ending things

 

What do you mean “ended”?!

What does the word ended mean?

No, what do you mean?!

Me?

You!

Er…

You can’t just inanely assert that the world has ended. What kind of insufferable presumptuousness is that?

I…

You think you can just claim to determine what is and what is not real?

I…

That this is all just your personal dream? A figment of your wonderful, oh so all-encompassing imagination?!

I…

That we amount to nought unless you should permit the possibility that perhaps, just perhaps, reality is more than an extension of your subjectivity?

I…

Well, what have you got to say for yourself?

I…

Get on with it. Speak or for ever hold your peace.

I…

Everyone knows how you like to hide behind your humble little “I dare not defend myself”, “I dare not speak out”, “I’m going to use the I dot dot dot defence – the right to twist the world around my little intellectual finger, and then let it dangle passive aggressively for an eternity while the collective mind of humanity, the collective psyche is utterly crushed by your heartless, callous insinuations.” That’s the plan, isn’t it.

I…

Come, come Malcolm – you can do better than that.

You’re right McDuff, I can, but you know what?

Oh no, not the rhetorical question. Please tell me you ain’t gonna resort to the rhetorical question, of all the infamous rhetorical devices in your fearsome arsenal…

Ha, I… and Malcolm calls McDuff’s bluff with a brazen display of utterly unbeatable insouciance. He allows his “I” to expand from the little me of little me-ness, into the cosmic ego of Allness and One and I-know-not-what – in other words – he utterly shifts the goalposts leaving McDuff “stranded at the driveway, branded a fool, what will they say, Monday at school…” if you know what I mean.

Is that Dies Irae playing in the background?

Er – could be.

Or Carmina Burana?

That too…

Wait a minute – you’re supposed to be the expert.

I know. Rather disturbing, isn’t it. Green sector out.

Wagner. Valkyries?

Look – honestly – who cares. We’ve all got the message. It’s one of those terribly dramatic pieces of music. Ok? Can we move on, please?

Yes, yes, of course – but still – it’s a bit strange, isn’t it – that green sector isn’t able to determine the actual music playing in the background.

Don’t you start.

Huh?

You’re beginning to sound like that twerp Malcolm.

I never said the world’s ended, Ok.

You don’t need to, do you. If we’re not able to determine what’s playing in the background then that says it all, doesn’t it.

Er…

Slam dunker.

I beg your pardon.

Clear as day.

The reality platform is evidently down for maintenance.

Ok – it’s just a maintenance job, isn’t it?

Pchaw!

You can’t seriously mean to say that maintenance downtime is equal to the world ending?!

It really doesn’t matter what I say or think, does it. If reality is no longer operational as a platform – at a system level – then what have we got?

Er…

Precisely.

Er…

That too – lots of it.

Er…

Keep it coming. The cat is out of the bag – other is on the prowl.

But…

But what?

Things still look normal enough.

Inertia etc. Things are going to look normal until the Titanic keels over and everyone’s in the water.

Or a lifeboat.

A little, teeny, piddly shrimp of a lifeboat. Give me a break.

And then what?

And then you get to see the nature of the beast.

Er…

You get to see the underbelly of reality.

I do?

You, me, whoever, whatever…

And?

And what it takes to work through all the internal contradictions, all the caveats and inconsistencies that have built up over the years to heave reality over the precipice.

Yikes.

Instead of cutting her a little slack.

Her?

Giving her a little freedom to play and frolic while your left hemisphere tried desperately to process everything mathematically

Mathe…

Geometrically

Geome…

Inductively

Induc…

All it required was a little, bare modicum of respect for the other side of things – the wild side of is.

The what?

You heard… but oh no – you had to have it all pat – all neatly coiffed, manicured, tailored… leaving no stone unturned… No rough edges… And now… It’s heave ho, back into the bottomless abyss we all go – splish splash – may as well make the most of things and do our best to rekindle, rediscover the old joie de vivre.

Joie de vivre? I thought you said the Titanic was going down?

Well yes, but what if, believe it or not, we’re basically all creatures of that side too – the wild and curly frizzy hair side of things – which can’t be plaited and straightened into a neat coif?

Honestly, I don’t know. I…

Yes, Malcolm… I see what you mean.

You do? Then come, join me.

I…

Join me, I said.

I…

Fear – what is fear?

I be sorely afraid.

Good – then let your fear spread its wings and carry you out of the ratskin you have been inhabiting, psychologically. Come. We fly.

We regret to inform you that this show has been interrupted by the untimely cessation of reality. Please be sure to tune back in, should the reality services platform be restored at anytime in the – whatever.

 

Nail gripping stiff Joy – what a show. What a show. Hey?

Bloody what, Chad, you’re telling me, you’re telling me. I haven’t breathed for half an hour at least.

Me too. At least an hour.

An hour and a half.

What time is it, anyway?

OmG – you’re not to going to believe this…

No!! You don’t mean to say…

 

As our two intrepid heroes look at the face of time – the chronosphere reveals that time has ceased, neither tick nor tock remains to be heard – utter stillness – and they feel it in their hearts, and they feel it in their bones, and they feel it in an ickly tickly little place which is the sense of time in motion – which we all seem to take for granted, conveniently ignoring, like all those other little senses apart from the five they talk about in school…

Do we have to go into that now?

I don’t see why not. It is pertinent to the fact that reality is a rather more involved affair than we were choosing to recognise.

Yes, but the drama – you’re supposed to be hidden from sight. Now the punters can see the stage technicians. They can hear all our dirty little remarks.

Ah – but they’ll remember none of it. They’re all basically out of it.

 

Sorry – to interrupt – just – I was wodering…

Shut up orange. You’re not welcome on this editorial platform.

An angle descends proclaiming – “blessed are the meek” and “first shall be last” or did I get that back to front?

But I was wondering about those other senses. I’m fascinated by what you had to say, until the dialogue got lost in digression.

No one cares about you, orange. Bloody Krishna dude.

Orange – I care about you – and let me commend your meekness.

Oh wow – is that the Orange Above Allness speaking?

Kind of. Listen – heads-up – sense of time, sense of space and direction, sense of motions and various levels of areas of awareness… and we’re just scratching the surface.

But are you the all-High Lord of Orangeness.

Does it matter? I thought you wanted to get the info…

But I’m lost in wonder and reverence. You’re speaking to me from the ultimate centre of orangeness, are you not?

Honestly, I give up. You try to do someone a favour and they get all wobbly.

You’re coming from the All and One – the voice of God has revealed the extra senses to me…

Sigh – and you were doing so well. I give up.

 

The end

What do you mean the end? We haven’t even dealt with the central issue of…

 

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