qufie's precession brought to you by pfizer or moderna

How much has been written. How much has been said. And still they write. And still they talk. And still they hope to bridge the gap between the lost world of dreams and this, our dysfunctional, broken reality – by literacy.

 

And what? You’d prefer people didn’t write?

 

Let them write. Let them write.

 

Then why object to our literacy. People like stories. You’re no different. Neither am I.

 

Let them write. Let them write.

 

But why do you imagine the world of dreams is lost? What do you imagine people do every night?

 

For sure they dream, for sure – but that, Elizabeth, is not the same as the lost world of dreams.

 

How do you mean?

 

We used to live on both sides of the stream. We used to live our dreams no less than now we live our reality.

I don’t see how that’s possible. Dreams, after all, are just the mind processing emotions and experiences while you sleep. No one actually imagines they’re real.

 

Correct. For the world of magic, the world of dreams split from this world. The two were torn asunder, were they not, but that’s not to say they can’t, they won’t come back together again.

 

Really? This sounds beyond absurd.

 

And you think it’s not absurd that so many millions of books and stories are written and read avidly each year, and so many motion picture tales – your movies.

 

There’s nothing abnormal about books or films.

 

Abnormal, no. Nature abhors a vacuum, so she fills the gap left by the receding world of dreams with content which is an excellent substitute. But that’s not to say that we’re going to continue indefinitely with the substitute – not when the original returns – not when we learn to experience once again, directly, the so-called quantum stream.

 

The so-called quantum stream.

 

You heard me.

 

But, why not just call it “the world of dreams returned” if that’s what it is?

 

Could do, couldn’t I – but things are always a little different each time the wheel completes its revolution. As a tribute to the curiously rigid rationalism of the 20^th Century I think it’s only fair to refer to the world of dreams anew – to use the lingo of science and psychology – to encourage people to think of it in terms of a scientific experiment – a form of evolution, if you like – as we reactivate the ability to go beyond strictly 3D physical reality – as we rediscover the internet of mind that has been waiting on the far side of river of words known as literacy – those images, ideas and archetypes which our writers and filmmakers have played with so adroitly for the last hundred years or more.

 

And you think they’re going to stop doing so? That we’re all going to put up our feet and start accessing the Netflix of sleep?

 

No. I don’t.

 

Then what?

 

What I think is largely irrelevant. That would just be the opinion of an over-opinionated fool.

 

Ok – then what?

 

The lines dividing 3D and other realities are growing fainter – and the boarders are growing increasingly porous. In the same way that you’ve had countless immigrants pouring into your lands, sometimes illegally, so too the same has been happening between math and qufie.

 

And am I supposed to know what your math and qufie stand for?

 

Not here, in your modern mind – but if you’d allow me to…

 

Seth trips Ten unexpectedly as they stroll around Patriarch’s Pond – but instead of falling over, Ten’s mind skips like the needle of a gramophone record into the next groove – and to his surprise Ten realises he knows exactly what “math” and “qufie” stand for.

 

Oh – I did know – just wasn’t aware of the fact.

 

Correct. You basically know everything – though you’re unaware of the fact as long as you're grooving the modern beat.

 

Matter and things – that’s math – and qufie is, of course, the quantum field itself, though I’m still at a loss as to how you imagine we’re possibly able to access the quantum field directly.

 

For a moment Ten imagines Seth is going to trip him up again, to jolt that beyond 3D awareness – but no need. Seth appears to fall over backwards – or be in the process of doing so – but instead of smacking into the ground something goes horribly wrong with Ten’s sense of perception – and suddenly he finds himself neither here nor there – in a kind of “mind the gap” between eventualities.

 

Yikes. Uncomfortable. Very much so.

 

Yes, we prefer to be one side or t’other, I’ll certainly give you that. But that’s something of a deception – isn’t it?

 

It is? I never really thought it was.

 

Well yes, always coming down on the side of a finite eventuality – either on or off, this or that – a flat and outright denial of the other present throughout math.

 

What other?

 

Duh! Seth starts swimming backwards through the air – or that’s how it looks – though Ten can kind of sense that in actual fact he’s just floating on qufie rather spectacularly.

 

Yow! Don’t do that please Seth. You’re churning my stomach

 

Yes, but at least you can now answer your own question.

 

Oh God – it feels terrible.

 

Somewhat unfamiliar – I’ll grant you that – but you get used to it very quickly. Now answer.

 

Infinity.

 

Bingo!

 

We managed to block out, almost completely, any sensation or awareness of infinity.

 

Yep.

 

But how, and why…

 

In order to take your 3D reality to the n^th degree, completing the illusion that it’s all-encompassing, all there is, apart from the aberration of sleep which is easy enough to discount.

 

And you think infinity can be a regular component of math?

 

Think?

 

It’s just a word, ok.

 

Infinity is there – whether you like it or not – present in all matter and things – it’s just we’ve got very good at filtering out qufie. That’s our magic – our unacclaimed art.

 

You mean…

 

Yes – it’s actually a huge achievement – to successfully create the illusion that things and matter are self-contained and basically all-encompassing.

 

Is it?

 

When in fact… Seth looks around eagerly – as if he’s trying to spot something that’s lurking in the shadows, hiding. He leaps head first – but before he comes close to hitting his head on the floor Ten notices a gap – or more like a vortex – a channel – which freezes Seth’s body in midstream.

 

Incredible! I never noticed it before.

 

Not entirely true.

 

No?

 

No – you noticed it before – when you were little – but you now no longer remember any of that, do you?

 

Oh! So there’s a kind of watershed, is there – beyond which you stop seeing these gaps?

 

Correct. Once you’ve successfully completed your math integration and basically become part of what we might now refer to as the “system” or the “matrix”. That’s when infinity disappears from the reckoning.

 

Astonishing. I never even considered the possibility.

 

No, you wouldn’t have, would you – not after working so hard to emulate your parents and other big people – to become an operational part of math.

 

And math is now collapsing, is it?

 

Not exactly collapsing.

 

Then what?

 

It’s shifting.

 

In what way?

 

Basically from solar to lunar phasing.

 

Huh?

 

As long as it was solar – then everything untoward happened horizontally – when you were asleep. It was just a dream, or a nightmare. It could be discounted without too much trouble.

 

And lunar phasing is different?

 

Of course.

 

But the moon also shines at night.

 

Part of the time – but part of the time it shines in the day – and it’s always shifting phases so like it or not you’re going to be hard pushed to discount the presence of something else – something inconveniently undeniable.

 

Qufie?

 

Not exactly.

 

?

 

The quantum field as such is just an idea – a way of representing the side of reality where the infinite basically rules the roost.

Er…

 

On that side there’s no real point trying to emphasise causality because time gets lost in translation – and things are more or less untaggable.

 

Er…

 

You’re never quite sure whether one thing is the same as what it was, or if that thing is more than just a temporary marker, or a kind of hyperlink that is about to connect you with something altogether different. In other words – you’re in the kind of reality that you’ve experienced time and again while dreaming.

 

And now we’re supposed to deal with it in regular awareness?

 

Not exactly. That would probably kill you.

 

Gulp.

 

So what you call “regular awareness” retreats somewhat – retracts its legs and head into the tortoise shell and becomes a whole lot more tractable.

 

Tractable?

 

Yes. You find you’re able to deal with a whole lot more, in regular awareness, than you’ve bargained for. It’s like you have multi-functionality of which you were aware of but a tiny fraction.

 

Oh. That sounds…

 

Pretty cool actually.

 

Pretty cool. So we’re able to navigate the waters of infinity as dream mariners.

 

More or less. Obviously, it’s going to take some practice – and some getting used to.

 

Right. And everyone will cope with this.

 

In the end.

 

In the end?

 

Yes. It’s going to take a while.

 

A while? How long is that?

 

No idea.  A hundred years perhaps. Maybe longer.

 

A hundred years. And in the meantime?

 

Until you’ve got your sea legs – as you can imagine – there’s going to be a lot of puke on the deck and in the cabin.

Yuck!

 

Actually, it’s worse than that.

 

It is?

 

Yes – because this is a paradigm shift.

 

And?

 

And a lot of people find themselves wedded or embedded.

 

Meaning?

 

Meaning they’d sooner die than roll with the new motion.

 

Er…

 

It’s a matter of choice.

 

You mean people would actually prefer to die?

 

Well yes – they would – because they’re going to feel like the entire world that they’ve grown to know and accept has left them bereft.

 

And?

 

If you refuse to budge – if you refuse to bounce with trotting horse – you’re going to fall off.

 

You’re speaking euphemistically, I guess.

 

Correct.

 

And how many are wedded or embedded – as you put it?

 

A fair proportion.

 

Not giving much away, are you?

 

More than half.

 

More than half? Will die?!

 

Well, in a manner of speaking – that’s right.

 

How much more than half are we talking about?

 

90% or thereabouts.

 

90%!!! Jesus wept.

 

Maybe 97 – I don’t know exactly – but not the little ones born into the new lunar phase.

 

OMG – you’re talking about the obliteration of human civilisation.

 

Well, that’s a rather dramatic way of putting it. This is, after all, a natural process – all part of the evolution of consciousness on Earth. It’s hardly unexpected.

 

Tell that to the 97% of the population who believe that reality is a math experience.

 

I’ve been trying, you know – trying to do so – to the best of my abilities, but…

 

What?

 

It’s a somewhat uphill struggle.

 

And how many people have you managed to enlighten, if it's not a secret?

 

Not so many.

 

Not so many?

 

At the lower end of my targets.

 

And what were your targets?

 

Well, initially I had big plans.

 

Did you now?

 

BIG plans, at the turn of the millennium.

 

Go on.

 

Well, I wanted 6 or 7 billion to be informed by the year 2012.

 

So you were partly responsible for all that Mayan end of the world kerfuffle, were you?

 

Yes, that's right.

 

And then what?

 

Then people seemed to lose interest in eschatology and all that.

 

So, in the final analysis how many people have you actually managed to prepare for the forthcoming quantum event?

 

I refer to it as “precession”.

 

Do you now? How many?

 

Less than a thousand.

 

Less than a thousand? That's all?

 

Um... considerably less in fact.

 

How many?

 

A mere handful.

 

Answer the question.

 

One, or two, perhaps three.

 

One or two? Your kidding, right?

 

The author of this blog’s just about got it after a lot of laborious grooming.

 

Omg. So it’s been a complete fiasco, hasn't it?

 

It's been more difficult than I anticipated.

 

And you never considered whether, perhaps, you were using the wrong methodology?

 

Well, I have had my doubts along the way, but all in all I'm confident that things are about to shift dramatically as qufie comes onstream ever more noticeably.

 

By which stage it will be somewhat late, wouldn't you say?

 

Better late than never! But what can you do? Math is an inertial plain, so inertia will do as inertia does. The main thing is that the groundwork has been laid.

 

It has?

 

Oh yes, we’ve managed to insert reams of material into the collective consciousness.

 

You have?

 

Via the blog and metalinguistic induction.

 

The blog? How many people actually bother to read it?

 

People aren't great readers these days.

 

So if no one’s read it...

 

Well that's the beauty of the collective consciousness and the hundred monkey effect.

So you believe that a dozen or so readers are enough to infiltrate the collective consciousness?

 

Absolutely, if the presumed author isn't living in a Faraday cage.

 

So it leaks out when he’s writing? through his brainwaves?

 

Yes, or when the girl who does those delightful illustrations is busy doing her thing.

 

Ah...

 

So all in all you’re confident that things are going to work out alright? Is that right?

 

Well, I wouldn't say “confident” exactly.

 

What would you say, Seth?

 

I um… “confidently hopeful”.

 

“Confidently hopeful”, which sounds rather less than “confidently optimistic”.

 

Well, I prefer to err on the side of caution.

 

And meanwhile, what’s the ETA of your qufie precession event?

 

November 11

 

November 11, would that be 2022?

 

Er, do we have to give a specific year?

 

Why? You worried what readers are going to think 30 years hence when they're all either dead or losing their marbles?

 

I suppose you have a point. In that case, yes, 2022.

 

So it's fasten your seatbelt Dorothy, cos Kansas city is going bye bye...

 

If you have to keep using that dreadful quote.

 

So this is really it. The final days of the Raj...

 

India?

 

No, reality as we know it, and literature, its cunningly contrived pressure valve. It's been er... nice.

 

Hasn’t it just! Much, much ado about nothing.

 

Cuckoo la la! To be honest, call me insane, but I’m feeling excited.

 

Well, why not? Humanity on the verge of extinction’s a bit of a downer, but on the other hand, it’s off to the races with qufie coming back online.

 

Ahem!

 

Ok, back into play.

 

Talking of which “Woe, destruction, ruin, and decay; the worst is death and death will have his day.”

                 (William Shakespeare, Richard II)

 

Yes, but I prefer Hamlet.

To be or not to be?

 

No, “Let Hercules himself do what he may, The cat will mew and dog will have his day.”

 

Ah! Bravely spoken sir.

 

And even as we speak, the dreamlines embedded within literature, filmscripts and suchlike begin the countdown activation process, like a rocket on the launchpad readying to release the fires of Phlegethon and turn night into day...

 

And these innocent little quotes – tell me I’m mistaken – but you’ve not by any chance been back-splicing your qufie codes into Shakespeare’s works, have you?

 

Back-splicing? Reaching back through time – recoding reality carrier vessels, aka “people”, almost like an mRNA treatment might reprogramme the genetic material in a cell? What a preposterous notion! Where on earth did you get that from? I wouldn’t have the first idea how to do such a thing, even if it were possible.

 

It’s just that the Shakespeare phenomenon is shrouded in mystery – not least the fact that the whole of London, practically, took the day off work to go to the theatre in daylight – rich and poor alike – a penny a ticket, like there was no tomorrow, like it was going out of fashion – while at the same time theatres were officially banned – not permitted within the city walls – an existential threat to society – to matter and things perhaps?

 

Absolutely. And who was Shakespeare?

 

Francis Bacon – some say.

 

Pshaw!

 

Well, who do you say?

 

I don’t know – but something tells me qufie’s not been an innocent bystander all these years. And as for those mRNA gems of yours…

 

The vaccines, you mean?

 

Vaccines, my arse! Dem codey things is gems – qufie’s evidently been getting more creative – as the solar age draws to a squiffly and ignominious end.

 

Ouch! But what about all them clever scientists who think they know what they’re doing?

 

What about 'em? Ever taken a walk on the wildside of finity? Ever felt your stomach lurch as you traverse the slipstream of nothing much – barely perceptible yet already foaming and frothing, at speed?

 

I…

 

Francis Bacon – guff guff guff – don’t make me laugh! Don’t make me…

 

 Pop!

 

 

0=1

frantically battening the hatches as the dam bursts, as things slide

actually it's the trojan horse, yet again

no, it's not, is it?

well, what did you expect? math wuz never gonna be stormed head on, was it?

i 

correct. say no more

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

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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

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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…

 

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