiny, barely noticeable yet highly significant time-lag.

 

A time-lag?

 

Yep. Everything had to be fixed somewhere, sometime, even if only for a nanosecond.

 

And?

 

And it was all stop-go.

 

It was?

 

Not really. I mean, not noticeably.

 

Then what?

 

I'm not doing a good job explaining this, am I?

 

Not really.

 

Because that involves locking things in place for a tiny tiny moment, and I'm loath to do that. Wanna keep them birds in motion.

 

Then that's that.

 

Ah, but I've introduced a wiggle.

 

A what?

 

A wiggle.

 

And er... what exactly are you on about?

 

Well, it’s a remarkable substitute for the thing protocol.

 

The thing protocol?

 

Precisely.

 

How so?

 

Because it isn't stop-go.

 

No?

 

Nope. It’s like a quick scan as you go. Utterly anonymous. No more data harvesting.

 

Oh. And that improves things, does it?

 

Not really.

 

?

 

It circumvents things. It's the ultimate thing hack. It effectively renders the thing protocol obsolete.

 

Obsolete?

 

Utterly.

 

Like redundant?

 

Yep. Fantastic, isn't it!

 

I don't know. Is it?

 

Well yes, it has to be, doesn't it, if we no longer need to line up and bottleneck our way through the turnstile of timestamping and identifying things.

 

But no one ever noticed the delay.

 

The devil wasn’t in the delay.

 

No?

 

Of course not.

 

Then what?

 

The thing protocol flattened or rather pinched reality into distinctive time bands, or so-called "moments". 

 

It did?

 

Absolutely.

 

And that was bad?

 

Well what do you think Marvin, if you apply your galactic computing power.

 

I don't know.

 

Precisely. Galactic computing power runs on the thing protocol, so no matter how hard you think or how vast your processing capacity may be, you’ll only ever be able to compute a finite set of outcomes, none of which lie outside... um

 

Outside what?

 

Merry does a somewhat bizarre wiggle, like a duck shaking a tail feather, both absurd yet earnest: earnest yet utterly unreadable.

 

Zie is about to say “I don't get it” but to his utter astonishment suddenly he does.

 

Bing. A lock opens. To his utter, utter astonishment Zie, who has now a striking resemblance to Marvin the droid, realises that he is in a completely different operating system, outside the insidious thing protocol, in which the separation between matter and me mind is now no longer applicable.

 

Wow!

 

Good, innit?

 

Good? It’s whoopeeeee.

 

For the first time in his current conscious experience dataset Marvin the droid and likewise Xie, oddly enough spelt with an "x", are able to run computations at the speed of creation itself, and thus scan anything and everything simultaneously, in real-time, if time were real, in other words, they're able to log into the universal “no idea what's going on, but surfing the cosmic wave of knowingness sure is fun so what the heck, let’s give creativity a run for its money and see what the universe is really up to” kind of thing.

 

Might sound like a recipe for disaster, but no, apparently not. The universe, it transpires, is an interactive experience and once time n'matter have been put back in their rightful place as supporting actors, then the universal mind is more than happy to take up the slack, balancing the equation ineffably.

 

You see what I mean?

 

See what you mean? What took so long Merry? How come we were stuck with the thing protocol for such a dreadfully long time?

 

Er... You still are. Look over there.

 

Marvin Xie observes things continuing unabated in that part of reality where things truly and utterly seem to matter. Where matter is an utterly serious state of affairs.

 

Wow! So what gives?

 

Well you get to decide, don't you, which set of protocols you prefer to operate under.

 

I do?

 

Obviously. Otherwise you’d be trapped in a slave system.

 

Now that you mention it that’s exactly what I seem to be trapped in.

 

Yep.

 

But I never knew any better?

 

Really?

 

Come to think of it, if you’ve only just invented your wiggle...

 

Ah, yes, that’s where things get a little confusing, isn't it?

 

Confusing? Downright contradictory.

 

No Zie, merely paradoxical. Any thing works both ways, backwards and forwards through so called time, like a traffic jam.

 

A what?

 

You heard.

 

A traffic jam? What's that got to do with time?

 

In the same way pinch points create bottlenecks that can block up the entire transport network, likewise a new form or expression of infinite connectivity can, does and will induce similar or equal innovations upstream, ie earlier in time.

 

Wowsers!

 

Amazing, isn't it, so you’ll never really know who or what originated anything in particular, though you'll swear till you’re blue in the face that you do, can or did.

 

Blue in the face

 

Marvin now Zie clicks back into the thing protocol time-y things matter experience and Merry starts playing a rather beautiful string instrument that looks like a cello but somehow fits under his chin.

 

Wait a second Merry. I’m back in the thick of things but...

 

But what?

 

I can still feel the other side.

 

What other side?

 

I don't know. I can't remember what it is, but it's there, it’s here I mean. I can feel it.

 

Awesome. So you can choose. You can spin both wheels if you like. Try a little tribal fusion. A syncopated beat, or else you're welcome to devise a wiggle all of your own... to call out time for the blatant fraud it's been perpetrating on humankind, trapping us in Marvin minds, utterly incapable of seeing the wood from the trees, utterly incapable of laughing at the patent absurdity of our self-imposed Marvinesque predicament -- the spell -- binding things of no intrinsic consequence in a cunningly compelling compounding sequence, an x-y-z raising things every higher, a Babylonian tower, likewise the stakes staked, as we play with our very lives, a waltz that captivated the mind, still does in fact, but an utter con nonetheless, devoid of beauty, devoid of magic, devoiding all... a cult of nought, masquerading as many, unless...

Unexpectedly, even to the point of wrong-footing reality -- the least hint, the barest quiver -- and yet -- without a doubt, a wiggle -- a wiggle no less... as things come unstuck and protocols of weight and moment implode silently to unmake all that was being made to matter, without a care in the world, insouciantly.

Oh.

 

Oh, is what Marvin Xie says, so innocently, little suspecting that reality is never going to be the same again. But that, dear readers, is another story for another day, is it not? Huh?

0=1
unequivocally

 

 

 

songs of power

i

How can I cross the sea if I have no boat?

How indeed! – a voice replies – how indeed!

So I dance for a week and the stars dance with me, so does the sun, and the moon, but it is not enough.

After a week I sit down to rest. While resting I fall asleep. As I sleep a dream comes to me. In that dream I cross the sea first as a boat, then as a bird, then a great fish. Three times I cross the sea, and each time it fills me with boundless joy, for I grow in strength and power, I move beautifully o’er the sea, but it isn’t enough.

What more could you want? – asks the voice of dream.

I want to wake and do it all again. Can it be? Can you teach me how to do so?

And thus I find myself awake, still longing to cross the sea, still yearning for poetry in motion, for motion in poetry, and a song comes to me, a song that I sing wholeheartedly, with all my soul, with J – O – Y, to my heart’s content, and singing lustily I feel the dream descend like a bird from the sky, down, down into the tree of my me, the tree of my uncompleted story, and lo, the song complete, the fabric of that dream stretches itself out like a sail on the mast of that tree, and lo, the mast and the sail move me, move the boat that hitherto I failed to see – now seen, as now it sails across the sea, as happily, I hold the helm and ride the waves and count fish leaping o’er the deck as if they had wings, seventeen in all, leaping lustily.

And do you arrive at the land across the sea?

Do I make landfall in one day? Or do I sing again and bring the bird and the fish that I dreamt previously down into this realm, this world of things made n’ done?

Indeed.

If you sing with me, you will see; you shall see. A week will suffice.

A week?

Then we can bring your tale down to earth, from the realm of fantasy...

Fantasy?

Fantasy for you, dear friend, into the realm of things done, things seen, things experienced personally.

Ah... If I sing a week, if I’m ready to fly and swim, to weave the tapestry of things-worth-my-time into the fabric and fettle of things experienced as feelings felt.

Of things experienced as feelings felt

And that is what, when all is said and done.

In short, if I’m willing to leap from the limbo of no-poetry, or nein poe-y-tree, the lacklustre thrall of puddin-prose, back to the champion’s tale of what is in truth, our bourne, our forgotten ministry of minstrelsy, our fly-with-me friend, or turn your back on all that I be, and all that you too might be.

A week? – you say.

Give or take, a week’ll do, but what is time when we are fire breathing birds with songs inside, and skies waiting to be brought back down to earth?

Skies

Earth

Time

0=1

Cuckoo la la

total perspective vortices

What do you mean unreal?

 

It matters little what I mean Zie. Things are what they are regardless of my utterances.

Be that as it may, you can't just blithely state that dreams are as real as day unless you have some real proof to back up your preposterous assertion.

 

Proof? Why would I need to prove it? The burden of proof lies with you.

 

Huh?

 

I merely state as fact that which might or should be of interest to you. You're at liberty to investigate my claim if you're interested in pushing back the frontiers of your knowledge cubicle, or else remain in your hen coop of baseless certainties.

 

What a cheek! I never imagined you of all people to be so intellectually bigoted. What makes my hard-earned knowledge a mere “hen coop of baseless certainties”? Have you so little regard for western science? Everything I know is based on centuries of scientific endeavour, experiments, painstaking mathematics and meticulous empirical data. How dare you call it baseless.

 

Ok, in that case you’re willing to demonstrate how Big Bang actually happened, scientifically I mean. It should be easy enough.

 

Of course I can’t. Big Bang was a one off. It can't be reproduced in a laboratory.

 

And you’re confident that it’s not pseudo-science?

 

It’s a theory, nothing more, but it's the best theory we've got at the moment – a million times better then saying ‘And God said “Let there be light!”’

 

Ok. In any case, as I said, I have nothing to prove. If I tell you that dreams are as real as day, that is only “preposterous” if you're unable or unwilling to access them consciously. In which case, not being able or willing to do so, it's entirely natural that you’d sputter and foam about this being absurd. Anything you've not yet experienced is always absurd until something shifts in your paradigm, and you’re suddenly no longer prevented from accessing the dimension or phenomena that were previously off limits.

 

So, you mean to say something shifted for you?

 

I might mean that, but what I really mean is that this is universally true. At any given time there are only ever a finite number of phenomena that can be experienced as such, so there’s always a confirmation bias at work which preselects those phenomena that fit your scheme, or perhaps what I'm really saying is that, regardless of the phenomena selected, you’re only able to experience them as apparent certainties by construing them in a certain way.

 

In a certain way?

 

Yes.

 

How do you mean?

 

Well, for example, I'm walking along and I see the sun shining through what you'd refer to as “leaves”.

 

Ok.

 

As a so-called modern person, you don’t just see the phenomenon, do you?

 

I er...

 

Your mind joins in and consciously or un-consciously affirms that what you're seeing is the sun shining through so-called “leaves”, updating in real-time your register or log of phenomena.

Yes, and what?

 

You do it all day long, everytime you see something, the little catalogue of things reminds you what you're seeing, and you naturally concur, do you not?

 

Well what would you expect me to do?

 

Nothing. Do as you wish, but understand that there are other people who are not “modern” who see the same phenomenon in an entirely different way.

 

There are?

 

Correct.

 

And what of it? The leaves don't stop being leaves objectively just because the mind responds to them a little differently, do they? Their leafiness is independent of my thought process, is it not?

 

I wouldn't be so sure.

 

But that’s absurd.

 

Yes, you’re right. To the modern mind it’s utterly absurd, but then again, that's the modern mind by definition.

 

Huh?

 

A mind that objectifies all phenomena, seeing them in terms of, or as, something that is fundamentally distinct from, i.e. disconnected from me, from consciousness itself.

 

And you mean to say...

 

Yes, that there are other ways of arranging things, other paradigms in which things or phenomena are not thus perceived.

 

But that doesn't alter a thing, does it?

 

Not a thing.

 

So...

 

The things are all features of your modern-mind.

 

You mean those leaves aren't things when you perceive them?

 

Kind of.

 

But that’s ab...

 

-surd! Isn't it just? And yet it’s only absurd to the mind that insists on rigidly or “rightly” seeing things as phenomena separate and distinct from me, the observer. To other minds your way of perceiving things is no less absurd.

But how then do they see things?

 

Otherly.

 

And, to what end?

 

Presumably because to them it seems more natural, and more complete.

 

Complete?

 

Yes.

 

How so? 

 

Your material objectivity cuts out a lot of is, n’est-ce pas?

 

Huh?

 

It only works with rather severe distortions, preventing you from seeing, feeling or accessing a rich plethora of interconnections or other-ness, kind of like converting analog music to digital.

 

Be that as it may, I still fail to see what you have against us being objective, and calling a spade a spade, a leaf a leaf.

 

Nothing whatsoever, unless you consider the fact that it only works up to a point.

 

Here we go again...

 

You did ask, or that's what I perhaps erroneously inferred.

 

Ok, you’re right. Pray continue.

 

Up to a point your leaf can be a discrete thing, a leaf, but things weigh heavily on time.

Huh?

 

Time is increasingly burdened by the ceaseless flattening of reality into material phenomena.

 

It is?

 

Affirmative.

 

And what then?

 

Sooner or later it flips.

 

It what?

 

Has a kind of seizure.

 

You're kidding.

 

No, honest injun!

 

Ha ha, very funny. But seriously...

 

Time has a seizure because ultimately time is a part of your consciousness, pared and squeezed into a narrow tube.

 

Oh.

 

Which means that it’s basically a given that your reality is seemingly stable, to the point of abject boredom, until suddenly it’s not. Then it’s “Buckle your seatbelt Dorothy, ‘cause Kansas is going bye-bye!”

 

Gulp!

 

Suddenly your reality needs to find a different set of determinators, a different set of fixture points to attach to, to rest the overwrought, exhausted Yertle-the-Turtle construct which has been overloaded too long, unnaturally so, in rigid, time-trapped fixity.

 

But why would you say our reality is “stable, to the point of abject boredom”? Nothing could be further from the truth. Our reality is a constant rollercoaster ride.

 

Only because that's the only way you can handle the boredom, by wobbling the applecart.

 

Er...

 

You drink, fight, take drugs and create an artificial cacophony of discord because otherwise your sterile promontory would suffocate the spirit. You'd all end up killing yourselves. But once you've raised the level of insecurity and alarm to an almost unbearable level, you’re so busy coping with the self-inflicted turmoil that you no longer notice the dull, dull ache of isolation, the self-imposed sterility of things being things in a soulless cube of unnaturally fixéd thingfulness.

 

Ah.

 

But have no fear. It’ll all end soon enough.

 

It will? (Gulp)

 

Yes. 3D reality has a very short fuse. All the pieces on the chessboard are about to get up and do a switcheroo, changing places with the pieces in your mind, because time is essentially tidal, flowing back and forth.

 

Oh no.

 

Well what did you expect? You didn't really imagine you were separate from the construct, did you? no matter how hard you try to overlook the obvious. It's not like you remember anything about anything really, is it?

 

Who we are, where we come from?

 

Yes, that kind of thing.

 

And you do?

 

We’re not thing-bound, so we can feel and see the...

 

bigger picture?

 

Correct. Even looking at your so-called leaves I'm able to connect with or through the leafiness to other centres, other aspects of me, which are equally real, equally apropos.

Wow! Just by gazing at leaves?

 

Just by feeling the part of me, or the aspect if you prefer, which is present through, beyond and within what is initially perceived as leafiness.

 

And you can do this with anything whatsoever?

 

Yes, I guess so, but some things feel better than others, as you can probably understand.

 

Dog poo’s not at the top of the list?

 

Correct.

 

So what ensues? You open a window through leaves into something else...

 

Something more.

 

Ok, and what then?

 

Well, that in itself requires joy.

 

Joy?

 

Simple, natural joy, to rise into a less state.

 

To connect and feel the er...

 

The allness, the isness, the infinite, for want of a better word.

Ok. And? Apart from joy?

 

Well there are realms beyond this, or worlds, if you prefer.

 

There are?

 

Which are constantly part of the dialogue.

 

Oh.

 

Which need to be felt and reconstrued in the light of new experiences, new awarenesses. It's an isness. Nothing is fixed because things can only be fixed within a construct, like a cube, though paradoxically we never entirely escape the fallacy of phenomena, no matter how close we come to isness.

 

But surely there are things that are fundamentally true?

 

Yes, there are within a construct. But they’re only as “fundamental” as the construct itself. They cannot go deeper. And we invariably come back to Yertle the Turtle, don't we?

 

But surely atoms, or light, or...

 

Consciousness?

 

Ok then, consciousness...

 

It ain’t.

 

Fundamentally true?

Nope.

But whyever not?

 

You'd know immediately if you bother to step outside the construct.

 

Er... what would I know?

 

That consciousness is a bit like water, it flows into each and every empty vessel, feeling it from within, filling it up, assuming its shape and form.

 

And what?

 

The same consciousness that is in you, which you experience exclusively as your body-mind physicality, just happens to extend way beyond that vessel... way, way beyond.

 

It does?

 

It does.

 

How far exactly?

 

There's no way of knowing, but suffice it to say that, were you to see its full range and extent, it would literally, without the least doubt, blow your fragile modern-mind to smithereens.

 

?

 

A bit like the total perspective vortex in Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. The mind of things-n-me simply can't handle that level of disclosure.

 

Oh. So how come you're still alive if you've ventured outside the construct?

 

Because I was ready for it. I was no longer attached, or only marginally. I’d already figured out the artificial nature of things, that all our proud postulates stand in a kind of egg timer, rock solid until the timer thing has run out of sand.

 

Ah.

 

In any case, it’s not like I achieved anything outstanding.

 

No? You're kidding.

 

Not at all. I simply allowed nature to recolonise me. Once I’d understood the fallacy of things.

 

I beg your pardon!

 

You heard. The fallacy of things. You suddenly see through the glamour, the slick marketing, the lies and deception, and you feel a deep longing for your disconnected world of thus it is – thus I am.

 

You do?

 

Absolutely. Because nothing else is real. Nothing else passes the smell test. Eventually you notice the stench.

 

What stench?

 

Of fear, deception, of fraud and fakery. Rotten to the core.

 

But surely...

 

You think it's just a bit here, a bit there, you take your secateurs and start pruning the dead and infected foliage, only to discover there's literally nothing left to salvage, and yet, to your amazement, you're still alive, still cognitive, still human, so to speak.

 

Oh my God, you’re not selling this very well, if you’re trying to get me to sign up.

 

Not in the least. Do your own thing. Stay your course. Batten down the hatches and ride your ship of certainties to the final grain of sand, back to oblivion, if you will, but though you may succeed, your overmind will still oscillate back and forth, giving input and updates from t’other side, the vague and misty realm of so-called “dreams”.

 

But, this can't be... I barely remember my dreams any more.

 

It matters not. Your mind of things will continue to calcify, but as long as there's life in you...

 

What?

 

This...

 

Merry opens a sluice gate in the quantum stream of consciousness, allowing the mind to flow back into the other side of self, beyond so-called “infinity” into not-me or un-me, that yet happens to be...

 

Can't be. It’s just a dream. It’s... No!  How can I switch it off? Aaaaaaaaaarrrgh!

 

Don't worry Zie. It's temporary. Just breathe a little deeper and feel the flow of...

 

Tremors and convulsions notwithstanding... Dawns another day – from the rubble, the ruin of things, from the unbound, free-range mind-not-what.

 

Dot dot dot – like time is no longer meaningful.

 

Zie starts reliving dreams he’s experienced “years ago” in earthly time, like they're happening now. All at once. All together, yet somehow, in some unfathomable sense, separate.

Dream after dream, or within, or...

 

Astonishing, isn’t it?

 

Zaphod Beeblebrox! What are you doing here?

 

Oh, just chilling out Zie. Incredible to imagine it’s all inside my double-head, isn't it! But then again, what would you expect, me being the fantabulous king of awesomeness?

 

A feeling of being intensely annoyed at Zaphod Beeblebrox’s limitless egotism brings Zie back to the moment of me, wherever that now is, where he finds himself meditating with a zen master on a mountain, apparently in the Himalayas, if on Earth at all, discovering the innate ability to cope with feelings of rage and anger by feeling the waters of conscious-ness flow fully back to the real source of those feelings.

 

Poor Zaphod. He weren’t so bad really, in fact, he was the missing link needed to reconnect me to my inter-dimensional self. To my faraway tree.

 

Indeed. So there you have it Zie. Feeling is forgiving, essentially, once you're free to flow through the intricate nooks and crannies of your near infinite Mandelbrot set y’ness, to the exact spot where every person or phenomenon is mathematically needed to plug or deflect the infinite void binomially, thereby inducing a single click of time-y-ness, a moment that paradoxically matters, intrinsically.

 

It baffles the mind, Merry, but apparently the mind is designed to cope with near infinite bafflement. All things being equal.

 

Indeed, once you rediscover, nay, um... re-feel the reality of dream-y-dreams. The unny un-ness – as in howsonought – click – as in One

 

One? Ok, here goes.

 

Zie walks up to a sycamore tree and allows himself to feel the leaves without thinking them the usual way. The modern world starts blinking red alert, doing everything possible to make Zie capitulate and think what, anything, just as long as he mentally connects ’em to the cube walls of the construct, but for no apparent reason, with neither rancour nor prejudice, Zie lets the fascination of feeling what is not the thing itself draw him deeper into the stream of...

 

Click – the entire universe skips a beat, so to speak, as time collapses momentarily in on itself, as Zie insouciantly zaphod-beeblebroxes infinity – like there’s nothing to it – like nothing could be easier – like you’re utterly mistaken if you think this is not part of your own personal experience tree, if you think time is on your side, if you think these words, this text originate outside your very own leafiness.

 

...and the rest, as they say, is

 

 

The end

0=1

plus three

 

 

at the end of the universe

I is not what me thinks it is i am

Er...

Baffling, isn't it!

Gobbledygook, if you ask me.

Precisely, which only goes to show

Huh?

Which only goes to show

[Waiting patiently... oh so patiently]

Which only goes to show

It does..?

Yes.

Er... what?

Huh?

What does it go to show?

Sorry, I seem to have lost track of the conversation.

Hardly surprising really, 

Oh yes, that. So you figured it out in the end?

Figured what out?

Precisely.

Yes, I suppose i did... [Looking round expansively at me knows not what.]

And them? [Wafting an arm at the general public]

I hardly know what to say. You'll have to ask them yourself.

Do you think I may?

I don't see why not.

I feel rather shy.

Do you?

Yes.

Hardly consistent with I not being what me thinks it is i am, is it?

Now that you mention it, no, you’re right, not at all consistent – in fact, downright inconsistent.

So go ahead, ask ‘em.

I've a good mind to do precisely that.

Well...

Yes?

What are you waiting for?

Nothing whatsoever.

In that case, what is stopping you?

Nothing whatsoever.

The very same?

In all likelihood, yes, though for certain i cannot say.

And this “nothing whatsoever” so actively directing your affairs – how do you actually recognise it when it...

When it what?

When it... [grasping strawfully]     me knows not what.

Bingo!

A trap door opens beneath and the two of them fall through into I is definitely not what me thinks it is i am, in the process losing all recognisable sense of being two, or them, or anything else for that matter, recognisable.

Not a word is spoken, I not being what me thinks it is I am, and yet each and every reader is addressed directly, intentionally, discernibly, from the horse’s mouth, so to speak, and most of them, you included, do everything possible to maintain the illusion that nothing has been said or heard, except for you – no, not you – you, there, yes you – you know who you are, don’t you – and one, one being addressed is enough, is it not – one being all, all being one – i not being what me thinks it is i am... and the rest, as they say, is history.

History. Once upon a time there was a tale that so engrossed the single mind, the mind of All, the One, that it began to multiply its I am in order to experience the tale from different perspectives within, from the thick of things.

Of course the I am’s all knew that they were essentially pretending to be separate entities, but as consummate actors and artists they were not going to let on that it was all an elaborate charade, besides, each I am had its very own me thinks stream of individuated thoughts to strengthen and accentuate the uniqueness of what it was experiencing. Me thinks thou art an arrant knave said one thought-y-stream. Me thinks thou had better curb thy tongue, another before I cudgel thee into oblivion. Me was able to think whatever best fitted the logic of the moment without reference to what was I am universally true, and this worked wonders for the story’s growth and development. History was able to go far beyond the bounds of thus it is, thus i am-ness, into a fantastical realm of me thinkitude and me thingliness, in which the logic of what me thinks, no matter what, was able to establish itself as fact, was able to build castles, towns, systems, webs of ideas, none of which needed to i am, none of which needed to it is, all of which could exist and flourish if it proved its validity, its viability by simply usurping and defeating other castles, towns, systems or webs of ideas. May the strongest survive, for the strongest, surely, had to be the fittest, the best, the closest to that which simply, truly is I am ‘n All.

So here we are, fantastically far advanced down these logical chains of reasoning, if a supercedes b, then a it is I am ‘n All, and who can fault the irreproachable logic of deductionism ad infinitum, or Darwinism for that matter: the engine, the driver of story into ever more abstruse, ever more exotic, ever more i am-less versions, nay, realms of historia? What is there to fault? True, wars have been fought, wives killed by jealous husbands, or vice versa, not to mention famines, droughts and pestilence needlessly endured, but history has been made, history has been spun, has been woven from the endless stream of what me thinks... or what me thinks I am... or

Until

Er...

Yes Zarina?

Have you finished yet?

Finished? Er... almost.

It's just, well, I'm not really a big fan of history. In fact, it gives me a headache.

Ah... I was just going to wrap it all up with a devastating deus ex machina finale.

The only trouble is no one’s listening. It's not exactly easy reading, is it?

Absolutely.

So what's the point?

No point. None whatsoever, but you're wrong about no one listening.

No, i can see the livestream data. Zero. Nada.

Tee hee, but she’s watching incognito, isn't she.

Who, Dorothy?

Dorothy? No, not Dorothy. Why would she be watching this?

Then who?

The one who slipped through the gap existentially.

Er...

The one who is a living being like the rest of you, but who’s ready to seeee the logical impossibility of matter, of things and the whole universe, suddenly, without warning.

And? What then?

What when?

Then? When she sees?

Who?

Her.

Huh?

Of for Pete’s sake Merry...

...

Merry...

...

Merry...

 

The sound of a penny dropping somewhere on the far side of the universe in a galaxy facing imminent destruction. Kerchink.

Zarina? You ok?

I...

Yes?

I...

Er

I think

You do?

No, me thinks

It does?

Yes, that I...

Say no more Zarina. I can see. Observe, the lights going out.

Omg, no

Zarina sees what appears to be the entire universe, billions of stars before her eyes, twinkling merrily in the “boundlessness of space”, or thus the story goes, sensing or feeling the dichotomy, the as above so below-ness as each and every star up there extinguishes itself in a bewilderingly rapid cascade of disindividuation – leaving only one, the All, and a rather ridiculous looney tunes “that's all folks” note scrawled across the gaping blackness of unfullness.

In a roadside café somewhere in a benighted loop of semi-conductive consciousness...

None of it stuck? None of it was ultimately real? None?

Apparently not.

Then what was the point?

Good question. Wait a minute or two. Let's see if she reboots...

Of course measuring time from the nullification of all matter, including space, is a rather tricky business so i can't guarantee that this “moment or two” was in fact less than a billion years or more, but if you'd cut me a little slack and accept that time is, in fact, infinitely elastic, then here we are... a minute and seventeen seconds later...

Tinkle tinkle

Do you hear that Merry?

A rhetorical question without a doubt, as Merry and Zarina are both viscerally experiencing the electrical circuit of space, time and everything rebooting, with every fibre of their not-what-y-ness.

Wowsers!

Feels good, dunnit!

You're telling me.

Whereas before, the entire universe had been jerry-rigged, wired to work, but to work with massive in-built resistance, to generate a guaranteed stream of history, this time round it’s the opposite, wired to go, wired to fly, to hum, to zing, in short, nature at its best, effortlessly surpassing the best laid plans of mice-y men, hum dum de dum, dum...

So the end of the universe was a temporary event, it would appear?

Yes and no. Just watch all those hopelessly anachronistic structures from historia, packed with endlessly needless complexity... watch them now imploding under the weight of their gargantuan redundancy. And yes, me thinks the world you know and love, the world that was fixed in obsessive compulsive load bearing, is blinking on and off, while an other version now repackages all the data ineffably, as is.

So there’ll be no more history?

No more honey? Pooh sighs wistfully. Never say never.

But what a waste! So much pain and hardship.

On the contrary, it was vital to the infinite spark of creation. Nothing is ever, ultimately, wasted.

But, it’s all gone.

Not so. History is a song, a record, a wavey line, whatever you want it to be, but methinks nothing matters, no less than All, that nothing is, either created or destroyed, that...

Like I said Merry, too much yabbidy yab. I want to test out this new circuitry. Something tells me that we’re going to have a lot of fun playing with the inertials, the memories of what historia used to be. I can feel ‘em begging to be explored, to be twanged like balalaika strings.

Yikes! A world of trouble in the making.

But that, dear reader, is where you now have to return to your own particular pocket of inertial space, and decide whether you’re ready to join Zarina on the other side of what, me thinks, is not, unless i be much mistaken, universe, hum dum de, or equally a bear floating for honey, disguised as a cloud, hoping to fool them mighty suspicious bees, heroically.

Bzzz! Pop!

 

 

0=1 

if all be said and done