All the world's a bloody stage, an' all

 

Er…

 

Ssh!

 

one minute later…

 

Merry…?

 

Merry, glued to his computer screen, completely ignores Zie.

 

I was wondering…

 

Shut up Zie – can’t you see I’m busy.

 

Ouch – that hurt! Zie looks kinda crestfallen – some people in the audience aah him sympathetically. Zie, of course, can’t hear the audience, or pretends he can’t and, if anything, looks more sad, more hurt. No one would imagine, for a minute, that he’s playing to the audience, which in any case exists in another dimension – unless you’re viewing thirdly – in which case you see the two face to face, with a virtual proscenium arch.

 

But for some reason Zie has second thoughts before skulking off into the non-existent distance, perhaps because he’s intrigued to know what could possibly be so exciting that even Merry, who despises all TV and shallow entertainment, is unable to unglue himself from the screen.

 

As he lopes back towards Merry’s hunched figure he distinctly hears the words “the greatest show on Earth”, though no idea whatsoever what they are referring to.

 

Without meaning to, to his inordinate surprise, he hears himself repeat the expression full voicedly – THE GREATEST SHOW ON EARTH! almost wishing to vanish into the shadows upstage. But he can’t un-own it. Merry looks up in surprise.

 

Oh, it’s you Zie. Where did you come from?

 

Where did I…

 

I’ve been watching the most amazing stuff.

 

Yes, I…

 

You’ll never guess what’s going on right now…

 

Er… didn’t you just tell me to buzz off a minute ago?

 

Er… did I?

 

“Shut up Zie – can’t you see I’m busy,” were your words, if I’m not mistaken.

 

Come to think of it – I believe you’re right. Yes, in fact, I distinctly recall yelling at someone a moment ago. Was that you?

 

Nonplussed.

 

Of course! Now I remember… feeling upset, aren’t you. Little worm.

 

I beg your pardon.

 

Little worm. Slithery, slimy thing – crawls on the ground – gets squashed by cars on the road in the rain – used for fishing.

 

Yes, Merry – I think I know what a worm is – but why would you refer to me…

 

Having self-confidence issues, aren’t we? Don’t like being ignored, do we? Or told where to go?

 

Zie shuffles his feet, looking down at his toes pointedly.

 

I expect you had something important to tell me and you were looking forward to a warm, friendly reception. It must have really gutted you when I gave you the cold, brusque shoulder, so to speak.

 

Well, I can see you’ve absolutely no desire to treat me with basic common human decency.

 

Wait a second.

 

Merry turns back to his computer screen and is once again completely absorbed by whatever it is he’s watching – sounds of gunfire, bombs or fireworks – Zie is unable to figure out how to respond – hurt or anger – both vie for dominance – but a minute or two later he realises he simply doesn’t care – that the personal drama is no longer relevant, no longer interesting – maybe that has something to do with the Field – you know – the awareness that things are…

 

Lights down – the next scene Merry and Zie are lounging in a more comfortable space – deep leather chairs – suspiciously like the ones in G-nomeportal’s famed reading room.

 

I never quite figure out how these phase shifts happen.

 

No, you wouldn’t.

 

Huh?

 

They’re not susceptible to understanding, are they.

 

But – one minute I’m there – and

 

Yes, it’s a phase shift, isn’t it. What do you expect?

 

But it leaves me feeling disconnected.

 

And?

 

And that’s a problem for me.

 

And?

 

And I don’t know what to do about it.

 

And?

 

And what do you recommend?

 

Nothing

 

But…

 

As long as you think I can help you – you fail to do the only thing you really can and need do.

 

Which is?

 

Deal with it

 

Deal with it?

 

Yep. That’s right. You heard me.

 

Just like that?

 

Precisely

 

But how?

 

No idea. However you like. It’s your reality. Your world. Your personal space. What do you want from me?

 

But you don’t seem to have the same problem.

 

Correct. You seem to have a problem. I don’t seem to, do I? – so the problem is all in what seems – appearance over substance.

 

But…

 

Deal with it. I’m not interested. Merry turns around and slams a door that wasn’t there a second ago – leaving Zie disconsolate, alone.

 

Deal with it?! The selfish bastard. Like I’m supposed to know what to do. Bloody ridiculous.

 

The audience, meanwhile, grows restless as nothing seems to be happening on stage – and suddenly Zie is acutely aware of the fact, which he’d been completely overlooking a moment ago. Self-consciously, awkwardly – almost feeling naked – he finds himself panicking, or thereabouts – feeling the urgent responsibility to give them with a performance – but completely at a loss as to what he should be saying or doing. This feeling of responsibility grows overwhelming. Zie can feel their eyes drilling into him – their sense of expectancy mounting. Something needs to happen. Something has to give. Something has to break. Now.

 

You see, Merry says, unpeeling Zie’s eyes from the screen – how ridiculous you look when you fail to be

 

To be?   What?

 

What? What’s what got to do with it?

 

Er…

 

To be, or not to be – not what? What was never the question, dumbass.

 

Another blow – another wet fishtail slap across Zie’s already salt stained, bloody cheek.

 

Feeling sorry for yourself – are you? You and that ridiculous creature you’ve been playing with.

 Huh?

 

Her.

 

…

 

Zie was about to say “Who?” but an awareness of someone or something is on the verge of being triggered – that much he knew without a doubt – so he doesn’t. But it was enough. He knew – she was there – somewhere at the back of all this woeful inadequacy.

 

She… The penny…

 

droppeth. Yes Merry – I guess you’re right. Quantum entanglement?

No idea. Maybe it is. It matters not. She’s there – watching, and loving your self-indulgent sorry-me-ness.

 

Yes– I wonder why.

 

Who cares. Infinity, dear Zie, is unwhattable – no matter how hard you try. You’re going to keep running round in circles, ever and anon.

 

And she’s preventing me from moving on, making headway?

 

Is she? How can she be – unless you make her into something.

 

But I didn’t even know she existed a moment ago.

 

Correct. You were busily making her into not-something, or not-someone a moment ago – which is just as bad as making her into someone or something now, isn’t it.

 

Er… yes, I suppose so.

 

Thirdly, she’s neither here nor there – nor are you, for that matter.

 

Nor is matter, for that is…

 

Bravo! Most excellent, and excellently exelliphunt.

 

Oh! Zie looks somewhat abashed.

 

So it’s a be issue – is what you’re saying.

 

Clunk – the thinky rational mind once again slams the jail door shut, just as you were about to phase shift. Honestly Zie – I don’t know why they put up with it.

 

Once again – Zie’s back on stage – aware that they’re watching him – expectantly – waiting for the great scene.

 

He’s not in the least at a loss – he allows himself to feel the growing wall, the pressure wave of pregnant attentive expectancy – while thirdly, thirdly he knows that the soliloquy is already awaiting him at the critical juncture – when the spark ignites, when the ruler snaps, when a phase shift is inevitable if the quantum field is to avoid becoming self-aware –

To be, or not to be, that is the question:

Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer

The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,

Or to take arms against a sea of troubles

And by opposing end them.

He hasn’t a clue what he’s saying – but that doesn’t seem to matter in the least – because right now Zie’s looking over Merry’s shoulder watching the fascinating news update that had to be seen in a certain state of readiness – and the information is so astonishing that Zie has to do everything in his power not to lose track of what’s happening here on stage –

To die—to sleep, no more;

and by a sleep to say we end

The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks

That flesh is heir to: 'tis a consummation

Devoutly to be wish'd.

And Merry seems to be carrying out military operations – which in and of itself utterly gobsmacks Zie – who can’t imagine why Merry would need to 3D himself to such an extent – rounding up criminals, attacking underground bases, even taking down household-name members of the poitical establishment – evidently with all the glee, the relish of a schoolboy playing cowboys and injuns, or Starwars, for that matter –

To die, to sleep;

To sleep, perchance to dream—ay, there's the rub:

For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,

When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,

Must give us pause

And there are dead bodies aplenty – some killed while resisting the takedown – others committing suicide, when they knew too clearly that the game was up, that all was lost. And Zie was searching for a sign of compassion – that Merry was affected – that Merry actually cared – but the action was so fast – and so widespread – across a continent – two, three in fact – bewildering – Merry seems to be in every theatre of operations – the one constant – the one utterly determined player – determined to play his part with complete and utter commitment – as if it truly mattered

—there's the respect

That makes calamity of so long life.

For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,

Th'oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,

As if it matters – which of course it does – we’re talking lives being lost, lives being destroyed, we’re talking blood and gore – the real thing – the smell as well as the fear and panic that seems to have slow-motioned the entire globe caught up in this insanity – and still Zie searches – but this time searches within – do I care – really – do I?

The pangs of dispriz'd love, the law's delay,

The insolence of office, and the spurns

That patient merit of th'unworthy takes,

When he himself might his quietus make

With a bare bodkin? 

And then the fatal words – the words that have sounded a thousand times, if not more – when the phases start to come closer together – start to rub up against one another in that electro-magnetic zone of incipient, almost-thirdness – when the phase shift is all but in – the words that rise from the depths of conscious-awareness when the façade, the dream space of one frame… and an other reality all but merge –

Who would fardels bear,

To grunt and sweat under a weary life,

But that the dread of something after death,

The undiscovere'd country, from whose bourn

No traveller returns,

– does it matter – and of course – watching the drama unfold the answer is clear – the stage awash with gore – the audience swimming, drowning in drunken catharsis, while at the back, the very back of the theatre the director is acutely aware of the waltz, the emotional, quantum interplay between players and spectators – is also aware that this is only nominally a theatre – that in fact, here a ritual blood sacrifice is being enacted, like the Church Eucharist – and that humanity is slowly coming to grips with the only thing that’s ever mattered –

puzzles the will,

And makes us rather bear those ills we have

Than fly to others that we know not of?

Thus conscience does make cowards of us all,

– the only thing? Of course not – I lie, and lie I badly – yet still – in these words, thirdly – you can sense a kind of truth – for murder, murder and the loss of innocence – that great Raskolnikov moment – when the protagonist suddenly realises he completely failed to understand the nature of reality, the nature of things – and guess what –

And thus the native hue of resolution

Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,

And enterprises of great pitch and moment

With this regard their currents turn awry

And lose the name of action

– there’s no going back – no undoing what’s been done, murder most foul, because, apparently, in this respect, here, in this theatre of evil intent – things do matter more than words, more than…

 

Zie, Zie – wake up – you ok?

 

Zie opens his eyes – gets to his feet.

 

Huh?

 

Where am I? moment.

 

Silence – a deep silence and thirdly – he’s acutely aware, for the first time, in fact, of the watching, waiting ness, pressing down – until at the very moment Merry’s computer screen goes blank, the military operation is complete – the quantum field breathes a sigh of relief and they, the audience – prompted by the director at the back of the theatre who already knows the script and starts them off – thunder, thunderous applause, wiping the emotional slate clean, undazing the all-y-mind

 

Oh – oh…

 

Zie’s lost for words. Phase shifting back he suddenly realises what he just did – what has been done – thirdly and all – thirdly an’all – what… and finally, after more than four hundred years, the words of the soliloquy – like the ancient mariner who could not die, the words of the soliloquy have consumated – have hit their final mark – and collapse in on themselves, imploding – in a chain reaction of un-fullness – exponentially – if you know what that means.

 

The End

  

 

Hot-mike post-recording

 

So…

 

Yes?

 

Who is she really?

 

Who?

 

Her – the one you’uz hinting at

 

Oh…

 

Well?

 

…nothing saying, awkwardly

 

Go on – I wanna know.

 

I lied.

 

You never.

 

I did an’all.

 

Ar – you bastard, you!

 

Wotchit – that mike’s still on.

 

Oh f***

 

 

click