introducing the architron

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

 

Is that so Zie?

 

Yes.

 

Ok. Have you checked your postulates?

 

Huh?

 

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

 

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

 

The assumption. That’s what.

 

What assumption?

 

That these people are real.

 

It’s hardly an assumption, is it?

 

Then what, if not an assumption, is it?

 

A fact, based on continual observation.

 

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

 

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

 

real?

 

Yes.

 

But only “uslovno”.

 

I’m sorry?

 

“Uslovno”. It’s a Russian word.

 

I don’t speak Russian, you know.

 

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

 

Er…

 

It means conditionally… or maybe contingently.

 

Oh.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

It has been, yes, up until now.

 

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

 

There are indications.

 

Really?

 

No, not really.

 

Oh, for God’s sake!

 

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

 

Sorry man.

 

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

 

What – like hacked?

 

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

 

Er…

 

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

 

What?

 

Un-is-ed.

 

Beg your pardon?

 

Un-is-ed.

 

No good. Lost in translation.

 

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

 

Er, yes, I suppose so.

 

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

 

OS as in...

 

Operating system.

 

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

 

Correct.

 

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

 

Bingo.

 

Huh?

 

You’ve just given us the clue we needed.

 

I have? Play it back to me.

 

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

 

Right…

 

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

 

If you say so.

 

Otherwise it would stick out like a sore thumb.

 

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

 

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

 

Like I have a clue what that means…

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

But… it seems so absurd.

 

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

 

And who could possibly do such a thing?

 

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

 

Oh for God’s sake Merry!

 

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

 

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

 

Apparently so.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

Er… was that absolutely necessary?

 

Merry doesn’t move a muscle.

 

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

 

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

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

 

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

 

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

 

Ok, I see what you mean. Yes.

 

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

 

Sure thing.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

Zie’s boot strikes home.

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

 

And you think this garbage is any better?

 

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

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

 

Ah – there you are humanity. What kept you?

 

Er…

 

Well, speak up, won’t you?

 

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

 

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

 

And the rest…

   they say

is

 histoire

 

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