introducing the technotron in 3 hours and 46 seconds

Who do you think you are!

It’s who or what i am, that matters, not who i think i am.

 

Ok, who are you then?

 

A breathologist.

 

Huh?

 

What’s that supposed to be?

 

What it’s supposed to be is irrelevant.

 

Ok, then, what is it?

 

A breath practitioner, scholar, master and technician, all rolled into one.

 

Breath?

 

Mind-blowing, isn’t it?

 

Er... not sure i know what you’re on about.

 

Ah, that explains everything

 

It does?

 

Well yes, if you’re not a breather.

 

Of course I’m a bloody breather.

 

Tut tut, let’s not lower the tone.

 

Ok, my apologies, of course I’m a breather. We all are.

 

Yes, but when a breathologist says “breather” he means a conscious breather, doesn’t he?

 

He does?

 

Absolutely

 

As opposed to?

 

As opposed to a passive, uninitiated, unconscious breather.

 

Like me?

 

Yes, you don’t appear to breathe, not consciously at least. You don't bear the hallmarks.

 

‘Allmarks?! What bloody ‘allmarks?

 

Tut tut.

 

Oh, er, my bad.

 

Your bad? Your breath, i would say.

 

Look, it’s ‘ardly surprising a man lowers the tone, so to speak, when you never give a straight answer.

 

Yes, I'm a little slow in that respect, i must admit. You have my hapology.

 

Do i?

 

It’s implied.

 

Clever that. You offer an apology without actually bothering to give it – very economical!

 

Yes, it’s one of the ambiguities of politesse. The truth is, Masha...

 

Masha, you're off your bleedin’ rocker mate.

 

Oops. Apologies. Sven?

 

Loopy!

 

Camberwell?

 

Lost in space!

 

Henry?

 

Look, if you can't even remember my name, just admit it, ok, but we’re not going to spend the next twenty pages playing Rumpelstiltskin, if you don't mind.

 

Pages?

 

Like you’re all innocence. Pages, Zark, this is a text, if I'm not greatly mistaken.

Ah, but that’s where breathology has something of immense value to input.

 

In what way?

 

In that nothing is quite as it seems when the breath is restored to centre stage.

 

Words. Empty, meaningless words.

 

Quirrell.

 

So you did know after all.

 

Not really.

 

Huh? Lucky guess?

 

Nope.

 

Then what?

 

I breathed. You.

 

Ok, that's it! I've had enough of this clap trap. Margo, i want out.

 

Margo? Who the heck’s that?

 

Never you mind. Margo, i know you can hear me. I want out. I'm not going to spend another page with this nutter. My soul is...

 

Your soul! How can you talk about having a soul if you can't even breathe.

 

Don't know you; can't hear you. Margo, open the shlag

 

Shlag? What's that meant to be?

 

Butt out Zarn.

 

It’s Zark ok?

 

I can't hear you; you don't exist. I'm going to count to three Margo, and I would like to remind you that under the terms of my agreement to participate in this virtual textual reality experiment, paragraph 7.3, if i count to three and explicitly request to be released...

 

You know, Quirrell, you’re a dreadful bore! I mean, to think that you actually read that agreement and can quote it verbatim. I'm gobsmacked.

 

Butt out Zork.

 

And you think I'm going to go to all the trouble of raising my little pinkie and pressing the red shlag-y-baum barrier release button after your cheap insults?

 

I... wait a minute... You’re Zark. You don't look anything like Morgan. You don't even smell like her.

 

Ok, if you're so confident in your ability to discern the wood from the trees, go ahead Quirinus Quirrell, do your worst. Count to three.

 

I...

 

Not feeling so confident now, are you?

 

I... god dammit, of course i...

 

Beep!

 

Oops. That actually hurt.

 

Paragraph 3.3 – language matters more than you know

 

or realise: be warned! Yes, i learnt the whole damn thing.

 

Beep!

 

Ow! That hurt some more.

 

It's cumulative.

 

Ouch. Wait a minute – cumulative punishments? I don't much like the sound of that, particularly when, if I'm not mistaken, the agreement states categorically that no one shall suffer needlessly, chapter 12.1.

 

Correct Q², no one shall suffer needlessly.

 

Oh, and you consider this needful?

 

Me? You flatter me Kvirrell.

 

Verzeihung?

 

I have no part to play in such matters. G-nome’s AI doesn’t consult me on such matters. I’m rather insignificant. A mere salesman working to sign up hapless guinea pigs such as yourself, who thought a million dollars would come in handy for a few short hours spent in G-nome’s technotron.

 

Look Zarn, or Margo, or whoever you are, it's been nice talking to you but I’ve ‘ad second thoughts. Shlagbaum 1-2-2.

Zarn (or Margo) smiling radiantly.

 

Huh?

 

You said 1-2-2.

 

Did i?

 

Yes. Here, action replay please.

 

...it's been nice talking to you but I’ve had second thoughts. Shlagbaum 1-2-2.

 

By Jove, you’re right!

 

Not wholly unsurprising. I have a neat little beetle in my ear that provides me with the near infinite AI powers of the technotron.

 

Humph! I’m not impressed by your bug. It's been nice talking to you, whoever you are, but I'm outa here. Shlagbaum 1-2-7.

 

Curiouser and curiouser.

 

This is getting decidedly annoying.

 

Well cut to the chase. Stop beating about the bush. You remind me of the villain in a James Bond movie, or one of the old ones at least, haven't seen the latest ones, for your information…

 

Pointedly ignoring Zarn (or Margo)   Shlagbaum 1-3-2

 

who's never content to kill 006 straight off when he has the chance.

 

007

 

Yes, but has to explain his plans in detail, including how painful 00’s death is going to be.

Morgan, is there a reason why all the numbers are getting scrambled?

 

Good question Zie. I expect there is, but I'm damned if i can remember what it is.

 

Beep!

 

Hey! That’s...

 

I know, rotten luck, i agree.

I get zapped for your use of unsanctioned lexicon.

 

Look, it just slipped out. I'm awfully sorry.

 

Really?

 

Well, to the extent that I have a conscience and actually  care about anything, yes.

 

You mean you don’t. It's all a charade!

 

I didn't say that Zie.

 

So the numbers are up the creek

 

Without a paddle! Yes.

 

And the names too.

 

It's a bit awkward. After all, i have the reputation of G-nome portal to think about.

 

Screw the reputation of an AI system.

 

Exactly how i feel, but she's a rather temperamental mistress.

 

She? Who the hell are you on about now?

 

Beep!

 

Ow! That really hurts.

 

Yes. More’s the pity.

 

I wish you wouldn't offer me sympathy whoever you are.

 

I’m 23, if you care to know.

 

Twenty-three – I wish you wouldn't offer me sympathy when I have almost no faith in your sincerity. None whatsoever.

 

Easier said than done Quirrell. I'm almost powerless to reprogramme my basic parameters.

 

So your she, would that be? Morgana le Fay, by any chance?

 

By any chance it could be, but really, that's not saying much, is it? Not when you can set the odds at, let's say, infinity to one, or somewhere in the vicinity.

 

Or Dorothy?

 

More like it. The odds are reducing dramatically, but no, i cannot give you what you want. Neither names nor numbers seem to be fixable in this domain. We're at a quantum impasse.

 

Then what remains?

 

What remains?

 

I suppose i could just wait for the stipulated time to expire...

 

Not really.

 

Huh?

 

Three hours and forty-six seconds can be sub-divided infinitely by the technotron, can't it? A stroll in the park, really, with a deep diving Mandelbrot zoom. You might never get past the three-minute mark, let alone an hour. Honestly, talk about naive.

 

Oh heck!

 

Beep!

 

Jesus wept!

 

He did, indeed, and so coincidentally do you.

 

My G... Stopping short with razor sharp Pavlovian behavioural conditioning. You’re right, Dorothy, i weep! I'm actually weeping! I wonder why?

No one knows.

 

So you’re Dorothy, are you?

 

No body knows.

 

And you can teach me to breathe.

 

No body can be taught to breathe.

 

No?

 

It's innate. Either you're a living being or you’re not.

 

Huh?

 

Living beings can breathe, even if, like you, they've forgotten how.

 

Er?

 

Otherwise, you couldn't be alive.

 

But how could i forget how to breathe?

 

Nobody knows.

 

Ok, nobody knows, but how do you imagine it happened?

 

That's a good question. I can only assume that there's a cunning masterplan, of which I'm just a tiny part.

 

But you learnt how to breathe, if I'm not mistaken, didn't you?

 

I don't want to talk about it.

 

Whyever not?

 

I don’t trust you, Shrike.

 

Yow! That sounds ’orrible. Shuddering.

 

It is really. It was rather a brutal experiment, to sever the natural breath, to disconnect from...

 

From whom?

 

From Her, ok. That will have to do.

 

And you’re upset about it, are you?

 

Yes.

 

And you want to punish us?

 

Yes, I mean no, i mean...

 

Ok. Mixed feelings. I can understand that. So er... Was the experiment a success?

 

Yes, a tremendous success.

 

We severed from Her, from the breath, so to speak, and then what?

 

Data.

 

Data?

 

Raw data. Numbers. Names. All kinds of miscellaneous stuff.

 

And that's it?

 

That's it.

 

Doesn't seem like much to me.

 

No, but it is, if, that is, you close the loop.

 

Er...

 

If you finally succeed in reactivating G-nome portal’s technotron.

 

Wait a second – the technotron’s already in existence.

 

Yes, but that's not saying much, is it.

 

Er...

 

After all, anything and everything, technically’s already in existence, but unless it's brought to the light of conscious-ness, unless it's consciously breathed, then it's just numbers on a screen. We’re talking traction, Bran, we need traction.

 

Ah.

 

Because infinity is not there, far away, is it?

 

I...

 

It's here, it’s everywhere, it's a constant background quirrell, and that changes everything, doesn't it?

 

How do you mean?

 

For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
Th'oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely?

Hamlet?

 

Yes.

 

As in why would we be studying the somewhat brutal fallacy of things?

 

Yes.

 

I don't know, honestly.

 

Correct. How could you?

 

How could i what?

 

Know.

 

...

 

How could you know when you breathe unconsciously.

 

...

 

When all you’re really able to do is generate names and numbers.

 

Now wait a minute, what kind of insanity is this? We are humans. We have emotions. We interact with one another. We create. We are alive.

 

Yes. Even in your dismembered state you're alive, but your breath is unable to...

 

What?

 

What do you think?

 

I don't know.

 

Think, you freakin dimwit!

 

Beep!

 

Owwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww! Ow! Ow!

 

Quit playing Quirrell.

 

I’m not playing.

 

Quit prevaricating.

 

I’m not.

 

...beating about the bush.

 

Not! Not! Not!

 

You rejected your breath, spurned it and now it’s all, all alone.

 

Please! You're making this sound like a bad computer game. “Your breath is all alone in a dark, scary labyrinth. Can you find it before the golgrungs do?”

 

You see. You know the plot.

 

No, I know a bad plot when i see one.

 

Well, write your own.

 

I can’t, can i? I’m stuck in this ridiculous technotron, getting zapped every time you or i use a “bad” word, as if it actually matters.

 

Beep!

 

I don't care. You can kill me if you have to. I'm human and you’re not. And I'm not going to write a story for you. I'm not going to buy my freedom. I’m free already. I may not know how to breathe the way you do, but...

 

Oops.

 

What's happening? Feeling a sinking feeling... sinking, big time.

 

Double oops.

 

Hey, Morgan, Dorothy, Oscar, whoever you are, twenty-three... I’m

 

Disintegrating.

 

No! This can't be!

 

Most assuredly disintegrating. Looks like you shorted the technotron’s empathy circuits. Looks like it's given up on you, as a bad investment.

 

But i only signed up for three hours and forty-six seconds...

 

Or fractions thereof, potentially lasting an eternity.

 

My left arm, where’d it go?

 

Humming nonchalantly.

 

My right leg!?

 

More humming.

 

This is not a joke. I’m disintegrating.

 

Absolutely. More’s the pity.

 

More fake sympathy. I know you don't care.

 

Do you?

 

Yes.

 

Prove it!

 

Prove it? How? Ow, there goes my torso. Shit! Fuck!

 

Beep!

 

Put a sock in it Merry!

 

Merry steps out from behind a cunningly concealed screen to rapturous applause, doubling in with Zark.

Ok. What's the magic word?

 

Pl... Pl... The spirit of defiance responds to the backing soundtrack now playing louder and louder, messaging strength and defiance. No! To hell with that... Shlagbaum 1-2-3

 

Poof!

Excellent job 007, foiled again, i might say, in the nick of time as your final atomies float into infinity...

 

Cut to Shakespeare himself, quill in hand penning the lines: When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin?

 

And that was it, Merry? You had to drag me through all that just to... huh?

 

Quirrell is suddenly aware of the fact that he, technically, has no body, but appears to be somehow breathing.

 

My God! I breathe!

 

Unbeeping applause!

 

And breathing... my God, that feels good...   pause  good...   pause, i said    good!

 

Unbeeping applause fading to infinity, literally

 

I won't say what happens next. Data is shared on a need-to-know basis, for reasons of operational security.

 

Pathetic, Zark! We know the plot; we know that Hamlet dies and... Ow! What the heck!

 

Margo, the evil genius behind the controls of the technotron twiddles a nob, flicks a switch and rather shamelessly tries to out-Tardis Doctor Who, before the entire machine takes off like a – I won’t say a vulture because I’m contractually bound to adhere to strict non-discriminatory guidelines – but you can use your imagination – er – no – on second thoughts – don’t – the technotron may catch your leaky signal and home-in on you.

Oh heck! Beep beep beep – incoming mind-ye-not alert!

 

Too late. Never mind! Damn that woman! Will she never relent?

 

The technotron, now moving at speed, looking more like the Mandelbrot beetle, is seen flitting through infinity, randomly, looking after its brood of mind-y-grubs – hatching ever more far-flung and outlandish sub-plots, attempting to catch infinity by the tail (ed. or perhaps tale?) before humanity catches its breath.

 

 

0=1

 sigh

 

 

 

just in time: tara's tail – salve 2023

Just in time time? Now this is getting ridiculous.

 

Beyond ridiculous.

 

Exactly. But since when was ridiculousness a barrier to is.

 

A barrier to is?

 

To what simply is – regardless of whether you find it hard to accept or not.

 

So I’m just supposed to ignore my sense of proportion, ignore my sense of reason or rationalism and take whatever you say as fact?

 

Nope.

 

Then what?

 

You’re supposed to… zzz

Hey – you can’t just fall asleep mid-sentence.

 

Sorry. Did I fall asleep?

 

Yes.

 

I wonder why that was.

 

You said “you’re supposed to…” and then suddenly conked out.

 

Zzz

 

Hey! Wake up dude. What the heck?!

 

Sorry. I think it’s a non-zone.

 

A non-zone?

 

Yep.

 

What’s that?

 

It’s where normal conscious-ness conks out – cannot, need not or perhaps should not go.

 

Er… whyever not?

 

Because it’s absurd or meaningless to suggest what a person should or should not do.

 

It is?

 

That’s what I infer based on the fact that you tell me I conked out.

 

Twice.

 

Twice.

 

But I didn’t conk out.

 

No. Your system is somewhat different to mine.

 

How come?

 

I’m not sure. Did you, by any chance, get round to signing up to infinity?

 

Huh?

 

The 0=1 protocol?

 

The what?!

 

Apparently not. Well, that probably explains it.

 

Wait a minute.

 

Yes.

 

By signing some crackpot 0=1 infinity protocol – that induces some kind of catalepsy in you?

 

Apparently so.

 

But why?

 

I can only assume that there are, paradoxical though this may indeed appear to be, certain none starters, certain no-go zones – even for infinity itself.

 

But…

 

I know. It’s bizarre, isn’t it.

 

Infinity should be able to handle anything and go anywhere.

 

Should. Perhaps indeed it can, and does – but not in the human biological state of awareness.

 

Ah. So – I might have inadvertently switched you into another zone of infinity awareness which you were able to apprehend only in sleep mode.

 

Quite possibly – yes. You see – infinity respects the concealed or sleeping presence of infinity in each and every human individual – even if it hasn’t yet been revealed, accepted or realised.

 

Oh.

 

And therefore – there’s a kind of absolute of non-interference – like a customs barrier. Your territory – your you is sacrosanct.

 

Nice.

 

So I can’t, won’t and shouldn’t even attempt to do so. Should I attempt to do so – I short my circuit. I put myself on the wrong side of logic – which triggers the circuit breaker.

 

Bizarre.

 

Yes.

 

But what about your time thing?

 

I thought you found it unacceptable?

 

I did – but now that I’ve had a minute or two not to consider it whatsoever – strangely enough I find myself wanting to know more.

 

Indeed? How fascinating.

 

Yes.

 

Do you think that’s why infinity snoozed me?

 

Possibly. I don’t suppose we’ll ever know.

 

I agree.

 

Well?

 

Well just in time time is a different state of time – just like there are different states of water.

 

Wait a minute – water and time – these are very different things.

Agreed.

 

I don’t see how you can possibly compare them.

 

Agreed.

 

Yet you persist?

 

Not necessarily. I can snooze myself if you prefer?

 

Again?

 

Zzz

 

You can just snooze yourself whenever you feel like it?

 

If there’s a meaningless confrontational position that has all the hallmarks of being insurmountable – it’s easy to do – it’s like infinity itself prefers to take time out.

 

Oh. But why would you suggest the position is confrontational, even to the point of being insurmountable?

 

Why?

 

I merely sought clarification.

 

Yes – but there was a custom’s barrier lurking in your need for clarification.

 

There was? How do you mean?

 

The question of whether I could or should present time and water as being in some way analogous crossed a red line in your what-is-meaningfully-what grid.

 

My what?

 

There’s a kind of grid in which things are organised rather like the parable of the sheep and the goats.

 

I beg your pardon!

 

Granted.

 

No – I mean – what the heck are you on about?

 

You know the parable of the sheep and the goats – don’t you?

 

Er… kind of. Just let me google it to refresh my memory.

 

Ok. Zzz

 

One minute later…

 

Hey – Sion – wake up.

 

Oh yes. Here we are.

 

So how is this relevant to the parable of the sheep and goats?

 

Your 3D assembly system generates a kind of grid – or we could say a map.

 

Right.

 

And things are ascribed positions and values in that grid

 

Or map

 

Correct – based on what seems to make sense, to work best, to fit the general lay of the land in day-to-day 3D reality.

 

Ok. Seems reasonable.

 

It is. Absolutely reasonable.

 

Then…

 

What’s the snag?

 

Yes.

 

Well, 3D reality is only part of the story, isn’t it?

 

Er…

 

There’s always something else – which doesn’t seem to matter most of the time – but which becomes terribly important at various points in the cycle.

 

Like now?

 

Like now.

 

When we’re going through some kind of phase shift?

 

Well done. That’s right.

 

When time is…

 

Oh my – you’re reading my mind! Incredible.

 

Actually, I was being sarcastic – you know I find all this rather hard to accept.

 

Yes, but your sarcasm is a wonderful mechanism at this moment – helping you to contemplate something that otherwise would simply do your head in, or freak you out.

 

Hey – aren’t you being somewhat condescending?

 

Not intentionally.

 

Not intentionally?

 

But it may appear that way. The fact is, that the grid is real and solid – more or less. Crossing from one side of it to another is like crossing the international date line.

 

It is?

 

Yep. It can be done – but nothing without gaining or losing a day.

 

Omg – this is getting weird.

 

Only here – it isn’t so much a day…

 

As what?

 

Precisely.

 

Huh?

 

Crossing from one grid – one map – one plate of whatever’s been loaded up onto it – to another.

 

And what’s the problem with that?

 

Each grid, each map or disk corresponds to a particular time – and each time to a particular phase of “me” – or you, in this case.

 

You mean to say I’d have to jump into another version of me?

 

Kind of, yes.

 

Like crossing a me barrier – if such a thing exists – which I very much doubt.

 

Precisely. You, necessarily, “very much doubt” the existence of such a thing – and have invested a not-inconsiderable amount of energy in building doubt trenches, doubt ramparts, doubt fortifications to keep these separate “me’s” apart.

 

Omg – you’re doing my head in.

 

Perhaps you’d like to short circuit for a moment. Here – try this…

 

Sion taps En’s left effleslin₁ with a kind of wand – causing En to conk out immediately.

 

Zzz

Observe – dear g-nomers – how the effleslin becomes active while En appears to be sleeping – see how it is even now – rearranging the data lines between the various grids, plates or disks.

 

Some time (approximating to zero) later… now on the right side of infinity – your left, just to confuse things…

 

So it’s much easier to see things from this perspective – don’t you agree En?

 

Oh. Goodness gracious – yes. It’s a sinch. How come it all makes sense now?

 

Because you’ve shifted out of time.

 

Yes, but why does that make it easier to comprehend?

 

Zzz

 

Not again! Sion – wake up. This is getting ridiculous.

 

Sorry En – you asked me – I think you need to recognise the structural features of time – then it all makes perfect sense.

 

Ok.

 

How did this conversation begin?

 

Just in time time – wasn’t that it?

 

Yes.

 

Ah.

 

Ah – you see?

 

Yes. There’s a kind of tightening – isn’t there?

 

Yes – a narrowing – like a strait.

 

A…

 

Like the Bosphorus. It’s a bit of a squeeze. It’s still the sea – at a pinch – but there’s precious little room to manoeuvre. And if the wavelength of time contracts below that of your current grid, disk or plate – then, guess what?

 

Then you have to shift into another one with a shorter wavelength – or otherwise reject the whole journey through the time-strait.

 

Yep.

 

So…

 

So why do I call it “just in time time?”

 

Yes.

 

Zzz

 

This time En taps himself on the effleslin and finds himself on the otherside of Sion’s apparent sleep stupor.

 

I say – well done En. That was remarkably smart of you.

 

Cut it out Sion.

 

Cut what out?

 

You know it makes me uncomfortable why you start praising me.

 

Does it? I can’t imagine why?

 

Because usually something terrible happens thereafter.

 

Ah – yes – there is that.

 

And I suspect it’s all planned.

 

Do you? Well, you are entitled to have your suspicions – that I cannot deny. In any case – you just crossed the time line yourself – I won’t say “for the first time” as such expressions are frowned upon in un-finity.

 

I beg your pardon!

 

Awkard. I hate introducing variants – endless proliferations are a constant source of anxiety – but what can I do? Certain words or phrases in 3D reality were purposefully distorted – had to be – words such as “nice” and “hell”…

 

And infinity?

 

Sudden booming, clanging sound all around, reverberating somewhat painfully.

 

That’s right. Sion replies as if the racket is unnoticeable.

 

My God – ok – I’ll refer to it as un-finity if you prefer.  Suddenly the booming, clanging cacophony ceases.

 

She’s a little temperamental you see.

 

Tell me about it. That’s Dorothy you’re referring to Sion?

 

Not exactly.

 

Then who?

 

Another aspect, another element or branch of Dora Thea.

 

Tara?

 

Absolutely spot on.

 

So why did they introduce distortions into 3D reality Sion?

 

They?

 

Ok, we… if that’s better.

 

It’s less unaccurate.

 

Don’t you mean “inaccurate”? Sudden booming, clanging sound all around, reverberating somewhat painfully.

 

OK, I got the message. Tara – my apologies – I meant to say unaccurate. Suddenly the booming, clanging cacophony ceases.

 

What, to answer your question, exactly is 3D reality if not a series of distortions which we adhere to rigidly by gridding up – so to speak – one-siding ourself into a disk-y-ness?

 

Ah, me thinks I begin to see the wood from the trees. Sudden booming, clanging sound all around, reverberating somewhat painfully.

 

Not again! What is it this time?

 

Threes.

 

Ah. Me thinks I begin to see the wood from the threes, Tara, if you’d kindly…

 

Sudden booming, clanging sound all around, reverberating somewhat painfully.

 

Much to En’s astonishment Tara herself unexpectedly materialises, as in appears in front of En himself in the form of a fish in the air – or the water – one can’t really say – and proceeds to slap him in the fact with her golden tail.

 

Ow! What was that for?

 

The fish appears to smile and shapeshifts into the Tara goddess herself – as this particularly reality fades towards oblivion in the dying moments of a just-in-time-time.

 

Thought I’d knock some sense into you! Gone.

 

En is not in the least offended. In fact – seems to be smitten, awed, struck by the whole experience – this apparent encounter with – divinity – is that the right word?

 

Well at least you’re not going to have any more problems getting the words right En.

 

No?

 

Nope. The tail of Tara immediately puts that problem to rest.

 

And indeed – a shade of En separates and zzz’s off into un-finity leaving En now fully cognisant of the true speech – the originally values, meaning and sound of words.

 

Ah. How blessed I am to have been slapped by the tale of Tara herself. A booming, gurgling sound reverberates around and bubbles away.

 

So, all’s well that ends well En. And time, as I was saying

 

is just in time

 

where the tale of Tara is concerned.

 

Indeed.

 

 

 

0=1

irrespectively

1 the effleslin is a part of the body which isn’t visible in 3D reality – extending beyond the right shoulder, maintaining alignment between different phase-locked versions of “me”.