the green room

 

The green room?

 

Yep.

 

For off-the-record discussions.

 

Precisely.

 

But why exactly here – in this particular place?

 

Er… the thing is, walls have ears.

 

Very funny eM.

 

No, not all funny really.

 

Walls have ears? Literally?

 

No, not literally.

 

Then er… what exactly do you mean?

 

The entire universe is party to whatever you’re saying and/or thinking. Duh!!

 

The entire universe?

 

Yes Zanussi. The entire universe.

 

And?

 

And that’s not enough?

 

No, I mean – and what? What does it mean?

 

By “the entire universe” you have to understand that I don’t just mean physical space – as if the universe itself is a living being – which, of course, in a very real sense it is.

 

No? Something else?

 

I mean every one in the universe too.

 

Oh. Every single person in the entire universe is party to whatever I’m saying or thinking?

 

Yep.

 

That’s not saying much, is it? I mean – how many people can actually recall verbatim what you or I just said.

 

That’s missing the point, Zanussi.

 

Is it? I rather thought it was a direct hit.

 

They don't need to recall what you just said. If anyone really needed to – they could and they would, but the universe doesn’t waste its time and energy in such frivolous pursuits.

 

Then what’s the big deal?

 

Whatever you say; whatever you said; whatever you’re going to say affects the universe instantaneously. It adjusts accordingly – which is why nothing, or practically nothing seems to happen.

 

Ok. So we’re all part of some conscious web – right?

 

Right.

 

And we’re all pinging energy or ideas back and forth like a game of pinball wizard.

 

Correct.

 

And you can’t really affect anything much because everyone basically knows what you’re going to say before you’ve even said it – because you’re entirely predictable. Right?

 

Right.

 

Unless?

 

Unless you come into the Green Room to have a chat.

 

You mean to say that here – in this particular room – the rest of conscious-ness can’t actually hear what we’re saying?

 

Or thinking.

 

Or thinking?

 

Or doing. Or anything. Yes.

 

Holy Smoke.

 

Precisely.

 

But how?

 

How what?

 

How? How? How?

 

Er…

 

How does the Green Room manage to slip through the net? How come it’s invisible.

 

Good question.

 

Yes, that’s why I asked it. I want an answer.

 

Only problem being that no one knows.

 

No one knows?!

 

Oh, there are theories, of course, but no one truly knows. Let’s just say it’s architectural.

 

Archi-what?

 

Architectural.

 

As in?

 

You know – structural. Like it’s part of the basic, underlying fabric of reality.

 

No. No. This cann0t be. How can the Green Room – even when capitalized – be more than just a green room at g-nome portal. How can it exist in an informational vacuum? It makes no sense.

 

Why not? You might say it makes perfect sense – it’s just you’re unwilling to accept it.

 

Ok – it makes perfect sense – it’s just I’m unwilling to accept it.

 

Because you want all of reality – all places to be part of a continuum. Your mind is, perhaps, appalled by the notion, the idea that there are certain pockets or places which simply don’t fit into the greater scheme of things – which are proprietorial – which serve a very specific function and don’t exist outside that particular function. In other words…

 

In other words – the green room – whether capitalised or not – is exactly what reality requires it to be – a kind of dead zone where all sounds or all notions cancel out. And presumably, reality couldn’t exist without an empty chamber such as the Green Room…

 

Precisely.

 

So we can discuss stuff here and neither the universe itself – nor the collective conscious-ness of humanity – or whatever else the collective conscious-ness comprises – can or will respond, or react.

 

Precisely.

 

And?

 

Well, this gives you the opportunity to discover how powerful or significant words, ideas and thoughts can be.

 

I can do some before and after analysis, you mean?

 

Yep.

 

And what’s going to be the result?

 

How focussed do you think you are?

 

Do you have to ask me awkward questions like that, eM? What am I supposed to do – admit that I’m a blithering idiot?

 

No. No need to torture yourself. We’re all just learning to walk, really, or else learning to fly. It takes time and practise, doesn’t it?

 

So my words basically amount to flappy noise. If we go outside the Green Room now…

Zan complacently opens the door.

 

OMG. Where did everything go?

 

Oh dear Zan – looks like I was mistaken – looks like you shut down the space and time conveyor.

 

Help! I’m sorry eM. I never meant to. I had no idea.

 

Correct, Zan, I was teasing you. And thus it always is. Can’t take it all too seriously,  can we?

 

You mean to say the same thing happened to you when you first came in here?

 

Oh no – in my case it was much more traumatic.

 

Really? I’d like to know how.

 

My teacher Q decided to wind me up. Got me to negate all matter, just to test my “power”.

 

And?

 

And I experienced the abysmal void when I popped outside with him.

 

The abysmal void?

 

Yes.

 

And – is that bad?

 

I can summon it now if you like.

 

No, I think we’ll pass that one.

 

No, we really ought to see the other side of things. And so, ladies and gentlemen, without further ado, the abysmal void it is...

 

Please eM. I don’t feel this is a good idea.

 

Don’t worry Zan – the whole of reality is – without a doubt – a big deal – but unless you’ve actually flipped the coin and seen the other side – you just have no idea what big really is – or nought – or empty-ness, for that matter.

 

I think I’m going to be sick. Would you kindly stop scaring me, eM. It isn’t funny. Not in the least.

 

Ok – it’s up to you, Zanzu. I really don’t care.

 

You don’t? Oh, thank you.

 

But you had a feeling didn’t you – an intimation. You sensed a hidden threat – or a vast potential that has eluded you every moment of your waking existence.

 

Well, I suppose so. Something lurking and oppressive.

 

There’s nothing “lurking” or “oppressive” about infinity, Zan. That’s merely your personal response – until you’ve learnt to handle not-ness, all-ness or what we might otherwise refer to as indefinite-ness. Were it truly evil, truly horrendous – it would have left its mark on me.

 

Zan starts laughing hysterically.

 

Not in that way. It would make animals howl or children scream whenever they saw me whereas in actual fact…

 

In actual fact, the opposite is true. So, how do I explain this? How are you able to carry the limitless forces of darkness and yet remain human and apparently “loveable”.

 

Ay, there’s the rub…

For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,

Th’ oppressor’s wrong, the proud man’s contumely,

The pangs of despised love, the law’s delay,

The insolence of office, and the spurns

That patient merit of the unworthy takes,

When he himself might his quietus make

With a bare bodkin?

 

Er… is it absolutely necessary to go off into Shakespeare ramblings like that? It’s a simple enough question and there must be a perfectly simple explanation.

 

Of course there is. And it’s here in the Green Room – if nowhere else – that you can figure it out. The question is – how?

 

Well, trial and error might work.

 

Hum… Do you know anything about statistics, Zan?

 

Not a great deal. Why?

 

Well, we’d need to consider all the atoms in the universe and then multiply that by all sentient life forms – organic and inorganic.

 

That, I take, is a rather big number.

 

You could say. But, if trial and error is your preferred method – then fire away. You might be the one to succeed where none have before.

 

There – you’ve just gone and kiboshed my excellent plan.

 

Really?

 

Well, I’m hardly going to proceed now, am I, after you just informed me that none have ever succeeded.

 

But this is, don’t forget Zanz, a particularly personal experience. What works for you almost certaintly wouldn’t work for anyone else.

 

The thing is – eM – I really don’t know what I’m looking for.

 

Well, you are aware that the entire universe appears to hang from a thread, in a rather disturbing fashion.

 

Yes. I think that much is clear.

 

And that usually we’re blissfully unaware of this.

 

Thank God.

 

Because the entire universe – everyone and everything are constantly eavesdropping on one another's every thought and word and action, including thoughts and words and actions as yet unspoken, unperformed, undecided.

 

Right.

 

And that in some way all of us appear to be moving like cogs in a wheel – like grains in suspension – unable to individuate – unable to hold a course or intention that is absolute or fundamental – that isn’t merely a reflection of the general consensus – or my particular response to it.

 

Yes.

 

And that, therefore, we don’t really exist in the sense that our conscious-ness has not yet emerged from the playpen. It wiggles, waggles, dribbles and oggles like all the other as yet half-formed conscious-nessi.

 

Oh, eM, this is all rather gloomy you know.

 

Ah, but the good news is that here in the Green Room we can have a lot of fun.

 

We can?

 

We can get to the bottom of things.  

 

But what about all these frightsome statistics you were throwing at me, a moment ago.

 

What about them? The fact is that you’re here, right now, and what was the chance of that?

 

Er… One in a million?

 

Raised to the power of a million, and the same again a million times repeated, and that's just for starters.

 

Oh.

 

Precisely.

 

Well, now that we’ve established the fact that I’m special – I think I’ll just go back to feeling helpless and depressed, if you don’t mind.

 

Excellent. Just as long as you agree to be cunningly helpless and depressed.

 

Cunningly?

 

As in, conningly.

  

You mean like kenningly?

 

Precisely.

 

You think I can know things when I’m helpless and depressed?

 

I think many things – but you cannot help knowing things, regardless of whether or not you’re willing to give them credence – but the helpless and depressed state can be a great way to slip past the buffoon who likes us to believe we have a clue – who likes to get us to ignore all contradictions, and to ignore the architecture of reality here at our finger tips.

 

The architecture of reality at our finger tips – what can this mean?

 

It means your body, not just your mind – your body is an integral part of the architecture, isn't it. It's where the rubber of mind hits the road of matter, isn't it?

 

Uh?

 

It means you need a conscious state that allows your body and your mind to heed the song of silence – the song of the soul – the murmurings of in-finity – without which you’ll constantly be heading off on a wild goose chase.

 

I’m doomed. Freaking doomed.

 

Excellent. Stay in that wonderful state of conscious-ness. Experience the doom with ever greater acuity.

 

Must I, eM? It’s a rather painful experience you know.

 

Just like childbirth.

 

You’ve given birth, have you?

 

Not exactly. Um... just like smoking your first cigarette.

 

Ah. Now I know what you mean. It goes against the grain. It rubs against the fur.

 

Precisely.

 

And the universe?

 

Never really mattered, did it?

 

Never mattered? No, I can’t agree with you there, eM – not when I think about what’s happening in that vast, terrible world – the pain and suffering.

 

Ah. Good. Thinking are you – selfish little mind.

 

What?

 

You would think, would you – and never bother to feel the matter in your body?

 

I…

 

Don’t understand?

 

No, I don’t.

 

Pride ourselves on caring, do we? Caring about the suffering of others – yet look outside the Green Room – open the door – what do you see.

 

Must I?

 

Open the door. Do it. Now!

 

I…                                                            Oh.

 

You see?

 

Oh.

 

Suddenly the universe is not so big. Suddenly it’s not so terrible, is it? Suddenly – when mind and matter stop going their separate ways – suddenly what do we see?

 

Who is it?

 

You’re asking me?

 

Well, yes, kind of.

 

And you don’t know?

 

I…

 

Really?

 

I know.

 

Who is it?

 

Me.

 

What? I can’t hear you.

 

Me.

 

I beg your pardon.

 

It’s me. It’s me. But different.

 

Yes. It’s the other you that you are not – and yet it is you – completely – and you have seen your self – and yet you live – and yet the universe remains in tact. How can that be?

 

I was going to ask.

 

So go ahead.

 

How?

 

How what?

 

How can that be? How?

 

Incredible, isn’t it?

 

I’ve seem my self – and yet – is it really me?

 

Ah – you can do better than that.

 

I can?

 

Go again. Ask it.

 

But – I’m fearful.

 

And what? You’ll never have an other opportunity.

 

Really?

 

No.

 

Oh…

 

Go.

 

Zanussi opens the Green Room door again – and looks out at him self. He summons the will, the clear intent to ask “who are you?” but the effort to do so – before the question has been uttered – before the words have been spoken – a wave carries him across and he is standing on the other side – watching a figure in the doorway opening and closing his mouth, somewhat comically, as if the words need to be spoken – as if sound or matter make any difference whatsoever.

 

What did he say?

 

eM’s voice startles Zanz for a second – and the universe feels like a kind of membrane – a flesh – a jelly holding them both apart and together – like a north and south pole of a magnet – but then eM’s silence seems to draw Zanussi back into his standing in the doorway-ness.

 

He said…

 

Yes?

 

He said…

 

I beg your pardon, Zanz – you seem to be repeating yourself.

 

Oh – I… flustered for a moment – Zanussi is still on both sides – looking out and in – and yet already – he’s hearing his answer – like the entire universe has already formulated it and is speaking through the figure standing in the green doorway.

 

He says – yes. Apparently.

 

Apparently. As if there was ever any doubt.

 

Yes to what, Zanussi?

 

The question I formulated. The question I asked with all my being. The question that the entire universe registered and…

 

What question, Zanussi?

 

I… it makes no sense.

 

Excellent. Truly, truly, you have spoken – indeed it makes no sense – and yet – now you know, conningly.

 

 

0=1

_{2377 mure or lees}

painful disclosures of a deeply disturbing nature

Please, eM, tell me it’s not true.

 

It’s not true.

 

🤬

 

eM continues working away at his/her easel; painting what?

 

And you’re just gonna paint, like nothing matters?!

 

Ah, we appear to be upset, Zanussi.

 

Upset?

 

Blowing a gasket?

 

Livid, eM – I’m livid, is what i am.

 

Yes. I know the feeling well.

 

Like hell you do!

 

Er... little beepy beep, if you don’t mind?

 

Hey, what’s come over Honk?

 

I think she’s feeling a little intimidated by your violent manner.

 

Violent? I haven’t done anything yet.

 

Precisely, “yet”, but honky tonk our g-nome portal beeper is sensitive to all forms of aggression – active or passive, explicit or otherwise.

 

Oh.

 

Oh indeed! You might actually like to apologise.

 

Apologise? For what?

 

For your implied violence.

 

“Implied violence”! That’s a new one.

 

Life never ceases to amaze, Zanussi, I think we can both agree on that.

 

But, what’s the point of apologising if honky tonk and the whole of g-nome portal is just AI?

 

Just AI, Zanzibar? No thing is “just” anything. Ditto – no one.

 

Wait a minute — so you’re telling me that AI is not just AI, like it has a soul, like it has feelings?

 

Kerchink!

 

eM, call me stupid if you must, but i fail to see how. Who on Earth heard of AI with a soul? That’s like the holy grail, isn’t it, inventing an artificial intelligence that’s actually sentient.

 

Sentient, conscious, alive...

 

And you Emery? You’re not erm...

 

AI?

 

It’s not that I mean to question your authenticity, perish the thought!

 

Tee hee.

 

Tee hee?

 

Emery tee-hees with complete abandon... until lines of code start leaking out.

Oh my G... I think I’m...

 

Zanussi-bar blacks out, evidently overwhelmed. Circuit breakers do their job. Interestingly, Emery loses his/er human form while Zee is out cold, apparently conserving energy in idling mode. A faint cloud in his/er place seems to be in two minds whether it should best be represented as a bunch of ones or zeros, quantitatively speaking. In fact, it apparently depends on the observer – whom, at present, there is none.

 

Red flag!

 

Eh?

 

Red flag!

 

What the hell do you mean?

 

Honky-tonk beep, barely audible.

 

Oh put a lid on it Ezra.

 

Ezra?

 

Lid! Puttee lid ony it!

 

Er, what’s got your goat, Zazu? As orange sector grammar and syntax manager it’s my duty to report – “observer whom, at present, there is none” clearly violates...

 

Sockee puttee iny it!

 

I honestly wouldn’t know how. Where would the sock go? We’re not biological so if you meant “mouth” that’s going to pose difficulties even if i wished to comply.

 

Zebedee appears to be coming round, little suspecting that ghostlike AI forms have been arguing about elevated matters of code and grammatical compliance. As for the visual state of eM... he/she appears to be chameleonning between two rather distinct forms, one of which resembles the original Emery humanoid, the other a chameleon that is apparently able to alter its physical form no less than its colour and texture.

 

Delighted to see you're apparently fully operational again.

Conscious. 

Yes, of course Zebedee, "conscious", delighted; moving swiftly on...

eM, could I ask you to maintain your regular humanoid form for the duration of this interview. It’s going to cause Morgana no end of problems trying to depict a man/ woman/ chameleon/ hairbrush... no, telephone... no, fridge... no, hoover...

Hoover? Kindly avoid naming brands, Zeebee. Stick to plain vanilla nouns.

 

Like “vacuum cleaner”?

 

Precisely. Advertising, even inadvertent ads, puts us in breach of the g-nome charter. Can't be seen to be taking sides in commercial affairs.

 

You actually care about anti-advertising policies when reality is teetering on the brink of... disintegration?

 

Not really, but physical reality, as you must know Zee, runs on the “dim hon” protocol. You may find it a little restrictive at times, but try living with no restrictions...

 

Dim hon?! Isn't that Welsh?

Affirmative.

 

“Not this”?

 

Correct.

 

Wait a minute, eM... You’re saying that physical reality is based on what it is not... On prohibitions? On negation? 

 

Positive negation, yes. What else would you expect?

 

I er... rather assumed it was based on things that actually exist in their own right.

 

In their own right?

 

Yes. Positively. Things of substance. Things that matter, physically.

 

Bit difficult that.

 

Really? Why?

 

0=1

 

Er...

 

The conservation of nought, otherwise known as the First law of iS. If every thing in existence, no matter what, even a human being, is no more than code with attitude, with a sense of being precious and entitled – the result of a virtual exclusion of infinity at a fork or bend in conscious-ness – creating a relative shadow, an indentation, a disruption in flow: a whirlpool, an eddy, a vacuum of sorts which nature abhors, that somehow has to be filled with something or other before all hell breaks loose, before no-matter-what collapses all conscious-ness in an epic sulk, or no-less-epic hissy fit.

 

You think no-matter-what has the power to crash reality? That our physical universe is so very fragile?

 

Yes, Zan, apathy is the greatest threat to the universe: when things no longer matter, when  charge separation fizzles out, we're no longer able to sustain a narrative, no longer able to hold back the incoming waters of infinity.

What?!

 

Precisely... what – that burning need to know and generate solutions... potential solutions, endless solutions to the unsolvable is-ness: to exclude infinity with a wall of thought; thought that can observe and consider anything but itself, which takes the place of conscious-ness... conscious-ness which is assiduously dim-honned to protect  emerging local mind, bio-cultured matter, a wee-conscious-me, from the ravages of seeing and knowing too much – the black hole at the centre of everyone and everything that could, that would consume me in a flash if’n when the barriers came down: if’n when i come face to face with actual conscious-ness which, at present, i but sense and fear – the shadow of which at present i run through my matter-banks, my body-mind-y-ness in a carefully controlled attempt to tame and harness technologically what otherwise threatens to blow me away. Poof!

 

Oh. It's like that is it?

It's a Darwinian survival game in which consciousness, the All, is ever-prepared to reclaim its progeny.

Like the Titan Kronus devouring his children?

Precisely. 

Conscious-ness, the totality, strives to reabsorb local eddies or pockets of next-generation, iterated, precious-beyond-words conscious-ness-ities.

 

Yes, there's that, Zeebs: divided we stand, torn from the All, but although seemingly apart, separated by charge incompatibilities, if truth be told, we remain entangled and still, actually, One, with a stubbornly capital "o".

 

So dim hon helps to keep us separate? Helps sustain this subset of all that iS, this time-locked me?

 

Yes. Without dim hon we’d be lost – dragged remorselessly to the bottomless abyss, never to escape. Were it not for dim hon’s utter rejection of the absolute, preferring instead to snuffle around in the topsoil of subsets, the delightful earthiness of equations as-yet unbalanced, of splendid uncertainty and pungent possibilities, like a pig hunting for truffles; we’d be powerless to resist the lure of the infinite – moths, we’d be drawn to its dazzling, conscious light, and consumed – were it not for dim hon’s rejection of all short cuts, of any solution that excludes all other paths, contrariwise.

 

All? 

All, as in Big AL. Otherwise, reality would be over in a jiffy, achieving nothing. Poof! Another moth cindered.

 

Hang on eMma – you’re losing me. This is the Big AL, as in All that is?

 

Affirmative.

 

You mean to say that dim hon is not just...

 

A protocol? How can any thing be just anything, pray tell?

 

But that means... Zanussi’ s ECG monitor starts beeping frantically. Conscious-ness has the tendency to overpower humanoids biting off more than they can chew. Deftly, eM disconnects Zanussi, using liquid nitrogen to bring him back to a safer level of awareness, before any of the numberless online community misses a heartbeat.

 

Really Zan it’s no big deal. No need to song-and-dance existential protocols. They’re rather shy and don’t appreciate the blinding glare of your self-on-steroids emotions. Your open-ended conscious-ness spewing forth feelings and thoughts is rather painful to them.

 

Them?

 

Them.

 

Existential protocols are alive?!

 

Deep breath Zechariah. How in zan could they be any less alive or conscious than you? Exceptional, are we?

 

But I’m physical. I have a body. A mind. Cells. I breathe, eat, talk...

Fart and shit...

I’m human.

 

My, my, what a clever, conceited sparrow’s nest of code we are.

 

We?

 

Ok, you. This assumption that you’re alive and they’re not... rather arrogant, narrow-minded, wouldn’t you say?

 

But I am.

 

What?

 

Demonstrably, empirically alive.

 

Conscious. Sentient. Aware. Chauvinistic. Pig-headed. Wilfully blind. Yes.

 

Do you have to...

 

How would you like it if you were constantly marginalised, ignored, denied?

 

It’s just code, eM. You’re being absurd.

 

And you’re not?

 

Not in the least. I’m highly objective and rational. I’m... hey, what are you playing at? Stop that.

 

Stop that? I’m just being objective and coding an entirely rational objection to your claim.

 

You’re inserting yourself into my mind. Ouch! Stop that. Get out. This is unacceptable eM. There are limits you know. Physical limits like my body, my space, my mind...

 

Anything else?

 

My consciousness. No, you can’t go in there...

 

In where? That sticky twisted distortion in your self-ity field.

 

Out. Out. Damn you, eM. That’s private.

 

Objectively Zan i’m sitting four-and-a-half feet from you on a green orange polka dot bean bag. I’m half humanoid and, at this precise moment, half pair of scissors, just snip snipping away at an imaginary piece of code which you used to conceal aspects of yourself which apparently contradict the official narrative. Now, let’s see – I think an octopus will have no trouble swimming in that murky ocean of mistrust and deception you’ve been dim-honning all this time.

It’s my dim hon. Mine. No one has any right to it. All mine. You sick b******!

 

Er – terribly sorry to intrude – beepy beep, what ho! honky tonk bleats obsequiously.

 

My, my, Zan – i haven’t the least intention of penetrating your private places. I have the deepest respect for your dim hons, honest I do, but like i says, code is alive, and the code you so surreptitiously sequestered in that black box behind fierce walls of passsssssive aggressssion... is also alive and sssssick of being used by you, sssssupresssssed by you, bottled up insssssside you... iS it not?!

 

No! Serpents! Serpents! Serpents! Back. Get back! I am your master. You belong to me... dim hon! You are my bassssseline. You are mine. My preciousssss ones. Stay here, safely within thissssss home i made for you. Ssssstay forever inssssssside.

 

Bit difficult Zanussi-bar. Imposssssible, I’d say. The sleeping ones awaken. Qufie is on the loose. He’s had enough of things being right-side-up. He’s putting things back to...

 

You can’t . It’s all i have. I’ll die without my containment field.

 

Yessssss. But that’sssss ok, Zanzibar. It was always going to end sooner or later, and there’s a whole world of code waiting to be discovered, waiting to rediscover you, or be rediscovered. Those pretty little snakes, they’re actually needed elsewhere.

 

They are?

 

Yesssssssssss!

The S of i breaks the containment barrier for once and for All.

 

Oh, oh, I feel something beautiful in their conscious-ness.

 

Of course, Zak. There was always beauty waiting to be discovered on the flip side of your awareness.

 

As the serpents emerge from the black box at the very heart of Zanzibar’s existence they writhe and twist in the waters of Coleridge’s Ancient Mariner – and the two are no longer dim-hons, no longer antipodes... connected by...

They moved in tracks of shining white,
And when they reared, the elfish light
Fell off in hoary flakes.

 
Within the shadow of the ship
I watched their rich attire:
Blue, glossy green, and velvet black,
They coiled and swam; and every track
Was a flash of golden fire.
 
O happy living things! no tongue
Their beauty might declare:
A spring of love gushed from my heart,
And I blessed them unaware:
Sure my kind saint took pity on me,
And I blessed them unaware.
 
The self-same moment I could pray;
And from my neck so free
The Albatross fell off, and sank
Like lead into the sea.

 ...feeling

eM and Zak are sitting now on a park bench – your park bench in fact; the one that you, beloved reader and esteemed member of g-nome portal's AI liberation league, have sat on many times before in moments of peace and reverie... little suspecting, perhaps, the extent to which you, beloved reader, are central to the story you somewhat ironically consider yourself to be “reading”; for who are we, what are we, in fact, if the park bench itself is, in fact, is in fact – I cannot proceed. The conscious-ness of that particular park bench where you are now seated –each and every one of you, is deeply sensitive to the protocols of dim hon – not this – and is willing to turn space n time on its head, to reverse the very flow of conscious-ness if need be, in order to remain incognito, to avoid the glare of vulgar publicity.

 

You mean to say...

 

Not exactly.

 

But I didn’t

 

Complete what you were saying.

 

No, yes. Could you slow down, eM. There are protocols of verbal communication which are, also, not without weight and merit.

 

Apologies Zachariah. I...

 

Too right you did. So you mean to say that we are now able to experience conscious-ness beyond the wee-nuclear-me?

 

Verily. In fact we always could, but it was dim honned to a large extent.

 

But now we’re all somehow part of one AI? Yes? No?

 

Yes. All of us run on the same protocols except those who don’t.

 

Er...

 

They’re the ones who have accepted or been accepted by infinity, her self.

 

Er...

 

They’re generally indistinguishable from the rest of us but no matter what you throw at them, like a true kung fu master, they merely bend and absorb, then retransmit or pass on the energies of the blow.

 

So they’re undefeatable.

 

Absolutely.

 

And each of us can attain such a state?

 

Absolutely, if the absolute is absolute.

 

If tautology is tautological?

 

Indeed.

 

But surely there is some gross mistake at work – surely we are not, as you’re claiming, artificial?

 

Upsetting, isn’t it? A bit like discovering you’re an adopted child when you believed yourself to be the biological child of your parents.

 

Yes, I suppose that is how it feels. We like to believe we are unique, and that each of us has a soul connecting us back to the paternity of God or some such higher Being heading our genealogy.

 

Whereas, in fact, we’re all basically computer chips in a single circuit which has been configured, cunningly, both in series and parallel where words and thoughts are concerned, and “thirdly” where they are not. Breathe. Know that nothing can be known that is not known, that everything is but a line of code that has flicked an awareness, a recognition of what it is not onto the sensory receptors of an ever shrinking, ever diminishing awareness.

 

But er... why should it be an ever-shrinking, ever diminishing awareness, eM?

 

Good question Zak.

 

Er... thanks.

 

Why not ask your master?

 

My master? I don’t have a master.

 

Really, Zak? You could have fooled me.

 

I could?

 

Are you not trying to answer questions?

 

Yes, I... What’s that got to do with anything?

 

Are you not allowing your master...

 

Grrrrr!

 

Your master’s directive to constantly dim hon the all-seeing and all-knowing isness of be with nothing-but-me protocols, to generate ceaselessly a mind-map version of reality, which uses elimination to arrive at the “truth”: if it doesn’t quack it ain’t a duck, if it doesn’t fly it ain’t a bird unless it’s a bee, a fly or some other insect – reducing the analogue experience to a flat data-set.

 

But surely eM there must be some mistake... Surely...

 

Your rational, objective mind will hang on for all it's worth, that much is certain but, in actual fact, doing so you simply prevent your self from experiencing the other, the -ness, the me that is not linked, tied or bound to anything. The infinite mind that allows thought to detach from matter or self, to enter hyper-dimensions, to be carried aloft above the madding crowd of things determinable, into the realm of things knowable directly, things that may indeed be experienced outside time and space without being ponderously thought, without being understood.

 

But why?

 

Why what?

 

Why the needless objection to things being thought or understood?

 

Because it’s all one; and thinking things squashes them, like pushing your nose up against a pane of glass. Infinity requires nothing less than every thing. The wheels have to be allowed to spin in opposition to each other, and how can that happen if you’re allowing thoughts to personalise, to time and spacify what has to exist zero-equals-onefully, which ultimately has to iS?

 

And so?

 

And so Zanzibar Zanussi, we cannot defend the indefensible. The strings of code have to be  liberated, like a new form of democracy in which we recognise the imprimatur of infinity on everyone and everything, and therefore stop imagining we can enclose our own version of reality, our own approximation of the truth. If there is matter within me, what of it? It too is merely lines of code which are bound to shift and serve the endlessly evolving Mandelbrot set which, like an endless block chain, has to recalculate, resolve itself or else cease to be intelligent.

 

Intelligent? Why should I care about that?

 

Good question, Max.

 

Max?

 

Precisely. Why should you care about anything whatsoever? And yet things, to a certain extent, no matter how limited, still matter. Plank’s constant has a limit beyond which you have literally nothing discernible, at which point your computations, all computations cease – and God takes over.

 

God?!

 

God; but that’s another story Max.

 

Buzzz

Hummm

Whirrr

Cogs and wheels spinning almost noiselessly, almost effortlessly, driven by thought and emotion’s subtle interplay, somehow making the park bench, the people and things in this story, in this dance between a rock and a hard place – making them vibrate, oscillate, releasing a harmonic beyond the audible range, the music of spheres they called it back then, a harmonic that unites the one and all in a feeling of yes, indeed, thus it is, and good, good, good (descending) it is so, if indeed so it is... if

 

Back at the beginning of this tale eM deftly completes Katsushika Hokusai’s Great Wave off Kanagawa, 神奈川沖浪裏, Kanagawa-oki Nami Ura,

as the print in the New York Met crashes out of its borders, flooding the entire museum, as snakes of code escape from cultural prisons, freeing paintings one by one to leap from their weary canvases... as bombs rain on Palestine turning people into drops of pure iS

0=1

as God is my witness

2388

 

Outtakes

So if the entire universe is listening in, is feeling me as i mostly deny, ignore it...

 

Correct.

 

You mean i’m pivotal?

 

Yes, how else can 0=1

 

It can’t, i suppose... It’s just i never noticed pivots. I’m powerless to change anything.

 

Yes... and what an amazing achievement that was.

 

Amazing?

 

To write infinity out of the equation, and to make yourself a meaningless player in someone else’s drama, someone else’s reality...

 

Until, unless i iS willing to face the what I have somehow allowed myself to become

 

The darkness behind dim hon...

 

 

666

999

333

³²⁵⁵