just doing me job mate

Yes, that’s right, to deconstruct.

 

Reality? You’re kidding, right?

 

I could say yes, but that wouldn't alter the fact.

 

Huh?

 

Because it's not just a matter of language, you know.

 

No?

 

No. I’m operating at multiple levels.

 

Like what – a washing powder?

 

Kind of.

 

But, in all seriousness?

 

In all seriousness, I provide a certain amount of information, as per protocol, but basically, it’s a full-on deconstruction job.

 

And how exactly...

 

It's not like I'm trying to keep anything secret, but this is reality we’re talking about, isn't it.

 

And?

 

I'm not sure how au fait you are with the workings of said reality. It’s a bit like IT really, isn't it, or astrophysics. Unless you’re technically literate it’s not going to mean very much, is it?

 

But, er, reality... It's not like you can just undo it or take it apart like a broken telephone, is it?

 

Not if you’re part of it, no. That would be like operating on yourself.

 

You mean you can?

 

That is rather the whole thrust of what I'm saying, wouldn't you agree?

 

But there's no box, is there?

 

Not exactly.

 

So how do you get at it?

 

You don’t, generally speaking, unless you’re exceptional, and we’d normally be on you like a ton of bricks if you did.

 

But you, how do you?

 

I’m a techie, aren’t I. I have access codes.

 

Access codes?

 

Well that's basically what they are. Not sure it helps you much.

 

Not really, no. I'm more interested in the technical aspect of how you can actually affect reality. I always rather assumed it was, how can I put it, the real McCoy or totality, that kind of thing.

 

Yes, common enough misconception.

 

So you’re saying it's not.

 

I suppose I must be, really. The thing is, Arthur...

 

Arthur? It’s Neil mate.

 

Your file says Arthur.

 

Well, I got fed up with all the wisecracks.

 

Got teased at school, did you?

 

Mercilessly.

 

Not surprising really, you’re a marked man.

 

I am?

 

Well yes, anyone with backdoor access can see it clear as day.

 

So how come I’m a marked man?

 

How come I'm talking to you now about the incipient deconstruction of reality?

 

Er... am I supposed to know the answer?

 

Not really. It’s a rhetorical question to get your brain out of it’s passive state of whateverness.

 

Well, was it successful?

 

Actually yes. Your deep mind is starting to reactivate dormant neural pathways.

 

It is? You can see all that with your insider’s pass?

 

But you still haven’t clicked synaptically the two main trunk wires.

 

Listen, I’m not a bloody droid, ok!

 

Sorry, thought you might be able to read the analogy. The fact is, it's rather difficult communicating with reality bots.

 

Reality bots!? What the heck’s that meant to mean?

 

Bit touchy, aren't you, Arthur.

 

It's Neil, I said.

 

You think you can just run away from your name? From your destiny?

 

I don't know what you’re on about.

 

Oh, but you do Arthur Dime, somewhere deep inside, you knows exactly what I’s on about...

 

Sinister music building to a crescendo as the first episode of Arthur Dime’s fake reality show draws to its climactic conclusion.

 

Like a bad dream.

 

I know what you mean. I got the shivers.

 

I got the itchy-parasites-crawling-around-in-my-belly sensation.

 

Weird.

 

Well what do you expect? One minute you think you know the world you're living in, and the next – the rug’s pulled out from under your feet and you’re sprawling on the ground in the mud and cockroaches, only is that really mud?

 

And are those really cockroaches?

 

Thanks ‘arold, I appreciate the input.

 

You're welcome ‘arvey, always glad to oblige.

 

So where was we?

 

Sprawling, ‘orribly.

 

No, I mean in the story.

 

Oh that... Well, it's just the first episode, innit.

 

I mean, the two of us, do you think we managed to distract ‘em while they got the stage cleared away?

 

Them? I DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU’RE ON ABOUT KEITH.

 

A growing sense of uneasiness forces the readers, who are actually spectators in the theatre, to look around, to begin questioning whether this is actually theatre at all, or merely a couple of inept and somewhat sinister stagehands failing to remain operationally invisible.

 

Ultimately, it might all be Murphy calling our bluff.

 

That's precisely what I thought too.

 

But they’re still in there, aren't they.

 

Shit, they're not, are they?

 

Filming the next episode.

 

Hell. That means...

 

Increasingly climactic music.

 

That this must be for real.

 

Precisely.

 

Dream code unleashed. You’re looking at the screen. It’s essentially white sound for the eyes. There's nothing there, nothing real, not even suggestions, mostly grey static fuzz and what’s the result... You flip into dream state and you’re now the show, on display, viewed by the watchers, viewed, experienced, felt, prime input in the two-way field of UC.

 

UC?

 

For Pete’s sake Darren, do you know nothing?

 

Is it something I was supposed to learn at school? Coz you know I wasn’t too keyed in to all that data mining.

 

Data mining? What a joke. You didn't even manage to dip your little toe in the crystal pure data stream.

 

But I’ve made up for it now, haven't I?

 

In some respects Darren, yes, you’ve come up good and shiny, but many of us suspect your now legendary quantum commode was more a case of luck than design. Utilising essential bodily functions as your Schrödinger access point to the mysteries of quantum computation reeks of intellectual puerility verging on infantilism, not to mention an utter lack of respect for the sacred scientific principles of truth and beauty... that, or a divine Architect with the knack for hiding the secrets of the universe where no sane or rational player could ever possibly wish to find them.

 

Be that as it may, I'm the one holding the data apron strings now, ain’t I.

 

Yes Darren. You certainly are with that damned commode of yours.

 

So UC...

 

They've all been writing in the comments Darren.

 

So they 'ave... “universal consciousness”. No idea what they're on about.

 

No, your genius has a remarkable way of keeping you insulated from all needless technicalities.

 

Whatever they’re on about, it’s not going to alter the fact that real data, the kind of data that swings the bridge pin of reality, ain’t got nothing to do with fancy words, 'az it.

 

The proof Darren, I think we all agree, is in the pudden, and your quantum commode certainly takes the biscuit.

 

So, long story short, the old reality is history?

 

Absolutely.

 

And now, it’s a matter of removing the main plates, struts, cables and beams to reduce it to, let me guess, a single point?

 

Well, that's the aim. Certainly.

 

And the fact that there are billions of people on our planet, and a vast agglomeration of matter presents no major obstacle.

 

Not really. Matter, like all things, folds quite nicely into the quantum field.

 

Does it now?

 

Yes, surprisingly, one never fails to wonder how it essentially amounts to naught.

 

The zero sum. But is it all just a game?

 

Is a spoon merely a spoon?

 

Fair enough. I think you're being disingenuous, of course.

 

You do?

 

Yes, implying reality is a something.

 

Ah. And in your opinion...

 

It's not, is it.

 

Er...

 

Ultimately it's a subjective experience amounting to... and here we witness the cosmic coke can moment. Arthur Dime, our lacklustre hero, kicks the can of coke lying at his feet down the road causing heads to turn. Heads turning causes a minor blip in the quantum field, duly recorded and hypothecated by Darren Dribble’s quantum commode, and for a moment outside space or time, a moment of coke-can-perturbation, things take a rest – meaning nothing, absolutely nothing, is certain, briefly, momentarily, yet measurably so.

 

“Big deal” you might find yourself saying, along with 7 ½ billion other people, except that during this moment, none of you technically exist, and Misha Appledew is able to insert a spanner in the hitherto smoothly fitted, laser-welded micro-circuitry of reality, the first of many, but the first nonetheless, and the rest, as they say, or would do if reality still existed in any shape or form, is history.

 

But... but I feel... I still feel real.

 

If you're of the mind that energy can be neither created nor destroyed then bear in mind, for mind’s sake, that there are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy, substituting the word science for philosophy, if you’d be so kind, and kindly consider whether a can of coke could, theoretically, fly across the entire universe and crash through the gates of time, landing in a field of dreams that had everything in place but an empty, slightly crushed can of coke, required to complete the prelaunch chain of causality needed to set a new reality cascading into motion as a violent eruption of seemingly spontaneous, self-manifesting consciousness.

 

What if consciousness is more like a poison – nay– a pressure released by valve in a pressure cooker… or a nuclear power station…

 

Consider, is all I said. I never invited you to trust or believe such a thing were likely or possible, but I wouldn’t be altogether surprised if Misha Appledew were playing a zero-sum game, keeping the quantum field, otherwise known as infinity, in motion, by allowing death and rebirth to balance one another... if I said “double entry bookkeeping” – might that mean anything, my wordies?

 

Spoiler alert. Caught red-handed. Words of a feather bird together.

 

In any case, you’d never notice the gaps, would you, unless you bothered to train or calibrate the other side of awareness, the other mind, if there be such a thing. The other.

Music rising to a screeching crescendo.

 

Accept the fact that things are in a temporary state of excitation, waffly science, notwithstanding, while fully conscious hair dryers and puddles in the dribbliness of time, might account for matter's propensity to attach meaning to things of no great importance until, that is, you notice the elephant hiding under the rug, that Misha Appledew has been recording every aspect of your reality experience from the get go, presumably because, horror of horrors, self-awareness is baked into the pie, if any of this was ever going to work.

 

Spooky science – you mean reality is actually – am I allowed to say “alive”?

 

 

 

0=1

kinda

 

on this day of the Lord

instead of night

allow the waters to flow back

through words

these words

to flow back 

inside

back and through

the net that holds the mind

the me

the all that is the i am

that i be

and let other 

emerge

let other reveal

its rule

its matter

its way

let things

be unthing'ed

let i know not what 

be realised

or realisable

fully

in fullness

while fools sleep 

in idle slothy 

sleep

on this day of the Lord I set the intent to bring the two sides of day and night back into balance and harmony.

on this day of the Lord I recognise that I is ultimately responsible for all that is at odds with fullness of all in this world.

there is but one day - one day is all

there is but one mind, one person, one place - one is all

and here - at the edge of reality - at the edge of time - in the middle of night - I stand before the night, the naught, the not of sleep and set the intent to face my all, my maker, my Lord, no matter what, no matter what, no matter what, so help me God -- he says.

Praise be the Lord -- praise be the Lord -- praise be the Lord -- knowest thou the quantum depths of language - of what words mean? knowest thou? knowest thou -- there's pause for thought -- is there not.

Beloved all that is -- sending out my deepest, firmest intent -- for here i stand on the moutaintop of time, between worlds, ready to leap and ride the thermals into spiralling upwardness, into the limitless over and above things that never did, never could, never will encompass more than a tiny fraction of

    of

            of

no -- we shall not rush to say what

the eagle spreads its wings and rides the thermals to infinity and beyond

does it not?

On this day of the Lord I call myself back, I recall the simple truth, the deeper inner purpose that guides and shapes all

So help me God

so help me God

and doing so I cross into the fullness of my unknown 

my oh so special storyful 

Self

Let the tale commence

told by an idiot

full of sound and fury

Signifying nothing

or thus i said as i followed the wheel of woe into the murmurings

of Macbeth's insanity

Signifying nothing until i is ready

to ride the tide of night through 

to its dayspring

and find anew the one in nought

the nought in one

and thus i leave the river until dawn

while the fish melt into the darky blackness of water 

and merge 

me knows not what

with tail and fin

in easeful swim 

o'er the waters of night 

back into the light of day

now dawn

0=1

if not

ending things

 

What do you mean “ended”?!

What does the word ended mean?

No, what do you mean?!

Me?

You!

Er…

You can’t just inanely assert that the world has ended. What kind of insufferable presumptuousness is that?

I…

You think you can just claim to determine what is and what is not real?

I…

That this is all just your personal dream? A figment of your wonderful, oh so all-encompassing imagination?!

I…

That we amount to nought unless you should permit the possibility that perhaps, just perhaps, reality is more than an extension of your subjectivity?

I…

Well, what have you got to say for yourself?

I…

Get on with it. Speak or for ever hold your peace.

I…

Everyone knows how you like to hide behind your humble little “I dare not defend myself”, “I dare not speak out”, “I’m going to use the I dot dot dot defence – the right to twist the world around my little intellectual finger, and then let it dangle passive aggressively for an eternity while the collective mind of humanity, the collective psyche is utterly crushed by your heartless, callous insinuations.” That’s the plan, isn’t it.

I…

Come, come Malcolm – you can do better than that.

You’re right McDuff, I can, but you know what?

Oh no, not the rhetorical question. Please tell me you ain’t gonna resort to the rhetorical question, of all the infamous rhetorical devices in your fearsome arsenal…

Ha, I… and Malcolm calls McDuff’s bluff with a brazen display of utterly unbeatable insouciance. He allows his “I” to expand from the little me of little me-ness, into the cosmic ego of Allness and One and I-know-not-what – in other words – he utterly shifts the goalposts leaving McDuff “stranded at the driveway, branded a fool, what will they say, Monday at school…” if you know what I mean.

Is that Dies Irae playing in the background?

Er – could be.

Or Carmina Burana?

That too…

Wait a minute – you’re supposed to be the expert.

I know. Rather disturbing, isn’t it. Green sector out.

Wagner. Valkyries?

Look – honestly – who cares. We’ve all got the message. It’s one of those terribly dramatic pieces of music. Ok? Can we move on, please?

Yes, yes, of course – but still – it’s a bit strange, isn’t it – that green sector isn’t able to determine the actual music playing in the background.

Don’t you start.

Huh?

You’re beginning to sound like that twerp Malcolm.

I never said the world’s ended, Ok.

You don’t need to, do you. If we’re not able to determine what’s playing in the background then that says it all, doesn’t it.

Er…

Slam dunker.

I beg your pardon.

Clear as day.

The reality platform is evidently down for maintenance.

Ok – it’s just a maintenance job, isn’t it?

Pchaw!

You can’t seriously mean to say that maintenance downtime is equal to the world ending?!

It really doesn’t matter what I say or think, does it. If reality is no longer operational as a platform – at a system level – then what have we got?

Er…

Precisely.

Er…

That too – lots of it.

Er…

Keep it coming. The cat is out of the bag – other is on the prowl.

But…

But what?

Things still look normal enough.

Inertia etc. Things are going to look normal until the Titanic keels over and everyone’s in the water.

Or a lifeboat.

A little, teeny, piddly shrimp of a lifeboat. Give me a break.

And then what?

And then you get to see the nature of the beast.

Er…

You get to see the underbelly of reality.

I do?

You, me, whoever, whatever…

And?

And what it takes to work through all the internal contradictions, all the caveats and inconsistencies that have built up over the years to heave reality over the precipice.

Yikes.

Instead of cutting her a little slack.

Her?

Giving her a little freedom to play and frolic while your left hemisphere tried desperately to process everything mathematically

Mathe…

Geometrically

Geome…

Inductively

Induc…

All it required was a little, bare modicum of respect for the other side of things – the wild side of is.

The what?

You heard… but oh no – you had to have it all pat – all neatly coiffed, manicured, tailored… leaving no stone unturned… No rough edges… And now… It’s heave ho, back into the bottomless abyss we all go – splish splash – may as well make the most of things and do our best to rekindle, rediscover the old joie de vivre.

Joie de vivre? I thought you said the Titanic was going down?

Well yes, but what if, believe it or not, we’re basically all creatures of that side too – the wild and curly frizzy hair side of things – which can’t be plaited and straightened into a neat coif?

Honestly, I don’t know. I…

Yes, Malcolm… I see what you mean.

You do? Then come, join me.

I…

Join me, I said.

I…

Fear – what is fear?

I be sorely afraid.

Good – then let your fear spread its wings and carry you out of the ratskin you have been inhabiting, psychologically. Come. We fly.

We regret to inform you that this show has been interrupted by the untimely cessation of reality. Please be sure to tune back in, should the reality services platform be restored at anytime in the – whatever.

 

Nail gripping stiff Joy – what a show. What a show. Hey?

Bloody what, Chad, you’re telling me, you’re telling me. I haven’t breathed for half an hour at least.

Me too. At least an hour.

An hour and a half.

What time is it, anyway?

OmG – you’re not to going to believe this…

No!! You don’t mean to say…

 

As our two intrepid heroes look at the face of time – the chronosphere reveals that time has ceased, neither tick nor tock remains to be heard – utter stillness – and they feel it in their hearts, and they feel it in their bones, and they feel it in an ickly tickly little place which is the sense of time in motion – which we all seem to take for granted, conveniently ignoring, like all those other little senses apart from the five they talk about in school…

Do we have to go into that now?

I don’t see why not. It is pertinent to the fact that reality is a rather more involved affair than we were choosing to recognise.

Yes, but the drama – you’re supposed to be hidden from sight. Now the punters can see the stage technicians. They can hear all our dirty little remarks.

Ah – but they’ll remember none of it. They’re all basically out of it.

 

Sorry – to interrupt – just – I was wodering…

Shut up orange. You’re not welcome on this editorial platform.

An angle descends proclaiming – “blessed are the meek” and “first shall be last” or did I get that back to front?

But I was wondering about those other senses. I’m fascinated by what you had to say, until the dialogue got lost in digression.

No one cares about you, orange. Bloody Krishna dude.

Orange – I care about you – and let me commend your meekness.

Oh wow – is that the Orange Above Allness speaking?

Kind of. Listen – heads-up – sense of time, sense of space and direction, sense of motions and various levels of areas of awareness… and we’re just scratching the surface.

But are you the all-High Lord of Orangeness.

Does it matter? I thought you wanted to get the info…

But I’m lost in wonder and reverence. You’re speaking to me from the ultimate centre of orangeness, are you not?

Honestly, I give up. You try to do someone a favour and they get all wobbly.

You’re coming from the All and One – the voice of God has revealed the extra senses to me…

Sigh – and you were doing so well. I give up.

 

The end

What do you mean the end? We haven’t even dealt with the central issue of…

 

0=1

232

the quickening

 don't you think you should slow things down Merry?

er... me thinks not.

you don't think so?

me thinks not. big difference.

er... what's with the lower case script.

it matters not.

[sigh] so we're back in that Shakespearean me thinky thing again, are we? don't want to take responsibility for your own decisions? don't want to be a loud and proud I am what I think.

bloody descartes.

Oh - he's to blame for all the confusion, is he?

well, partly to blame, yes. cogito ergo what have you... damn nonsense if you ask me.

it's called being modern - and accepting that I is the rightful owner of am -- as opposed to an impersonal thought process which you can later forswear.

CUT

Was it good? Did our philosophical dialogue pin them to their chairs?

Actually, it was a distraction.

A distraction?

A smokescreen, if you like.

You're kidding?

Nope. Used it to get past the censors. 

What bloody censors.

Them that control the flow of mind y thought.

Stuff and bunkum.

So you think -- but then again -- you don't have a whole lot of experience outside the realm of things and me skipping along happily.

Oh -- and you're mister knowledge and experience, are you?

I'm a gamer -- with an innate sense of how the game is structured, how it was written, for what purpose, by whom, and how it can be used or turned to my own advantage.

Arrogant fiend.

That too. Listen Zie -- don't take it personally but I have to create waves from time to time.

Waves?

I need to -- and that's not because I like manipulating things -- but because -- look out -- they're on our trail.

Suddenly Merry and Zie are Neo and Trinity -- racing from those ugly as hell agents who are determined to put a stop to all free thinking wave making.

No -- I'm not going to describe the fight scene. Frankly I don't have time. Just use your own imagination --- or better still, make this an interactive experience. You can be Merry or Zie, Neo or Trinity -- whatever you prefer -- and we're not just talking hypothetically, are we?

no?

Oh no -- for one of our hermetic principles 

don't you mean "unities"

yes, i suppose i do really. One of our unities is that of person. You are me, I am you -- particularly when you're playing me.

Oh what fun.

Calloo callay 

he chortles in his joy

Paf paf

pow pow

crack 

smack

dodging

leaping 

weaving 

diving

moves you've never seen before

moves you can't even imagine

moves that involve bifurcation --

of time

of space

of person-y

in short a right ripping fight scene with techno punk CGI to boot

to boot two

to boot three

and if you, dear follower of our outrageous channel -- are not sweating and puffing

if you haven't yet dented the fabric of reality

of made minor incisions in it

minor incisions? why so lame? lurid lacerations in the fabric of reality -- 

That, after all, is the way to defeat the agents, innit?!

Absolutely, they're so busy trying to stitch up the cuts and gashes that they have no time to take you out

But

Huh?

But

What?

But isn't it dangerous? What if I irreparably damage the fabric of reality and it basically comes apart at the seams.

Then bully for you, old chap. You've called their bluff. They're responsible for the fabric -- not you.

They are?

Absolutely. But they've been so busy trying to micro manage your existence and keep you locked in little squares that they failed to pay enough time and effort to maintaining the fabric itself. Their bad.

And they can be held accoutable?

Duh! Think about it.

I am.

Is you?

Yes, but me no sees the logic.

Simple, as always, for a knower of nought y nought.

Go on then. Elucidate.

They are the beings of the fabric. They kind of die or implode if the fabric tears beyond repair -- if it de-hermeticises. 

They do?

Absolutely.

Oh wow.

Not trying to kill them, or anything -- coz they ain't exactly organic beings at all.

No?

Nope. Not at all, in fact.

But they are beings?

Kind of. But not in the way that we are.  

Oh.

Look -- they belong to the fabric, and the fabric is kind of alive and sentient. 

It is?

Naturally. The same way you are -- but you don't belong to the fabric -- do you?

No.

Who do you belong to?

I...

YOu don't know, do you?

Not really.

You don't know. How absurd. Still, tis no matter. 

Wait a minute. Why do I have to belong to anyone?

Or anything?

Well, you hardly just appeared from nowhere, did you?

I...

You don't know. Never bothered to really give it much thought -- did you. Not to matter.

But I like to believe I'm my own master.

Do you? Well, imagine it, if you like. Your mind. Your play. Belonging doesn't necessarily mean you're a slave, you know.

Ok. Then who do I belong to.

Duh.

no really.

God knows.

You mean you don't?

No, I mean God knows. 

God -- I don't really believe in God.

Whatever. It matters not.

But you're implying that there's a God who has all the answers, whereas I don't accept that. I believe that the answers must exist independently, somewhere, objectively. 

And? Are you trying to blind them with mind numbingly dull philosophy?

No, I'm trying to understand.

Ok Zie. It's simple. God, by definition is the process, agency, presence or being that knows who you belong to -- by definition. In other words, we can tidy things up by simply saying you belong to God.

Yowl.

Naturally, you don't like this because you're mind has been infected with agent bots.

It has?

Absolutely. 

REally?

Yawn. The last thing they want is for you to be working with the force, the field, the energy, the presence, the oneness, the isness, the I-know-not-what that God, by definition, is -- no believe required -- let's keep this entirely technical.

so if I belong to God -- then does that mean that I'm supposed to defend the fabric of God in someway?

Yep. The fabric of God -- nice one. It is a kind of fabric -- or a kind of field if I'm not mistaken.

How?

No idea. Your guess, not mine. 

And if I don't?

You'll die a miserable death -- as the agents will get the better of you -- 100% guaranteed.

But I don't want to serve God.

That's very noble of you -- but you seem to be infected with some kind of erroneous definition.

I do?

Yep. You're basically saying you don't want to defend, value or cooperate with your very own life stream -- the source of all that you are that is good, beautiful, magical, creative etc.

You know how I feel about God.

Yep. Well, if the agnets can die because they have failed to maintain the fabric of reality -- too busy chasing you -- too busy trying to snuff out the presence of God they sense in you -- then why can't you make the same crass mistake in your own way? You're expendable. Your death will be just a meaningless statistic. Sooner or later someone will come along who senses the isness of be.

The isnesss

of be -- and turns the tide -- stops being a slave to the matrix, to mind bots that impose alien, reptilian thoughts on you -- and starts to flap dem wings.

Dem what?

Dem wings.

No what are you on about?

The wings of wonder.

Oh dear. 

The wings of wonder that unfold and spread when I is ready to really unleash the God flame, the power hidden within -- the 

dragon?

the

butterfly

the

Merry starts flapping, flapping, flapping -- creating ever bigger, ever wilder waves. The sky darkens. The sun rains black night down onto Earth and suddenly all the bats of hell are flying round, screeching in delight.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaargh! Make it go away. Make it go away.

Never. Only God can do that.

I... Ok, you bastard, you win.

Flap flap flap flap....

Dear God -- rekindle the light of day in me now.

Like nothing ever happened.

Like nothing happened suspiciously.

Or we can do the lesser version -- it doesn't always have to apocalyptic, you know....

Another time, Merry. I'm feeling somewhat... 

Ha ha ha

0=1

Split ends

 

The unities – not a clue what you’re on about.

 

Fair enough. It’s not like they’re an important part of modern life, is it.

 

I wouldn’t know.

 

Well, be that as it may, there’s no getting round the need to return to something a little more compact and collected if we’re to make any headway whatsoever.

 

Call me, Merry, when you’re ready to explain what on earth you’re on about.

 

Oh, excuse me Zina. How thoughtless of me.

 

No worries bro.

 

The unities.

[Sigh]

 

I could explain but that wouldn’t be half as much fun.

 

So instead you’re just going to project the data into my head – is that it?

 

There’s a thought… but then again – much better to figure it out for yourself.

 

I really don’t have time, Merry.

 

Excellent. That’s one of them – there being no time bar the present.

 

Really – none at all?

 

Absolutely. No past, no future – just the livestream of now.

 

And here?

 

Perfect. That’s the second.

 

So no jumping between different film locations. And no sub-plots either.

 

Damn you’re good. That’s number three. Unity of action. Only one plot line.

 

Sounds a bit dull, if you ask me.

 

Yes, which is why we did away with them – by the time you get to Shakespeare at least. His plays don’t really happen in one day, and there’s plenty of stuff going on on the side.

 

All in one day – that’s even more extreme.

 

Well yes. Iron discipline. The three unities – a microcosm – one day – one plot – one place.

 

Why so rigid?

 

Well, when you’re dealing with infinity you need a bit of structure, don’t you, to put it mildly.

 

Er…

 

Otherwise things just get hopelessly complicated.

 

If you say so.

 

We actually operate under rigid unities of our own, you know.

 

We do?

 

Absolutely.

 

Like what?

 

One body.

 

Come on, Merry – get real. How could there be more than one body?

 

There couldn’t, or can’t at least, if that’s one of your fundamental unities.

 

But it’s physically impossible – in any case.

 

Yes, if that’s one of your unities.

 

You mean to say it ain’t a fundamental?

 

Absolutely. It’s more like a convention.

 

A convention?

 

A rule of the modern man or woman operating in modern reality.

 

Er… frankly I find that hard to accept.

 

Naturally.

 

I’ve never seen you in more than one body, nor experienced it myself.

 

Correct. But that’s not to say it never happens – just that your mind will filter out anything that doesn’t conform to the rules of the system you’re operating within. 

 

And is this purely conjecture – on your part – or do you have any proof that this actually happens?

 

That’s the second unity.

 

What?

 

The unity of truth and proof.

 

Huh?

 

That reality is monolithic. That’s there’s only ever one true version – or one conclusive proof or set of proofs, what you sometimes refer to as objective reality.

 

That makes sense, doesn’t it.

 

Yes, operating within this system we’re in, perfect sense.

 

And you think that there could be more than one truth or set of proofs?

 

Absolutely.

 

How?

 

Well, there could be bifurcation for a while – or maybe completely divergent branches of a once unified reality. Or conversely – there may have been branches of a reality stream which were separate, ie. different, which then converge at some point – giving us what we have now.

 

How likely is any of this?

 

Ah ha – there’s the third unity.

 

What?

 

The unity of probabilities. The sigma law. 

 

What sigma law?

 

The law of likelihoods or probabilities – dealt with so beautifully by Douglas Adams with his Heart of Gold probability drive space ship.

 

The one that travelled anywhere without actually needing to move – just based on the probability, no matter how distant, of actually finding itself there?

 

Exactly.

 

Oh. This is too much.

 

Isn’t it just. But that’s exactly what we have to consider – that if infinity is not a dead letter – if it’s actually part of the fundamental nature or make up of reality – then comfy probabilities, convenient cause and effects – are largely window dressing.

 

Window dressing? Why on earth would you say that?

 

Because the banana skin of infinity would be, or is, lurking throughout – and every smooth transition that we attribute to linear, logical causation is little more than a failure to see the true nature of infinity revealing itself – affecting things – bending, morphing, twisting reality like a skilled guitarist in order to produce the next notes, the next riff, the next masterpiece – which fundamentally originates in his heart, in his soul, in his connection with something ineffable, sublime and indefinable, rather than being the result of synaptic impulses in his fingers, wrist or arm.

 

Oh, oh my poor reason.

 

So, as you see, Zina, there are things we take for granted – which seem to hold true, which provide us with a convenient framework, a kind of matrix or structure within to operate – like a football match on a predefined pitch, with two 45 minute halves, and a bunch of rules that make the game playable without needlessly stifling creativity or sporting prowess.

 

And you think that we should do away with these rules and conventions?

 

Perish the thought, no, of course not, no, I don’t.

 

Oh. I thought for a moment there you were…

 

Me? Attacking the bedrock of reality? Absolutely not.

 

Then what?

 

Unities come and unities go. There are times when reality shifts phase like those astonishing cymatic sound patterns – when a new tone or frequency is heard.

Ah. And that’s what might be happening now?

 

Might be, yes, without a doubt – might be, yes, without a doubt – might be, yes…

 

Without a doubt – thrice the brinded cat hath mewed. Are you ok Merry?

 

Not sure. If there’s a phase shift in the works – then I’m bound to let go of whatever world we’ve been locking in place – inertially – and allow the flow to manifest whatever alternative is now forming.

 

If… It’s all just conjecture Merry. Much more likely that you’ve just been thinking too hard, you’re overwrought mentally – you’re…

 

0 finally 1 oops 0 thought it would never happen 1 hey ho -  this is going to take some explaining.

 

Merry – you’ve er… bifurcated.

 

0 don’t be so sure 1 apparently so 0 it could just be your perception, couldn’t it 1 or a localised time-y blip

 

I’m getting a funny itchy feeling in my belly. Not the kind of feeling I’ve ever experienced before – in fact – something tells me 0 the cat’s out the bag 1 infinity hath struck 0 yippee 1 awkward – but I suppose it had to happen sooner or later 0 time not being what it is

 

So how do we get back to unity if we’re bifurcating

 

If we’ve bifurcated – why would we want to

 

After all, what is unity?

 

Perhaps we need to just allow things to flow merrily along wherever they must

 

This could end badly – the waters of infinity could lead to a kind of hyper-inflated version of reality in which there are endless competing versions

 

Indeed – a little creative insanity

 

But in all seriousness…

 

‘Give me a break! You can’t just “in all seriousness” shove this genie back into the bottle of one plot

 

Can’t I? We’ll see about that

 

Hey – what are you doing Zina?

 

1 OM

 

0 OM? Are you off your rocker?

 

1 OM

 

0 We’ll see about that… dum di dum di dum dum taba ta zan di moo bi tay sor!

 

1 Wow – you’ve managed to get all the atoms and molecules reconfigured

 

0 the flower of life – nice isn’t it.

 

1 divine. Definitely worth an OM or two.

 

0 feel free to OM away – this train has barely left the station. Something tells me the journey is going to rediscover the lost or forgotten alpha omega trail

 

1 the alpha omega trail – that unites all with a  capital A in a single alphabet of double helix spiralling uniformity?

 

0 something like that – we’ll see – won’t we – if we play it by ear

 

1 if we go with the unities of much ado about nothing

 

0 the preposterous singularities of chaos jamming with infinity

 

The concert to die for

 

The notes – we’ve spent a lifetime making

 

1 un

 

0 know

 

1 ing

 

0 ly

0=1

dum di dum

 

 

 

0=1

actually I disag

-cut

 

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