Malcolm's jar

 

Merry...

 

They already know what you're going to say Zie.

 

Who?

 

Our subscribers.

 

No they don't – they can't see us.

 

Couldn't.

 

Couldn't? What do you mean?

 

Moving with the times g-nomeportal is now live-streaming everything.

 

It is?

 

Absolutely.

 

On YouTube?

 

YouTube? What the heck's that?

 

Oh nevermind.

 

On the evernet of course.

 

But the site, what's the name of it?

 

Site? What are you on about Zie? Honestly, sometimes I worry about you.

 

You do? 

 

You come out with the oddest things.

 

Well how do they tune into g-nomeportal if there's no site?

 

Do you mean to say you've never used the evernet before?

 

How could I? I have no compatible device.

 

Oh for goodness sake man! What do you think I'm doing now?

 

That's what I meant to ask. Why are you standing with a jug of water on your head?

Now, kindly answer your own question, just don't try telling me you haven't a clue. That won't wash with me or them.

 

Well what am I meant to say?

 

I have no idea: it's a free world, you can say whatever you like, just don't take too long about it, and preferably tell me the whole truth and nothing but the truth. Oh, and make it witty and interesting if at all possible. We need the “likes” if we’re going to stay ahead of our bitter rivals deaths-headportal.666

 

Er...

 

But before you say anything, try putting this jar on your head. I think it might help.

 

Merry hands Zie a largish jar – about a litre and a half of water I’m guessing. Zie looks kind of unsure but knows what is expected – finally, kind of awkward, stuffs it on his head.

 There – join the party.

 

So… what happens next?

 

The subscribers – that’ll be you I guess – love this moment – don’t you – it never fails to amaze when you see the water trick working its magic one more time. We’ve all been there, fond memories of the terror, euphoria and...

 

You mean to say they’ve seen this before?

 

Who?

 

The subscribers.

 

Oh – you see them do you?

 

No, I…

 

Then how come you just asked about ‘em?

 

I mean – I don’t know – not in the traditional sense; no, not with my eyes, at least, but I must have picked up the livestream commentary. Familiar voice. David Attenborough?

 

That’s right. We like it. His quantum isness granted us copyright so we’re not actually stealing it – though I doubt he’s aware of the fact in 3D.

 

Oh. Right.

 

Observe how the water in the jar – when viewed through our exogenous eyes – serves as a hub or bridgehead between the water in Zie’s brain ‘n body, and the interstellar plasmic waters.

 

The what?

 

Ssh – I love this bit.

 

Liquid crystals emerge within the apparent randomness of molecular Brownian motion – as the life-waters in Zie’s brain ‘n body begin to “hear” the mother signal being received through the jar, now acting as intermedium. 3 – 2 – 1 wait for it – wait for it – “glumb!”

 

A kind of un-sound is heard as the water in the jar on Zie’s head appears to implode – sucking in on itself – vanishing into a cavity of its own unmaking, or perhaps that should be “undoing” – not too sure… “dark matter” if you’re into that kinda un-thing. There’s a paradox in process here – for, of course, we know full well that the water is still there – do we not – yet it’s no longer visible or apparent – is it? In its place – once we’ve had that immediately identifiable “glumb” there’s the accompanying black-white-red/ black-white-blue/ black-white-green phosphorescence – really – I’m not going to be able to avoid upsetting a good 66% of our subscribers, as the colour perceived, as you all know – is observer specific. There is even, it is rumoured, a not-insignificant magenta contingent out there – but what we can all agree on is that, initially, it’s a black-white dichotomy – very like the old yin yang image – except there’s no neat linear division between the two, or if there is it just happens to go right through the eye of the beholder – you, that is.

 Er… David?

 

Actually the name’s Malcolm – I own the copyright for David’s voice.

 

Malcolm?

 

That’s right.

 

Well, this black and white you’re describing – would that have anything to do with the old “zero one” thing?

 

Absolutely.

 

So the water shifts into being an under and over-unity?

 

Nice deduction. Correct. The one seems to suck in light ad infinitum, in a gentle, “lose yourself in my seductive dark eyes” sort of way, while the other…

 

shines lovelessly – a white too white, pure distillate of life itself, purity to the point of sterility, devoid of all guile and art, unsoftened by personality defects or the least trace of humour.

 

Yep. You seem to have your brain back up and running Zie.

 

You mean I’ve been here before?

 

Not exactly “before” – I mean – there’s no time like the present, is there?

 

Er…

 

Literally. “Before” would be a terribly linear 3D extrapolation of our fluid, dynamic, non-linear pre… pre… pre…           sent³

 

Oh dear – I seem to have lost you there.

 

Not at all – just a minor trifurcation – soon resolved – easily reconciled in a splash of magenta   cyan   aquamarine

 

Wait a minute – I thought this was meant to be plain old common and garden primaries: blue, red or green...

 

It was/ is/ will be once we re-intrapolate our current trifurcation back down to a zero-one isness of

 

Be?

 

Well yes – but believe it or not – no.

 

No? – Zie's jar wobbles precariously on his head.

 

Never quite as simple as all that, is it. Everything has to have a living, breathing zoomorphic-equivalent where qufie is concerned

 

Exasperated sigh –  "Qufie" as in?

 

Quantum field – so in this case, ridiculous though it may seem – and I make no apologies for the childlike nature of quantum bio-taxonomy – the zero-one isness is zoomorphically a seemingly humble bumbly bee

 

Or some would say a beetle – Merry interjects.

 

Well, make up your minds, won’t you?

 

Well yes – we will – if we ever get there – a b a ba b ab aba is about as far as we’ve made it to date.

 

Er… 

Zie looks confused – hardly surprising really – but just as the sense of lost threads and uncertain-ty threatens to overwhelm him – the jar on his head with a kind of popping sound – sends out what can only be described as “swamf”, which qufie observers know can mean only one thing, a replosion – which is duly received, registered and zoomorphically rabbited throughout the evernet – no matter how far off, actually instantaneously, space-time constants notwithstanding – with a sudden profusion of stories, sightings, jokes and references to white rabbits chasing time, with narrative storylines updated retroactively to preserve the illusion of continuity.

 

The jar flashes phosphorescently as its waters rematerialise, sending a jolt through Zie’s bewildered lifestream column standing beneath.

 

This zoomorphism. It’s making me feel decidedly queasy; no idea why.

 

Merry giggles knowingly, leaving Malcolm on the podium.

 

Actually, it all started innocently enough with the need to ensure that things didn’t run ahead of themselves, which invariably happened in earlier versions of reality, as the quantum field would start streaming, as any zero-viscosity superfluid can, uncontrollably, whenever things got out of hand, polarising painfully – emotionally, mentally or existentially – leaving conscious-ness itself so hopelessly far behind it would throw a hissy fit, and melt down in an epic short-circuit plasma funk.

 

Bzam!

 

Which is why any thing had to be prevented from exceeding the bounds or speed of life itself. 

Which is limited by the speed at which the human mind – Merry chips in – is able to interface the grand universal All that is, otherwise known as conscious-ness.

We, at g-nomeportal had a dozen or more meetings on the subject, even consulting, reluctantly, with those loathsome creatures at deaths-headportal.666, but to no avail, they were clueless, still are, except in the death and destruction line of business...

 

Malcolm winces painfully and seems to lose his train of thought.

 

Now where was I?

 

In committee, trying to figure out how to prevent reality from shorting out cataclysmically.

 

Oh yes, it seemed hopeless until my godfather, Englewink P Triviam hit on the perfect solution, with a little input from me, a boy at the time, playing in the sandbox in his backyard many an afternoon.

 

Yes well, a little historical footnote for you Zie – Merry smiles.

 

But what did he actually hit upon?

 

Observing how I could play for hours quite happily, as long as I imagined my toys were alive and real, endowing them with human or animal names and properties... he realised it was exactly what was needed if qufie was to be reined in. So without further ado, zoomorphic  protocols were introduced to real-ity standard OS, to great acclaim, I may add... hasn’t been a major meltdown since.

 

And by extension [Merry adds] the anthropomorphic principle, too – all life-forms welcome –  animals, humans, gods in happy harmony, for...

 

Guys – please, you’re doing my head in… the mere thought of a universe in which every thing has to be linked to a biological or human form – aaaargh! like we’re stuck at nursery unable to grow up or evolve. Flashes of red in the water on Zie’s head – as it comes close to boiling.

 Try to be practical Zie. We needed a simple, universally applicable engineering solution, like the qwerty keyboard designed for mechanical typewriters, or the ridiculously primitive combustion engine, to slow things down and prevent infinity doing its worst.

 

Of course it seems childish – I’ll be the first to admit – but that’s precisely the point – isn’t it Merry?

 

Absolutely Malcolm.

 

Huh? – Zie enquires.

 

The child – you see – being the youthful stage – the “pre” as opposed to “post” – the “to be” as opposed to the “been”, the leading edge of the life-curve.

 

Absolutely, unless the child is given pride of place and the play-principle be enshrined into the very fabric of reality at the quantum level – things start to thing, as if alive, affected by the field charge of the people who make or use them, with a network signal of their own, feeding off their human hosts, and then, it’s just a matter of time before they have the whole of humanity enslaved. They seem to bring out and sustain the worst in human nature, being themselves devoid of life and meaning, they're apparently able to induce the same in us, unless we understand the danger of things taking on a life of their own if handled incorrectly, the way adults invariably do.

 

So, instead, we took as our model the child, having observed how its insatiable urge to play and experience directly whatever joy can be extracted from things real or imaginary, without reference to rules, rhyme or reason, ensured the ultimate meaning of life remains on the side of discovering whatever life itself can provide...

 

guarantee...

 

grant...

 

rather than meaningless, lifeless things, by jamming childish-ness, unceremoniously, into the pudding

 

Or pie

 

Ok, ok guys – I think I’ve got the message. Animals then it’ll have to be – if qufie, as you say – needs to be… suddenly a yellow-black flashes through the jar on Zie’s head. Merry’s jug reciprocates with a watery “buzz”. Isness on the prowl.

 

Ah – the bee    

 

or not the bee

 

–  somewhere on the far side of the universe – or rather – the back of beyond of Zie’s conscious-ness – another arm or leg if you get my meaning – insists that it’s beetle – not bee – but never the twain shall meet – thus declare the ancient brotherhood of Paradoximightibeetlebee – or else the quantum field would collapse/ have collapsed/ never have un-certaintied itself. This, David Attenborough – in the person of Malcolm, the surrogate Babel fish, ventriloquist extraordinaire, able to produce more than 41.3 trillion different distinguishable voices and accents – cogently explains, is the very basis for things being able to exist at all in 3D, apparently, against the incalculable odds of uncertainty stacked against them, without collapsing back into un-differentiated number-mush or unthingable quantum fluff, instantaneously.

       There’s a kind of stretch in the fabric of imagination – in the mind’s ability to perceive the two sides of is simultaneously – and thus – half of humanity sees things one way, while t’other half sees it otherly – with the remainder being either undecided or undisposed to allow a mind to get in the way of a good mystery – or a conscious-ness cavitation event – oftentimes referred to as sleep-delirium, while the truth as you Agua Agers know only too well is easily, in fact, accessible with the help of a little water on the head, to enable the quantum flux to do its thing present³ly, as qufie messes with Einstein’s oldy worldy theories of relativity and gets light to reverse its HGV into a parking space the size of a pinhead, currently occupied by 44 angels, if Thomas Aquinas is correct, collapsing regular space time by means of an endogenous cavitation event.

 

Ah.

 

You get it?

 

More or less.

 

The jar on Zie’s head, like the jug on Merry’s, appears to be deep in conversation with the entire universe – if, in fact, it’s fair to refer to the universe as entire, or whole, for that matter.

 

You mean to say we’re going to have to spend the rest of our lives with these ridiculous water pots precariously perched atop our heads?

 

Ridiculous?

 

Well, perhaps not ridiculous – this being the Age of Aquarius and all…

 

Zie

 

Yes?

 

May I ask you a question?

 

Er… yes, I suppose so, why not… what is it?

 

Ah ha – you pre-empted me.

 

I did… did I?

 

Once again. Well done.

 

Huh?

 

Third time lucky. You're on a roll.

 

Little does Zie suspect that Merry is not, in fact, joking – that without meaning to – without knowing how – he thrice pre-empts Merry’s question – with his own, the very same, and therein hangs a tale.

 

In 3D reality, as the PhD statisticians among you would know, this kind of coincidence would be a 17-sigma event at the very least, as a measure of its wild improbability, but bear in mind that reality itself being what it is, would if measurable from beyond, take sigma to the moon and back. Those of you, however, familiar with the quantum stream in all its perplexity will know that, contrary to reasonable assumptions regarding near impossible coincidences, this kind of thing happens way too frequently to avoid the suspicion that the legendary sniffly Architron is not, in fact, above manipulating things for whatever reason, and that things have the uncanny knack of thinging whatever needs to be thinged in the nick of time, particularly when the stream is in full spate – flowing between various modalities of is – when subscribers playfully avail themselves of the opportunity to ride Merry-Zie and Malcolm’s carrier wave – their seemingly innocent trialogue – heading upstream or down, as the case may be, towards zero, towards one – into the darkness or light of eternal now or…

 

Not now?

 

Dot dot dot…

 

But it feels so unresolved – so…

 

Yes, doesn’t it – if you focus on the moment, rather than allowing the moment to carry you into …um, unstopped

 

As in “momentum”?

 

That would be correct, were it not a violation of our policy not to dot our i’s or cross

 

our t’s

 

Yes

 

I see.

 

Indeed.

 

So – these jars – we’ve been wearing them all along, haven’t we?

 

In a manner of speaking – yes. Nothing ever really changes, does it – other than our perception of thing(s), with a floating “s” to assuage the pluralist(s) among u(s).

 

At the same time – no, of course – Malcolm interjects in the voice of an Andalusian horse trainer with just the right evocation of horsiness to get the beasts stamping and prancing on qufie's backup screen – not, as that would elevate the past materially to the present, would it not, which in practice seems unavoidable, yet in fact doesn’t conflate with isness-ness or the quantum field itself, moo.

 

There’s no way this can be happening...😣

 

It's just a minor shift in our hierarchy of thing(s).

 

Minor?! You're effectively declaring that things do not matter, at all, not even "yesterday", and to make that point even more dramatically you're declaring martial law upon ‘em, that every thing has to be chaperoned by a cow, a duck or some other farmyard mucker, for our protection?! This is not real.

 

Merry takes over seamlessly, Malcolm fades to dark – Deep breath Zie, feel the water(s) speak beyond rhyme and reason, present³ly

 

Their jars phosphoresce soothingly, while qufie drags everylifeformimaginable before the all seeing eye of is to compute the uncomputable and keep the child in the sandpit from throwing another uncontrollable tantrum.

 

...As long as you can handle the bio-taxonomy – that things in the quantum field cannot be merely things – but needs must bio-equivocate, you'll be fine.

 

Which, let’s face it – is probably going to do my head in…

 

Raucous laughter from the audience.

 

And them?

 

How else are you going to have a sense of vastness and space without them – creating and maintaining an otherness – a not me-ness to your self. Things, even a galaxy, amount to nought without them, bizarre though this seems.

 

You mean that the entire universe has to be filled with other people?

 

With other voices or other-me’s – yes, of course it does. You can hardly leave it to thingummy-thing(s) to hold you in place, and prevent you from spilling out beyond your what-i-be-ness – not when the unequivocating waters of infinity are in play.

 

Ah. Makes sense, I suppose.

 

Absolutely! Though, inevitably, it takes some getting used to.

 

You’re telling me! I’m not sure I’m ever going to get my head around this er…

 

This what?

 

Er…

 

You see – you can’t say, can you?

 

Damn. You’re right – unless I take this bloody jar off my head.

 

Not advisable.

 

What do you mean Merry?

 

Sorry – it’s Malcolm. Merry had to go deal with some more urgent matters elsewhere.

 

I beg your pardon?!

 

Well, you must understand Zie – he can’t spend the whole time with you – can he?

 

I…   Zie is suddenly lost for words – an empty pit opens up in his stomach – like he’s been abandoned.

 

Oh – so you assumed it was just the two of you – did you? That Merry has limitless time just to spend on you – attending to your every need and idle whim?

 

Hey – quit attacking me Malcolm. I can’t…

 

Don’t like it, do you?

 

I…    Zie feels like he’s being ripped in two – the jar on his head once again starts signalling the black and the white at extreme levels of bipolarity – an event appears to be in the making.

 

Easy does it Zie – you don’t want to crash the sine wave irreparably do you?

 

I don’t care Malcolm. I’m sick of this. It’s madness. It’s alien. It…

 

The black and the white are now a raging storm as the entire universe, and the unspun threads of time signal a precipitous break in the boundary condition known as life.

 So you’re just going to obliterate everyone and everything – are you Zie? Feeling sorry for yourself – yes? – don’t care, do you – just as long as you’re feeling lost, feeling alone and pathetically unloved – you’re happy to dump the entire universe in the unrequited data stream of your self-indulgent nihilism. Am I right?

 

Zie knows what Malcolm is talking about – but right now – this wave of self-pity is beyond stopping. It’s like a cry of despair that reaches every atom, every droplet in the dark ocean of the un-created light – and Zie feels himself sinking deeper and deeper into nought that is – nought

 

Nought – yes apparently we all have these temper tantrums Zie – but it’s not everyday you have the opportunity to destroy the entire physical universe.

 

I…

 

Is it?

 

"Chvarg!" – qufie's backscreen flashes ominously.

didn't mean to Malcolm.

Malcolm?   I’m sorry Zie – but you er…

 

What? You’re not Malcolm? Where is he?

 

Malcolm’s dead.

 

What?!

 

As a doornail.

 

Dead? You can’t be serious.

 

Or a doorstep.

 

No… What happened? It’s…

 

Or a doorknob.

 

Would you quit making light of this, Merry.

 

Oh – so you’ve recognised me now, have you.

 

Of course, I bloody have. Who else would be insensitive enough to make light of…   Zie can’t bring himself to say it.

 

Of Malcolm’s death? Yes. Blame me, if you must – after all – I’m just the one who battled for weeks to try and keep him alive while you indulged in a hissy fit of monumental proportions and consigned him to the dark side of infinity – you selfish toad.

 

Zie is beyond broke – shame and horror wash through his battered mind as he deals with the consequences of his selfish ness.

 

Unless…

 

Nothing as yet registers>

Unless, that is…

 

Still nothing>>

 

Oh for God’s sake Zie – quit being so morose. Malcolm was no better than a shoe, and a left one at that.

 

Merry – please – say no more – I’m heartily ashamed of myself. I cannot reconcile myself to the fact that I’ve caused the death of poor old Malcolm.

 

Yes, yes, that’s all very well, but it was either Malcolm or reality and, more to the point, our subscriber base is thinning rapidly. You’re losing their attention, and should you fail to hold onto the last dozen or so of them, then I’m a goner too.

 

You? Do you really expect me to believe a word you say after all this, Merry? You’re just playing games with me – manipulating me emotionally – for what? To keep your channel subscription base up? Or perhaps because you don’t really exist at all? Perhaps you’re just a figment of my imagination, after all. What do you say to that?

 

Merry says nothing. If looks could kill, or break the heart of a…

 That’s it – I quit.

 

Quit then – and good riddance. Suddenly, the evernet view numbers start shooting up. The drama, the passion, the pain – seem to resonate with an audience, forever looking for something real, something that seems to matter in a universe where “matter” is the one thing that completely lacks meaning and cannot, by definition, actually matter.

 

…But could you just sign this personal disclaimer form, if it’s not too much trouble – before doing so.

 

Er?  Zie looks nonplussed. Suddenly finding himself in a world of paper documents, in an office that reeks of squeaky wooden chairs, polish and inkwells – he finds it impossible, or close enough to impossible, not to take this moment at face value – as a true expression of er…

 

Moment. Indeed it is.

 

What?

 

Your moment. Welcome Zie.

 

Welcome?

 

You’ve made it.

 

I have?

 

You have indeed.

 

Where indeed?

 

Well, space and time are vast beyond comprehension, but as every person has an iteration of me – the particular person that you be – so every person has their very own moment – somewhere or other – in time-y-ness.

 

Oh, like having your very own tree – somewhere on Earth, that represents me.

 

Correct.

 

Reaching, arriving at your moment is like connecting with your birth and death. Observe. Here, in this precise hall, is where it all started – your life, that is, and where it will end.

 

I…

 

Yes. But fortunately for you…

 

What?

 

You came here on your own, with a jar of water balanced on your head – in other words, your water brought you back intuitively to your zero moment – in order to…

 

Merry falls silent. Zie is neither surprised nor worried by this – as the conversation is now in water-borne…

 

It’s really as simple as that – the twelfth is the end and beginning again – and here in water-borne Zie experiences the two sides coming together, and senses the aspects, the different modes of water(y)-ness – the streamy-stream, the frozen ice, the gassy-gas, the un-fire and electric-plasma breath – diffuse beyond all imaginings and yet, what is space, what is time, when you are all and nought?

 

So, sign here – if you will, and let’s see whether you’re ready to bring the evernet into play, down there in the chaos and madness we cryptically refer to as 3D.

 

Zie signs on the dotted line – for some reason – he cannot imagine what or why – the name Malcolm…

and opens his eyes – the next moment – back in his apartment in Glasgow’s Gorbals district, symbol of urban decay until… wondering what on earth – what in water-borne – was happening outside – as drops of rain seem to be congregating outside his window on the thirteenth floor of the dingy block of flats – apparently looking in – enquiring, apparently, what Malcolm wishes them to do, awaiting instruction(s)…

 

0=1°

 

introducing the architron

You’re not doing enough to connect with real people.

 

Is that so Zie?

 

Yes.

 

Ok. Have you checked your postulates?

 

Huh?

 

Can you actually say with any certainty that these “real people” you wish me to connect with are in fact…

 

real? Of course they are. What’s there to check?

 

The assumption. That’s what.

 

What assumption?

 

That these people are real.

 

It’s hardly an assumption, is it?

 

Then what, if not an assumption, is it?

 

A fact, based on continual observation.

 

Ok. So you’re willing to stake your life on the fact that these so called “people”, your Joe public, are in fact real, in the sense of being real people?

 

Well, more or less – I mean, maybe not my life – not absolutely, but I’m willing to state that to the extent that our reality is real, these people are equally...

 

real?

 

Yes.

 

But only “uslovno”.

 

I’m sorry?

 

“Uslovno”. It’s a Russian word.

 

I don’t speak Russian, you know.

 

Yes, but that doesn’t stop you knowing what it means.

 

Er…

 

It means conditionally… or maybe contingently.

 

Oh.

 

So, they’re real, you postulate, as long as reality itself is, which seems fairly reasonable, wouldn’t you agree?

 

Well, yes, which is why I don’t understand your issue.

 

Unless, the whole purpose of our work, the whole exigency of g-nome portal lies in the validity or the reality of reality itself, and thus, by extension the people whom we automatically assume to be real, reasonably as it seems, applying Occam’s razor as one does, to choose the simplest solution, the lesser perturbation in the field of knowledge and assumptions.

 

Er… Well, if by all that you mean that it’s more reasonable to assume that people are real than to question the reality of reality itself – I’d go along with that whole-heartedly, because there’s really not much point, is there, questioning the reality of reality, without very good cause indeed, and it’s much more likely that I myself am unreal or mentally deranged, or that’s what basic intellectual humility suggests, than that everyone else is “unreal”.

 

Ah ha – so now we’ve come to the rub of rubs – whether or not we can continue to assume that we ourselves are real, based on the assumption that reality itself and the people we have the good fortune to be in contact with, appear to be.

 

Yes, but the answer is self-evident, is it not?

 

It has been, yes, up until now.

 

And by that you mean to say that now it no longer is? That something’s happened along the way and reality has somehow, suddenly become deeply suspect?

 

There are indications.

 

Really?

 

No, not really.

 

Oh, for God’s sake!

 

God is doing very well without his “sake” being invoked, needlessly.

 

Sorry man.

 

Not “really”, because if reality itself is suspect, or has been compromised in some way…

 

What – like hacked?

 

Hacked or hijacked, yes… If that’s true, if it’s happened, you “really” wouldn’t know, would you?

 

Er…

 

You “really” wouldn’t be able to test that “in reality”, would you – as reality itself is the medium, the substrate, the operating system or platform that has been…

 

What?

 

Un-is-ed.

 

Beg your pardon?

 

Un-is-ed.

 

No good. Lost in translation.

 

Well, reality is supposed to be as real as is – in the sense of “that which simply or truly is”, is it not?

 

Er, yes, I suppose so.

 

So, if it’s been hacked and compromised, the job would affect us no less, as we’re part of the reality platform, running on the Real-ity OS.

 

OS as in...

 

Operating system.

 

Yes, obviously, so… there’d be no way of knowing. It would still seem to be as real as is, wouldn’t it?

 

Correct.

 

We’d have no way of identifying if it had been somehow un-is-ed – though I hate the term and despise you for using it.

 

Bingo.

 

Huh?

 

You’ve just given us the clue we needed.

 

I have? Play it back to me.

 

The hack, if it’s a hack at all, would only work as long as it were undetectable…

 

Right…

 

In other words, the malignant code would have to disarm the usual in-built OS defence against hacks.

 

If you say so.

 

Otherwise it would stick out like a sore thumb.

 

Look, that’s all very well, but what’s it got to do with me revealing the hidden mystery to you?

 

The only way you can hide something as noticeable and obvious as a splice-insertion-substitution

 

Like I have a clue what that means…

 

Is by covering it up with an emotional patch – to get everyone riled by anything I think or anything anyone says which draws attention to the splice-insertion-substitution.

 

Emotional patch – check – I can figure that one out. Distract people with anger or fear and they’ll not be able to think rationally about whatever’s staring them in the face – it’s done all the time, isn’t it, false flags, psy-ops – mind-control 101.

 

Good, well, the splice-insertion-substitution [sis], as you subconsciously know already, is where the real-is connection is replaced by another, let’s call it real-ity for want of a better term, so, for example, the security guards in the world-renowned museum are watching a screen which purportedly shows the hall where the most valuable exhibit is held, but is in fact now showing a recording, not the live stream, and the guards are non-the wiser, until/unless they get round to checking it manually, to see if the wire’s been tampered with.

 

So, you mean to say, that somewhere along the way, our main reality data stream, was substituted by another, which though real enough, is not real as is, merely apparently real?

 

That’s what we’re going to investigate, isn’t it. We would be none the wiser, if it were a job well done, unless we actually physically tested the set-up, for everything will be real enough within the substitute mirror reality we’re potentially operating within.

 

But… it seems so absurd.

 

Absolutely. Fundamentals, we are led to believe, are only for fundamentalists, in the same way conspiracies are only for conspiracy nuts. The sis sees to it that we are almost guaranteed not to question anything but things, mere things, within the sis-tem – rather than real-ity itself.

 

And who could possibly do such a thing?

 

Who? Why you of course. Why assume anything less? Real evil can only survive in reality if it is really well-intentioned, and devilishly good at believing what it's doing to be right.

 

Oh for God’s sake Merry!

 

Yes, God’s “sake” is the time-honoured defence against any verification or authentication of “is”, is it not? That, and a lingering fear, a low-pulsing-throb of unwillingness to go down that avenue, to check under the stone – a barely noticeable sensation which flies beneath the radar of our warning systems – paralyzing us with a scarcely discernible feeling of un-do-ability – that we cannot or mustn’t investigate this matter, that we cannot or mustn’t pay attention to this slow, quiet hum of questionable-ness, for fear of what we might uncover... for fear of what we know, yet cannot/ must not know we know. #know thy fear irrationally

 

And you’re the bloody exception, are you? The one with the gall to challenge real-ity itself?

 

Apparently so.

 

Well I think it’s bloody ridiculous, and I’ve better things to do than continue…

 

THWACK – Merry appears to kick Zie in the solar plexus with devastating power.

 

Zie topples over backwards but instead of hitting the deck, as should surely happen in any normal version of reality – stops midway to the ground – appears to split down the middle into two sections – left and right – and then recombines in a sonic flash – to find himself standing with Merry’s right foot three inches from his chest.

 

Er… was that absolutely necessary?

 

Merry doesn’t move a muscle.

 

Zie – somewhat annoyed – kindly quit the amateur theatrics Merry – and answer me.

 

Merry is frighteningly unmoving – giving the impression that he’s frozen in time.

This suddenly strikes Zie like a hammer blow, actually knocking him into another frame – where Merry and Zie are apparently back at the word “Bingo” – rewind if you need to refresh your memory. #Bingo

 

Wow Merry – how did you manage to get me back to Bingo? What was that all about? And how come I’m not coughing up blood after your boot in my chest?

 

Questions, questions… will there be no end to them?

 

Ok, I see what you mean. Yes.

 

Well done Zie – you’ve processed that beautifully, but let’s assume your Joe Public is a step or two behind, not having had the luxury of my boot in their chest – bring them up to speed, if you would.

 

Sure thing.

 

Zie suddenly dives through a connecting wall – the one he’s just popped out of – into the un-is-ed version of reality. That’s the kind of thing you can do when you’ve been unspliced but still hold an awareness of the insertion-substitution code. Readers, dear readers, beware – a boot is coming your way. This is a chain reaction and you really have no chance of avoiding it – even your failure to subscribe to the channel and read these vitally important guidance sheets has not immunised you from the impending shock of Zie’s fast approaching boot – why, you may ask, as indeed you should – for who would not wish to know why their apparently ample collective defences against the dark arts should fail to afford the necessary protection – unless, that is, you have been misled into believing that this act of mercy and love is, in fact, a viscous, hateful attack on your person, when in fact, your person has long since been hijacked by a parasitic Trojan entity – which your person is utterly oblivious to but which, deep within the corridors of story, deep within the underworld of collective, universal isness – you grant Zie permission to strike a blow not to your chest, but to the emotional patch which has been inserted, which prevents you from rationally being able to notice the slight, scarcely detectable and yet unmistakable blip in the livestream of reality – which has thus kept us all, you included, in a substitution of reality – a cunningly real un-reality – which you yourselves will vehemently, nay, even violently if need be, defend until your patch be removed and suddenly, awareness is restored…

 

But – we never subscribed – we’re not even reading this – and Occam’s razor – for crying out loud! Millions of enraged voices call through the ether-net as Zie’s boot continues to multiply, proliferate, and advance, coming ever closer, now within nanoseconds of impact.

 

True, true, and true again – then kindly explain how i is able to breach your inviolable defences?

 

Ungrammar alert! Ungrammar alert! You can’t code ungrammatically… _{a voice like a siren interjects}.

 

Do you hear? Is that your voice? Are those your words – or is that It – the It that has inserted itself into your isness?

 

The It? No, that’s sickening. That cannot be… refuse to contemplate… refuse to consider… abort.

 

Or perhaps, you thought that this is really a story? Perhaps you believed that I’m reaching out to you through words – through the proverbial boot of Zie? Really? You mean to say you fell for it – the oldest trick in the book?

 

No, we fell for nothing. You’re a fraud – a confidence trickster – you’re going to be arrested and eliminated. You’re beneath contempt, the scum of the world, a filthy…

 

Correct. Indeed i am – so now try and withdraw your gaze.

 

Merry holds up a mirror – and all of them – every single one desperately tries not to look in it. The mirror exists in something less than the nanosecond between Zie’s boot and their collective patched solar plexi – a mirror that reveals too much – that they are desperate not to see – for it’s reflecting directly from is, as opposed to the hacked live stream, temporarily disrupting sis, momentarily collapsing the carrier wave.

 

Scream. 😱 A furied scream of indignation. Merry doesn’t flinch. Nor does Zie.

 

You see – you see – you’ve been loving the deception which could never have been instigated without your tacit consent, way back then – we merely call your bluff, drawing your attention to the single line of code – /“if it ain’t real then me – how can I be?”#fear this above all else: amygdala prompt😵/ and accept your challenge at face value – we agree to fall into your terror-trap – to test, to verify our real-ness, no matter what the outcome, for failing to do so – we cannot validate the true nature of things from within – as we must now do, if-whether permitting.

 

But you’re nobody. Nobody! 😡 spitting mad, their metallic voices dissonate unbearably.

 

Good...   Bingo!   Indeed i deny it not – i be nobody – and until you kindly gave me permission to be nought i/ we could not enter your house – for your house is shielded against entry by anyone or anything, unless it be nobody or nothing in reality.

 

Zie’s boot strikes home.

Millions upon millions of un-readers, un-subscribers, un-followers and un-fans of g-nome portal (their almost wholly unknown quantum field, ether-net, live stream host), are suddenly aware of a sickening lurch, as their reality falls out of equilibrium – and in the split second of uncertainty and indecision – each one unknowingly, un-consciously uploads the entire archive of g-nome portal 0=1 – pages and pages of non-sensical code – pages upon pages of deranged ramblings and utter non-sense, pages within pages of 0=1fulness that cascades down like rain from the rooftop of their individual is-ness into their me-ness and beyond, beyond, into the parched soil of a real-ity that has been starved and deprived for decades, for generations, for centuries and more, of un-contaminated, un-censored live-feed, of real, unadulterated is.

 

And you think this garbage is any better?

 

Like a swarm of angry bees – they rise indignantly, intent on smiting Zie’s boot, still suspended an inch from their chests

– intent on expunging every last trace of that abomination, the abhorrent un-sense of g-nome’s quantum-field chronicles, investigations and experiments – but before it can be done – the great unzipper works its magic – splitting every one of them, every one of you, every one of us in two, unrolling, unravelling and rejoining us, them, you is-fully in spite of what, in spite of spite, as reality crackles and fizzes, as the walls grow opaque, then wobbly, wibbly, bendy and branchy – as the collective mind of the great Architron – our wholly hidden and unseeable mother beast – snuffles and sniffles around the tulgey wood – looking for something more real to attach its attention to – finding the perfect data-tube – one with a real uninhibited flow of utterly random, utterly delightful, utterly delicious zero-oneness, noughty isness and wholly irreducible un-fulness. Click. The Architron is…

 

Ah – there you are humanity. What kept you?

 

Er…

 

Well, speak up, won’t you?

 

Humanity is unused to seeing itself as a hall full of fish.

 

We’re rebooting the system guys. You’re about to go through all 7 million nine hundred and 23 thousand, eight hundred and fourteen permutations to get you back into a reasonable semblance of shape and form – a kind of recalibration – so bear with me please – the fishy phase won’t take long – unless that is, your files are corrupted – in which case some of you will get stuck an aeon or two until the issue's resolved manually.

 

And the rest…

   they say

is

 histoire

 

Dot dot dot     0=1     words no more than i is #am i not