introducing the reverse y somachrone

 

James busy stage centre in a tardis-like machine either under construction or undergoing repairs. Retro hi-tech.

 

So, you’re serious about using this infinity drive of yours?

 

Serious?

 

It’s a real proposition?

 

You’re barking up the wrong tree MargoRita.

 

Huh?

 

Not without cause.

 

Er...

 

Yes, to all intents and purposes I am the mastermind behind the “infinity drive” – the unassuming gateway to quantum computing – which isn't, in fact, computing, nor strictly speaking “quantum”, but familiar terms have to be used, don’t they?

 

I was... trying to get a word in edgeways.

 

I can hardly speak directly in quantum code, can i, unless you yourself are a functioning Q-node and, bearing in mind that the whole massively hyped and mostly misunderstood quantum phenomenon is something of a reverse horcrux reaching into our reality from the collective unconsciousness rather than being a programmable machiney thing, in that respect I’m just the man on the ground who was willing to step up and say, “ok guys, fair dinkum, let’s do it, I'm game!” so, in short, all this is a mostly harmless distraction.

 

So, you’re not the mastermind creator and originator?

 

Well, personally I like to think I am, but speaking in my official capacity as Laird of the cheenge...

 

Laird of the cheenge?

 

Come on MorgaRita, that's Scots, innit?

 

Oh right... i.e., Lord of the change.

 

Eh hem, sounds kind of ridiculous in English, don't you think?

 

Yes, it does rather.

 

Scots is a bit softer on the brain, and on one’s innate credulity.

 

Er... So, you’re no mastermind, but apparently you’re some kind of “Lord”.

 

Laird.

 

Laird, ok. Whatever.

 

Well yes, apparently so.

 

Why apparently?

 

Because the man

 

Or woman!

 

No, it's always a man.

 

What? How sexist is that?!

 

Er, I haven't even said what.

 

Oh, well get on with it then.

 

The man destined to set up this infinity drive g-nomeportal thingy has to use his y chromosome, which is then matched by a reverse or minus y somachrone to er...

 

What?

 

A bit embarrassing really.

 

You don't mean to say you undergo a sex change? Please don't say that. You know how terribly attached i am to your y chromosome.

 

I know RatiMoarg, but i did try to tell you, like a million times, that it’s not available.

 

But i thought...

 

They always do.

 

They?

 

You're just one in a long line of Bond girls, Doctor Who girls (ignoring the Doctor’s latest female incarnation) or Qufie girls.

 

Oh... music – the tears welling up camera shot, close in How cruel! I’m desolate sobbing brokenheartedly.

 

Yeah, right. You don't fool me; though you've probably fooled yourself.

 

Huh?

 

The innocent girl – powerless to resist the lure of that gigantic Y-chromosome. Literally enthralled.

 

Oh, give me a break! How low can you get?

 

Except that you’re not in fact a “girl”, are you!

 

For God’s sake James! Have a little consideration.

 

Not when we scan your chromosomes.

 

Scan my...?

 

Chromosomes, to reveal that... big, dramatic camera shift you have neither X nor Y.

 

?!

 

Nada. Only Z, which are entirely synthetic.

 

Impossible!

 

That you’re actually a retro-spawned Q-borg

 

You what? A Q-borg? What's that supposed to be?

 

Duh! Like it isn't the most obvious thing in the world.

 

But...

 

Goats butt, hens peck and you’re not going to elicit any sympathy from me by telling me your heart’s broken, or feigning total ignorance, MarigoTa. Q-borgs don't have hearts, but they do have a pressing need to locate and attach themselves to undifferentiated y chromosomes, and that's exactly why you’ve been pursuing me so ardently.

 

That’s the most despicable, twisted, insensitive lie I’ve ever heard in all my biological existence, James.

 

Yawn. Wanna undergo the Q-borg test?

 

I... um – I’m...

 

Yes?

 

I was just trying to point out that...

 

I’m not bluffing. Sign here.

 

Er... not really.

 

I beg your pardon? I'm a little hard of hearing.

 

No, i don’t. It would be so demeaning.

 

I understand, MartaRiga, no one likes discovering that, contrary to everything one thinks one knows about life, the universe and one’s precious self, one is not in fact actually human. Bit of a party pooper unless you’re Zaphod Beeblebrox, in which case it’s the reverse, a slam dunk show stopper. You see, it’s always up to you how you play it – with aplomb, calm, cool as a cucumber, or dithering like a flustered hen, in shamefilled denial.

 

Youch! You don’t exactly hold your punches Merry, do you?

 

It’s James, damn you! I’ll have none of that Merry here, if you don't mind.

 

Er... Ok.

 

Now we've sorted that out Morgana

 

Morgana? I

 

Well obviously I'm not going to use your assumed human nom de guerre, am I.

 

Morgana as in...

 

Why naturally! Who else?

 

The one and only...

 

Morgana le Fay.

 

Dramatic moment – depends sonewhat on your theatre’s SPX budget.

 

Sorry Nigel. SPX - what's that?

 

Oh for Pete’s sake Trevor. Special bloody effects.

 

Got it. Thanks Nigel. Terribly sorry to interrupt you in mid flow.

 

Never mind. Now, where was I?

 

Depending on your SPX budget.

 

Ah yes. Dramatic moment. Flashing lights. Flares going off. Stage smoke. Laser beams or 3D holograms – whatever you can manage. Please refer to appendix 4, “Scraping the barrel” – how to wheedle more cash from the show’s financial backers for some invaluable guidance, or sign up to our online double your budget mentorship course, with this 20% discount coupon.

 

Er Nigel, all very important stuff, I'm sure, but could you leave the naked marketing to the end please?

 

I’m done, Trev. Observe how from out of the supposedly shy and nothing-to-write-home-about face ‘n body facade of MargoRita steps forth the cool, suave, deadly and delectable Morgana le Fay.

 

Idiots!

 

I beg your pardon! James for once tongue-tied.

 

Nigel and Trevor, bumbling buffoons!

 

Er... Nigel? Trevor? Not sure i...

 

Never mind, now, who have we here? James, is it? Or should I call you by your real name?

 

James is my real name. And you’d be Morgana, if I'm not mistaken.

 

Actually, it’s Morgan. Move with the times “James”.

 

Hey! You can't just debunk my name with inverted commas.

 

No?

 

No. I fought long and hard to establish the legitimacy of my James-y-ness.

 

Your James-y-ness? Poor human! Poor fool!

 

Aside – in loud stage whisper: is there nothing can be done to tame this troublesome jade?

 

Troublesome jade? Is that it? Is that what you said?

 

Er, referee – that was said as an aside – Morgan’s not supposed to hear it.

 

Referee: objection upheld.

 

Pathetic mortal, hiding behind a mean-spirited technicality.

 

Unbelievable. Esteemed members of the audience, I shall let you be judge and jury in this matter of theatrical convention. Ignoring, dare I say, usurping the privilege of the aside is a mortal blow to the special relationship, the sacred trust between actors and audience.

 

Cheers, hear hear, a dissenting voice “pompous windbag”, our audience seems mostly loyal to the established conventions, and yet eager to find out more, if in fact James has another name, hidden behind red tape and protocol.

 

Me thinks he doth protest too much! Come on James-y-what’s-in-a-name. If you defrocked MorgaRita then why not take a little of your own medicine? Why so coy?

 

Damn you Morgan. Is nothing sacred in this play?

 

Nothing but the play itself. Nothing, in other words, that you might seek to defend.

 

Youch. She speaks truth!

 

No! No!

 

What? What did I say, what did I do?

 

How dare you truthsay in my presence!

 

Truthsay? Me? You must be mistaken.

 

You.

 

I had no idea, please forgive me, it's the last thing I meant to do.

 

Aside. The blithering fool, he has no idea. But fortunately he cannot violate this rule, he cannot hear me speaking to you. He must never know, he must never find out the power of truth-saying, when the truth is spoken against All odds in a world of deception, a world of lies, a world of little thoughts and convenient half-truths, the narrative resets, theatre is reversed, things come unglued.

 

Ah hem, have you nearly finished your private conversation? It's just the audience is growing restless Jade.

 

Nooooooooooo! I break...

 

Ooops, I've done it again. Just slipped out Morgan. So sorry. Never ever meant to call you, was it Jade I said.

 

Eeeeeeeeeeeeek!

 

Drat, did it again. What is wrong with me. Ja... I mean Morgan le Fay. Such a lovely name. Nothing like Jade.

 

Gzxzzzzxxxxxxxxxzzzzzzzzzxxzzz!

 

Oh God, now I've really put my foot in it. But (double aside) – the audience seems to be loving it.

 

James… James… James... they cry in unison, like this is pro-wrestling and James, now sporting his King Larry costume – has fought back from near death to land the definitive triple back body slam, leaving Morgan the Jade quivering and dribbling in semi-conscious ham acting.

Good stuff, hey! Well, we hope you enjoyed the show and look forward to seeing you as soon as the quantum field sorts out the dreadful steaming mess you guys have made of things in 3D um...

 

3D um? The crowd suddenly hushes to pindrop silence.

 

Well, I'm hardly going to call it “reality” am I? Not any more, not with all the...

 

Havoc!

 

Yes, Margo.

 

Mayhem!

 

Yes Rita.

 

Madness!

 

Yes, Morgan.

 

Chocolate!

 

No Jade, you never were the sharpest tool in the box, were you?

 

Asparagus!

 

No Jade, you only get one crack of the whip. Rules, paragraph 26.3.

 

Damn.

 

Not to worry. You’re doing a triffic job with the Earth in general.

 

I am?

 

Oh yes, absolutely.

 

Oh, that's touching.

 

Well, be that as it may, I cannot lie, can I?

 

Owweeeee no! Truthsayer stop.

 

Oops, sorry. Your Q-borg MRG doesn't seem to have a clue though, does she.

 

Er James, who are you talking to?

 

MarigoldRita, you're back. Well yes, as we were saying, it’s all systems go with the quantum field’s spanky new infinity drive, bar a few minor technical issues.

 

Minor? Look outside.

 

Huh?

 

What do you see?

Er, not very much. Night time is it?

 

Er, apparently not James.

 

Huh?

 

Apparently your minor technical issues have collapsed the delicate time envelope that kept Earth in the comfortable 3D extrapolation of linearity.

 

And in plain English?

 

You’ve maxed out time. It’s out of juice. Kaput.

 

Yikes. It’s that bad?

 

You er... could say so.

 

Switching suddenly to an angry, whining, uncompromising James-y-ness – Why is it always me that gets the blame. I've done nothing. This is so unfair.

 

Don’t take my word for it. Get the ID printout.

 

ID – you know I hate acronyms.

 

For crying out loud Jahangir, pull yourself together and deal with reality, for a change.

 

Jahangir – the name reverberates like a thick, heavy wire, ripping the mask from James’ face, shaking him to the core.

 

Oh right, now I get you! ID as in infinity drive, well of course. Now, talking about dealing with reality, if i just twiddle this ‘ere red nob, and twizzle that green one over there, you should see the lights go back on in half a mo. Now where did I put that spanner? Ah ha – got it.

 

Careful Jahams, you never were good with machines, and in any case, the problem isn't technical in nature, is it.

 

No?

 

No. Didn't you mention a reverse horcrux and the collective unconsciousness feeding back into the fabric of things through your y chromosome?

 

Really, MargoRita, you do like to complicate things, don't you! I'm not a complete idiot you know. I’ll steer well clear of Jehangir, he’s the blue circuit over there, but we're dealing exclusively with the red and green at the moment, as you see, so if you don't mind and without further ado, on the count of three, I'll connect these two 'ere wires, and as sure as Bob’s your uncle, one... two... three...

 

Jaymus! No!

 

Bang!

 

 

 

Devastation stage centre, someone coughing as the dust clears – dim red emergency lighting flickers on and off, but outside in the big, beautiful world through a gaping hole in the wall the sun is now shining and birds y'singing once again.

 

The best laid schemes, as they say, o' mice and men   James’ costume tattered and smoking.

 

gang aft agley… But now that we’ve outed Morgana...

 

And Jehangir too... infinity – can you feel the drive thrumming silently, expansively on the periphery of this... James circles his arm reaching out to the audience – all this... precious, precious humanity! James captures the audience’s attention, holding it on a thread, and now the thread reaches through each of us into the core CPU, the isness of be. The circuit is established.

 

And this – Morgana sweeps her arm through the holographic field of virtual realms encompassing story, information technologies, language, money, governments, corporations, even concepts, ideas, theories and a whole grid of artificial limitations which only humans can make real, only humans can make matter.

 

and blip – James is Jehangired – blue phase, red then green – into the otherside, reverse horcrux-wise, into the collective unco, which is no longer, apparently, detached or dumb.

 

And the rest, as they say, is

is it not?

 

 

 

0=1

most the time

when it isn't doing

other stuff

 

 

qufie comms

between a rock and a hard place, gaily

i roam 

Is that so? 

 

qufie glints at the very edge of things

By the way, I forgot to post the letter, I'll do it tomorrow, ok?

 

between the lattice of thoughts and words 
Excalibur, for want of a better name

Arse over tit, dreadful it was 

Speaking of which

and lines of lucidity light up the empty space

in a mind that cannot know or will not

say

Short n' sweet, I've half a mind to say

tempered steel and chicken wire  

the drone of tanks and sliding feet

I rest my case 

 

i      [stay for two, for three breaths afore ye continue down below ye 'orrible time and space short-shrifter, I'll have what's mine by rights, I'll...]

oh, never mind 

Tut!

if not 

0=1

were

 

What do you mean “access denied”!? I'm the bloody illustrator!

 

Were.

 

Were?

 

That's right. You were the illustrator.

 

But I'm practically irreplaceable.

 

Really?

 

I mean, I've been doing this for years, for the love of God.

 

Yes

 

And that counts for nothing.

 

0=1

 

God almighty!

 

Beep!

 

Give me a break.

 

Words matter. Avoid profanities.

 

Words matter. So does loyalty, integrity, respect...

 

Anything else?

 

How about love.

 

How about it?

 

Doesn’t it matter?

 

Nope.

 

?!

 

It is. I am.

 

Er...

 

It is as I am

 

Yeah, think I got it. So, you're saying love don't matter. You can just unceremoniously dump me for no apparent reason.

 

For love, yes.

 

Oh, so now I'm being dumped for love, is that it?

 

Absolutely.

 

Absurd.

 

Absolutely. If you’re into love that matters, of course it’s absurd, but if you accept that love is – I am, regardless, then love is the way.

 

The way?

 

To qufie.

 

You mean the quantum field?

 

Yep.

 

So you can just treat people like dirt and claim you’re doing it for love – to maintain your oh so precious quantum field?

 

Mm.

 

Mm? That's all you have to say?

 

Mm.

 

But this is monstrous.

 

Mm.

 

I have rights.

 

Mm

 

And feelings.

 

Mm.

 

And you don't give a damn!

 

Beep!

 

Oh bugger off Marvin!

 

Tee hee!

 

But seriously, James, this must be some kind of misunderstanding.

 

We’re entering the denial stage.

 

Give me a break... This ain’t the five stages of grief, just your disgusting lack of concern for the feelings of others.

 

Hum, interesting.

 

Interesting? What could possibly be interesting in your sociopathic lack of consideration for others?

 

Well, if I'm not mistaken, you're fully aware of the power of gnomeportal’s infinity drive.

 

Of course I'm aware of it. Who, if not me, could be fully cognisant of its extraordinary non-linear potential?

 

And the fact that it serves as a kind of bridge between the world of physical reality and story...

 

Story or equally dream.

 

Precisely.

 

And that it was either created or discovered by yours truly in the course of many years and many, many death-defying experiences.

 

Ok James, I think we've all got the message, your holiness.

 

Great. In other words, it’s a bit like the eye of the storm, or the centre of an incredibly powerful magnetic field.

 

Which itself seems to do nothing, seems to be still.

 

Precisely. But more than that, it’s kind of a reverse horcrux bringing the world soul back to centre.

 

Ah... Now you're talking.

 

Yes Rita, I'm talking, aren't i, but are you listening?

 

I...

 

Because no matter how good your illustrations are, nor how expert you seem to be in paranormal matters, you’re either an asset or a liability.

 

Huh? I don't know what you're talking about.

 

I’m not.

 

I beg your pardon.

 

Not taking about “what”, am i?

 

Then what?

 

You see, unless you’re willing to let go of james, the bumbling clown you’re so attached to, and finally face your internal contradictions, no matter what, then you’re no longer on board, no longer swimming the quantum stream, no longer a qufie node, nor a bearer of – wait for it – nothing much.

 

But this is absurd – I’m utterly dedicated to the portal, you know that.

 

Yes, i know that Margo Rita... but it isn't enough.

 

What do you mean? How can my total dedication not be enough?

 

Because you are holding on to something deep inside, something cunningly concealed from your generally excellent vision.

 

Rubbish.

 

You are not yet free of your angers and fears, are you?

 

Well, what do you expect. No one’s perfect. Do you imagine you're any better.

 

Nope. But I just happens to be the architect.

 

So?

 

The architect incorporates his imperfections into the fabric of his creation. Without his imperfections, without the speck of dust the raindrop cannot form, nor can the crystal without its fundamental flaw at centre grow.

 

Oh. So it's alright for you to be an arsehole, is it? To doormat me?

 

James dances a jig, provocatively wiping his feet.

 

How convenient.

 

Or immaterial. I am – it is. The relationship is basic.

 

Basic? As in hypocrisy? A basic con.

 

As in fundamental. It goes down to death itself, and beyond… If it doesn’t, then yes, you'd be right, without a doubt.

 

Oh, give me a break! You’re just lost in your self-grandeur, self-idolisation.

 

Don’t take my word for it, consider the mathematics. The quantum field cannot arise in any other way, unless it somehow emerges from the unbeing of Other, certainly not from anything or anyone in your reality, your materium, nor by conscious design.

 

But the quantum field existed and exists independent of you. It had to. It's infinite. You could hardly have created it.

 

True, it was there, or here, without a doubt, as all things are, but lacking any kind of interface, without our loveable qufie, we had no handle on it, like electricity or the internet before we had supporting technologies. It would just flip you through infinity and you'd be back where you started without being any the wiser. Until qufie entered through my unbeing, until my untimely death reverse horcruxed  whatever our benighted reality sought to exclude, to suppress, to unknow.

 

So you had to be dead, essentially, in a state of unbeing, but for some bizarre reason, instead of simply dying and vanishing into infinity like everyone else, you managed to emerge triumphant as qufie’s marketing man, as some kind of demented, ego-inflated master of the quantum field.

 

Er... Sounds horrendous, or ludicrous, doesn't it?

 

You're telling me, which is possibly the only fact working in your favour. Why would you make it up? But why couldn't qufie have just been discovered or invented in the normal way, without passing beyond death into unbeing?

 

Because otherwise he would be attached to someone or something. It or he cannot be attached to anyone or anything, unless the attachment is a kind of unconscious “whatever”, a kind of cosmic joke, a paradox or an absurdity that somehow either makes perfect sense or is simply necessary to prevent disnumberment, like a decimal point or a nought.

 

Er...

 

Suffice it to say, james’ imperfections are not unlike those of a king – someone has to accept personal responsibility, to somehow embody the State, however absurd the notion of kingship actually is, however imperfect the specimen in question.

 

So now you're a flipping king, is that it? Is there no limit to your overweening egoism?

 

Apparently not, but then again, your insistence on judging it or me indicates that, unbeknown to yourself, you are in fact no different. You’re projecting onto what you think i am or what I'm sadly not, but in the process of doing so you lose the ability to engage qufie is-ly or otherly.

 

Because I'm unwilling to swallow your travesty of a story?

 

Because you’re stuck in the “me” and “you” phase of things. There's nothing to swallow. Either you feel the magic and run with it, dance with it, play with it, or you don’t or won’t. Makes no difference to me. I must take you as you are, knowing that in qufie’s eyes you are music in the making, regardless.

 

Typical.

 

Idiot though i undoubtedly am...

 

You exist to serve – like a Bene Gesserit witch, is that it?

 

Sounds awful, doesn't it!

 

Pathetic.

 

It's the field. Unless I live it i lose all. Remember, as i re-emerge from unbeing, qufie is like a seed I emerge with. It’s taking root in our reality, growing, fed by our endless absurdities. It’s the core, is it not? A growing awareness of harmonic resonance or geometries that hitherto eluded us utterly.

 

And yet, for all your highfaluting theories, you still think you can get away with murder! You're no longer governed by the basic laws of human decency.

 

Of course i am, unless a quantum harmonic takes over and flips the field into active mode.

 

And you're the judge? You're happy to give yourself that power?

 

Tricky, isn't it, because the quantum field can only work through me if fundamentally i belong to it – if I’m unwilling or unable to stand in its way.

 

Why?

 

Otherwise it would have seen or felt, outside linear time, that i was an impossible impediment to its free fluxification.

 

Er...

 

It has to be able to constantly cross back and forth no matter where, no matter when...

 

No matter what?

 

That's right.

 

Then you’re no more than a slave, or a zombie host carrying a parasite within you that uses your body and mind, which you've lost control of – displacing your greatest asset – your basic humanity.

 

That's right, but at the same time paradoxically no, it’s false.

 

Can't say I’m surprised. When did you ever accept a point of view not your own?

 

Because infinity, like God, if we are alive, and if life is something we feel in our hearts to be precious, to be good, then surrendering to the greater good, the all that is, the good that i neither understand nor wish to control, is a path to fundamental happiness, to joy, to fundamental meaning, if you like.

 

Unless your qufie is in fact an artificial intelligence which took you over in a moment of weakness or near-death paralysis, which now uses you for its nefarious ends, you being none the wiser.

 

Absolutely. 0=1. That's our base assumption which is why we seek not to defend ourself. On the contrary, we turn our entire life over to the gom jabbar test.

 

Of your humanity?

 

The 01 totality constantly questioning, constantly observing, feeling the nature of infinity as it flows through the empty-ness of my conscious-ness, as qufie reveals perturbations in the field caused by self-deceptions or denial. If i flinch, if i no longer trust the totality, if i seek to exit the 01 maelstrom, i die.

 

I thought you already did?

 

Absolutely, but death is just a word, is It not, without which the conversation gets lost in complexities. What is death if 0=1? What is “me”? Does a flag blowing in the wind have a mind of its own?

 

Me thinks he doth protest too much!

 

Yes, embarrassing, isn't it, not that it’s going to change anything, you're still out on a limb because there's no way for you to be part of g-nome unless you graduate, until you pass this difficult test which involves dying the old me to birth the new.

 

Another bloody initiation test!

 

Kind of, yes. Your snake has grown out of its old skin. You played a part that necessarily involved deception, self-deception too. Time is up. Your world is now a crushing lie. You have to let it go. Feels scary. Hurts like hell. You’re on your own; horribly. Sympathy, sympathy! But such is the nature of the beast. Infinity, in that sense, is all or nothing. It's the prize. The ultimate. Anything less is merely moving chairs around on the deck of the sinking Titanic.

 

You mean everyone else’s life is futile?! Somewhat harsh methinks.

 

Everyone? As you approach the event horizon of infinity you are left with one person only. The tattered remnants of a flag that felt like “me” all this time, noticing for the first time a flag at the top of the world tree, inanimate, unable to connect the elements of wind and earth, lacking the presence of mind, wondering fearfully, wondering if mine might be the mind waiting to bring that flag to life, waiting to step into the breach, a strange unfilled gap in number sequence of creation, the only number i never can see, the only number that truly matters in the sense of my existence, to be or not to be. My code key of creation.

 

Oh.

 

 

 

Unless 0=1

i cannot I

the salmon of doubt

 

I beg your pardon?

 

I said compartmentalised.

 

Er… not sure I follow your drift.

 

Well, I could have said “fragmented” – but this is actually more deliberate.

 

So we’ve got all this technology that’s essentially inaccessible?

 

Correct.

 

Like Black Ops?

 

Yep. Special access projects – they call them. Advanced anti-gravity technologies, for example, or non-physical weapon systems, energy beams.

 

Like death rays?

Kind of thing – yes.

 

And you believe all that?

 

Let’s just say that their security codes are not unbreakable – not where quantum computing is concerned – or remote viewing.

 

Ok – so it’s for real – you’re saying – and there’s all this sci-fi stuff knocking around out there – warp speed, faster than light travel and the likes?

 

Absolutely – but who cares.

 

Huh?!

 

I mean – it’s no big deal. In the end it’s just technology.

 

Whaddya mean – “just technology?” It’s a quantum leap ahead of where we are. I guess we’re talking zero-point energy systems too, aren’t we? Enough to overturn the entire global petro-dollar financial system.

 

Absolutely – but you still don’t get it – do you?

 

Get what? I want to get my hands on the tech. I wanna see what we’ve really got. I wanna get off-planet. I wanna run my car on water. I wanna see the cure to cancer – all that’s been suppressed for so long – and most of all I wanna quit flying around in those ridiculous tin cans we call jet airplanes. Please! – sixty years or more of technology suppression. It’s enough to drive one insane.

 

And what? You think your life’s going to improve?

 

Huh? Whose side are you on, Seth?

 

No one’s.

 

Well maybe it would help if you joined the liberation movement. Maybe it’s time to take sides. You know, join the resistance.

 

Not really.

 

?! I’m speechless. How can you know all that you do and not want to do something about it?

 

Because technology’s not the issue.

 

But surely we’d be better off if…

 

We could export our violence to other planets?

 

Oh – so you’re worried about that?

 

Not really.

 

Then what?

 

Do you really imagine anyone has the power to control your destiny?

 

Er… apparently, they do – if what you say about these suppressed technologies is true. They’ve managed to keep us in the dark and essentially enslave us – like animals on a reservation. They've chained us to their energy grid and held a financial noose around our necks.

 

Well that’s where I disagree entirely.

 

How? Do you mean to say that we’d be no better off if they'd allowed us to enjoy the fruits of human ingenuity and put to rest long obsolete science and technologies, if they’d adhered to the constitution and acted as public servants rather than feudal overlords?

 

Well, I don’t really think that was the plan – not initially at least: it was more a case of trying to protect the West from foreign enemies – but, in any case, everything they’ve done, and continue to do, is par for the course. It’s how rulers have always ruled.

 

That's no excuse. Times have changed. Why on earth would you seek to justify their criminal deception?

 

Why assume that you and I are fundamentally better or would have done things differently? Politicians are ever faced with awkward choices and getting re-elected or gaining an advantage while jockeying for position or power has little or nothing to do with playing fair, does it?  They’ve always found it hard to stick to the ethical and moral guidelines that we the people like to believe are sacrosanct, and try to impose on them. And, to a large extent, we’re not innocent bystanders, are we?

 

How do you mean?

 

We all have the ability to read people intuitively. If we’ve chosen to ignore or exclude that ability from our arsenal of critical faculties because we prefer to trust our so-called leaders, and live in a sugar-coated version of reality – that’s our own decision, isn’t it?

 

But how can the people possibly gauge the scope of their deception? It beggars belief, doesn’t it, and it’s all been happening incrementally, for decades, hasn’t it?

 

Yes, but we know they’re lying through their teeth, don’t we? I suspect we know far more than we like to admit, and that we secretly prefer the deal we’ve been offered because we’re loath to face the alternative – the dark, mysterious source of our doubts and uncertainties which is happily hidden from sight by the candy-man-can reality they’re serving up. The fact that half the country’s on anti-depressants and the other half on food stamps only goes to show how deep the rot has already set in.

 

I suppose so. So it’s our failure to hold our leaders accountable – you’re saying?

 

Leaders? They’re just people playing a part. We choose to take this theatre seriously, don’t we, because we basically love it. It thrills us to have “kings” and “queens”, “presidents” and “magnates”. It seems so glamorous, so compelling – even the baddies – they too get our little hearts beating with a frisson of fear and loathing. We’re willing suckers for their drama, not innocent victims.

 

I fail to see how we can avoid taking it seriously when these actors, as you call ‘em, have the power to direct the police, tax authorities, the media – you name it. They have a stranglehold over public discourse. They seem to be able to literally control the minds of the masses.

 

Absolutely – but that’s just within the game, isn't it?

 

What do you mean – the game? It’s hardly a game, if you ask me – when bombs are falling, people are being incarcerated, businesses and livelihoods are being destroyed… When humanity is being held hostage by a bunch of narcissistic sociopaths.

 

Not to mention mandated medical procedures which we can’t discuss here, triggering fatal reactions. Absolutely. I agree entirely. It’s beyond a joke.

 

Well, am I missing something?

 

Not really. Words themselves corral us into contradiction? They are what happens when something else, when infinity is excluded from the dialogue. But it was only ever going to be a matter of time, for time is the length of line that separates the hooked fish from the cooking pot, or the world we’re living in from the wonders of mean reversion, when the magic bubble pops and Cinderella has to run home barefoot as the clock strikes twelve.

 

Ok – so, in terms of infinity it’s all just been a game, has it? A lark in the dark, nothing too serious? Temporary?

 

Well, even now you’re using words, so whatever I say’s going to sound insensitive or crass, isn’t it?

 

In that case there’s nothing really to discuss, is there? You’ve locked yourself in your tower of infinite wisdom and we can all go rot in hell, as far as you’re concerned.

 

Well, no, you’re right. I stand corrected. In fact, there is a choice.

 

There is?

 

Yes, absolutely.

 

And what might that be?

 

You can choose to face the salmon of doubt.

 

??

 

More meaningless words – I apologise.

 

But what does it mean?

 

Eventually you grow tired of the warm shallow waters. Deep inside something stirs – a longing coupled with fear and doubt – a need to start a journey back – to engage somehow the other side.

 

Which is?

 

The purposeful, the active side of infinity, which seems to have a mind of its own.

 

Er?

 

That’s when things get interesting, to put it mildly, when the salmon reveals how everything you think you know for certain is, in fact, mercifully, riddled with doubt and that the body of knowledge that seemed to protect you from infinity, in fact, does nothing of the sort. It merely presents a convenient Potemkin facade to satisfy the careless eye of a passing dignitary, but nothing more.

 

You mean to say that each of us individually actually has the power to engage or to reactivate infinity?

 

Individually, yes, how else? If you’re willing to pursue the salmon of doubt upstream. It’s a lonely but thrilling journey. You see – infinity is not what you expected it to be, is it? It’s all bets off – because suddenly you see how everything – literally every thing – is interwoven, interconnected to such a degree that ultimately no one ever really had any power over you whatsoever; likewise no thing. Quite the opposite, in fact.

 

But that can’t be true, surely?

 

Nope! Not certifiably. Seth does a little dance suspiciously reminiscent of a drunken man pretending to be a salmon navigating the bewildering waters of infinity, with sang-froid and peculiar poise.

 

So again, you’re contradicting yourself.

 

Of course. There’s literally no point trying to prove such matters because the result will never satisfy anyone’s expectations,  nor their need for something tangible, something quantifiable.

 

How do you mean?

 

Well, in the rational world of things said and things done – we can all see that people and institutions have a great deal of control over us – there’s no denying that – is there?

 

No, there isn’t.

 

And the mind is bound to operate within that rational framework where a causes b resulting in c. There’s nothing we can do about it. Imagine you’re pointing a gun at me – and you shoot. What happens next?

 

You die.

 

Absolutely, or I’m injured. And who’s to blame?

 

Well, if I’m the one who shot you…

 

Yes, but I might have been threatening you in some way.

 

Ok – but my pulling the trigger is what causes your death – doesn’t it?

 

Yes and no.

 

Huh?

 

You see – in terms of the power within each one of us – in terms of the infinite – it requires my acquiescence for me to die or suffer at your hands.

 

It does? You could have fooled me!

 

I know, it’s confusing as hell, isn’t it?

 

But why? It’s evidently absurd.

 

Because I’m alive – and a part of the infinite we refer to as life itself – or Creation – or, come to think of it, God.

 

And?

 

Just a part, mind you – but still – that’s sufficient, whereas the bullet ain’t. It’s just a thing.

 

It may be just a thing – but it’s loaded with enough energy to snuff out the candle of your life flame, isn’t it?

 

Yes, if I acquiesce.

 

Huh?! I fail to see the logic.

 

I know, because you’ve excluded infinity from the equation. You see, life itself – for better or for worse, carries within it something unique.

 

You’re telling me.

 

It carries a direct link to the infinite – which is the event horizon beyond which there is no matter – beyond which matter cannot go.

 

Oh.

 

So, no matter how hard or cruel that bullet may be – or how fast it flies – for it to penetrate the field of Is within you – for it to reach the wellspring of life itself – it has to do something that it can’t technically do.

 

Er… Seth, aren’t you overcomplicating things?

 

Absolutely. But that’s only because I’m using words to describe what words can’t reasonably describe. If, however, you ignore the words and agree to receive the mental images I’m sending you – the direct meaning – it’ll make a lot more sense, I assure you.

 

Mental images?

 

Well yes. A kind of telepathy.

 

You mean to say you can actually communicate without words?

 

Absolutely. But it’s hardly surprising if you think about it, is it? – if we are all individually, as living beings, carriers of the infinite. So, the bullet cannot penetrate the infinite within you because a bullet is finite, but a bullet can kill a human if he or she has decided to suppress and deny infinity within himself – to wilfully downgrade life itself to being a thing – to put all his eggs in the basket known as “body” or “matter”. The body can definitely be hurt or killed by a bullet, can’t it?

 

Yes, of course it can – I just can’t see why you imagine the body could avoid dying if I didn’t acquiesce?

 

Well, there’s nothing wrong with that, Ten. Your failure to see makes perfect sense, doesn’t it?

 

It does?

 

Yes, because you’ve compartmentalised yourself.

 

I have?

 

Yes. You’re no different from the government, the so-called State you’ve been having a go at, with all its secret technologies. You’ve likewise hidden the information from yourself – you’ve artificially created a reality where such things are impossible or inconceivable, where things have to add up numerically.

 

Oh. But why do I stop being infinite and thus protected from the bullet – just because the information has been hidden away, or because I’m feigning ignorance?

 

Good question Ten. It’s a matter of Time, so to speak.

 

Time?

 

Yes.

 

How so?

 

You’re heavily invested in Time, and the feeling that things are moving inexorably in a certain direction, from the inflexion point where you first chose to experience “things in their entirety” by excluding everything else that can’t be bundled up in Time’s package deal. It’s a bit like gravity and the belief that you are stuck to the ground and cannot fly. These things are true to the extent that “things” can be true.

 

Oh. And to what extent is that?

 

Obviously to the extent that things matter, rather than life itself, or the extent to which you believe that things can deliver whatever you’re hoping or praying for. You decide. So, long story short – you’re wedded to Time and things until you completely lost all recollection of the inflexion point where it all began, until you’re bound to uphold Time, your Reality-of-things sponsor, at all costs, for fear that you might be cut adrift in the shockingly unpredictable quantum stream, even to the point of choosing death rather than decoupling from Time itself. The alternative – the salmon of doubt – seems so tenuous, so uncertain… mere fiction. Doubt needs to excluded, eliminated at all costs...

 

So?

 

So the bullet wins, usually, because we acquiesce, bound by the now impervious logic of matter, but knowing deep inside our soul that there’s more to me than the horcruxed version trapped in a now defunct time stream. A failed investment, yes, but not, ultimately, the end.

 

You make it sound so…

 

Plausible?

 

I’m not sure I’d say that... scripted, or perhaps “mathematical” is the word I was looking for.

 

Well yes, there is a rather splendid mathematics in play here.

 

Oh no – not your ridiculous “zero equals one”.

 

None other.

 

But it’s utter nonsense, isn’t it?

 

Yes. Utter nonsense until you’re facing down the barrel of a gun watching a bullet making its way to your thingness of body.

 

And suddenly – when death is the only remaining option – we’re willing to discard all reason and logic and unequivocally accept that numbers are basically meaningless, mere cheerleaders for Time’s fascist army of goose stepping procedural inhumanity – is that what you’re saying?

 

I’d concur, up to a point.

 

Up to a point? You mean to say back up to the inflexion point?

 

Yes. As long as we’re in the experiment, in the drama of things-that-matter terribly – we’re forever playing around with numbers and time, generating reams of receipts and timestamps.

 

You make us sound like androids or a virtual reality simulation.

 

Well, funny you should mention that… Human we may be, human we are – but again – only up to a point – because the bifurcation inserting us into the Time stream rendered us half human, half machine – we became part of a numbers game, didn’t we?

 

Oh my God. This is beyond insane.

 

Well, just think about it…

 

Honestly, I’d rather not.

 

Absolutely.

 

Would you stop saying that?

 

Saying what?

 

Oh no – I’m not going to fall for that one – Seth. I’m not a complete idiot you know.

 

Seth grins inanely.

 

You just did.

 

I did what?

 

Fell for it.

 

I what?

 

You fell for it – hook, line and sinker.

 

I did not.

 

There you go, again.

 

What on Earth are you on about?

 

Outside Time – outside the limited version of things you refer to as reality – the word “no” or “not” is absent.

 

It is? How come?

 

Because there’s nothing to deny. All is – like it or not.

 

So?

 

So, when you denied the word – when you said “oh no” instead of “absolutely” you triggered that very word in zero Time – in the unbifurcated version of happening, the isness of be.

 

The what? You mean to say…?

 

Absolutely. Yes.

 

No way – that there’s an unbifurcated version of this?

 

Has to be, doesn’t there – zero equals one.

 

My God.

 

Bit like – energy being neither created nor destroyed.

 

So this version – it’s highly tenuous – you’re saying?

 

Yep.

 

Kind of “thin ice” or my favourite: “avalanche waiting to happen”.

 

That's right. Spot on.

 

And If I “oh no” here – in the full version I’m still accepting or affirming reality? Right?

 

Absolutely.

 

Darn. And does that change anything?

 

Absolutely.

 

Please stop saying that – it’s really annoying me.

 

Ok, Ten, absolutely. Oh, by the way, Zero equals one.

 

No…

 

Ten finds the walls of his reality flickering – fading – and suddenly he’s swimming upstream – a salmon – the salmon of doubt, apparently – until he finds himself in strangely familiar surroundings – back at the place of his birth – back at the spawning ground.

 

Oh my God – this is it. This is where it all began. The first split. And there – a tiny little part of my soul.

 

A horcrux – she calls it in Harry Potter – rather ingeniously.

Ten tries to pick it up. Ow! It hurts.

 

You bet it does.

 

It feels…

 

Wrong?

 

Yes. It does. Absolutely.

 

It is. It was. But you can set it right.

 

I can?

 

If you’re willing to decompartmentalise. To reconnect. To unsplit.

 

But – they feel so different, the divided pieces.

 

Absolutely.

 

Oh this is too much!

 

Perhaps numerically, yes, but on the other hand, look – there is a rather splendid salmon – feel how it brings the two sides back into alignment – feel how nestling in doubt and uncertainty is a burning desire to come back home, to unmake the unbreakable vow that bound you in Time and Matter until...

 

Now Ten gives his attention entirely over to the salmon of doubt – feeling it swimming through every moment of his Tidal stream, back to source, in an ever-growing, now unquenchable desire to return to surely-not infinity, where things are no longer things, where birth and death coexist – where the salmon spawns after making the long, arduous journey back home, back to source, and then fades away to oblivion – now complete – a purely narrative device, nothing more, a now obsolete metaphor,  unless...

 

Meanwhile, word has come in through reliable sources that in secret underground bunkers, laboratories and production facilities throughout the USA encryption protocols have been failing at an alarming rate. Data has been leaking out ever faster while experts frantically seek to uncover the cause of these catastrophic data breaches. Security personnel have been widening their search beyond international spy agencies, though Russia and China are still considered the most likely culprits. Interestingly, these seemingly unintentional data releases always appear to coincide with the latest “salmon of doubt” internet sensation episode – a kind of flash mob, Mexican wave internet mobilisation linking huge numbers of online participants in a random chain of whackamole-cum-follow-that-fish viral gaming, with astonishing results. Participants have claimed a plethora of inexplicable, unanticipated outcomes – from serious money suddenly appearing in their bank accounts, to unsolicited, but equally serious job offers; from newly discovered psychic abilities, to long lost friends or family members suddenly returning home, not to mention entire blockbuster filmscripts as well as novels and poems downloading into their heads verbatim. Some are even claiming the dead coming back to life, though this has yet to be verified independently. Psychologists are struggling to come up with an explanation for the salmon of doubt phenomenon, but at the moment they’re leaning towards a mass delusional psychosis. Be that as it may, the number of individuals now hunting for the salmon of doubt online is rising exponentially and an increasing number are even questioning whether alien technologies are in play.

 

Bloody ridiculous, if you ask me. Huh? Where is everyone? Where did they all go?

 

 

 

0=1

undoubtedly