the green room

 

Professor Etheldween? You're pulling my leg right?

 

No Morg, I'm absolutely not.

 

Hey cut that out. I’m emphatically not Morg.

 

Sorry Ghana, it was a typo.

 

Nor am I Ghana. Would you quit fooling around. It's bad enough that you’ve Morgan’d me, without the added indignity of being reduced to a third world African state.

 

Third world African state? You should be honoured by an association with Mighty Ghana, but if you don't get it, if you're lost in a world of division and spite, we’ll just have to hold our nose and leave it at that.

 

Kindly do so, and while you’re at it, a little basic respect would do wonders for your likeability and success at communicating your crucial message.

 

Crucial message? Er...

 

Just sayin. You can twit around all you like, if you so need, but you seem to be a master at shooting yourself in the proverbial foot.

 

Well, Greeta, you certainly have a lot to say for yourself today. It looks like Professor Etheldween isn't going to get a word in edgeways.

 

Frankly, Jimmy, I don't really believe in this Engledweeb of yours.

 

More’s the pity Morgan but, be that as it may, he’s speaking today in G-nome’s Green Room.

 

No way! In the Green Room?

 

You heard.

 

And unless you want to miss the opportunity of visiting what has often been described as the Holy of Holies at G-nomeportal, you’re going to have to swallow your anger and pride and meekly attend on his Eminence.

 

His Eminence?

 

Well yes, he’s one of the seven, isn't he.

 

One of the seven portal mage’s? You're kidding. I thought they all bore tree titles.

 

As, indeed they do. Professor Etheldween is Ash, but today he’s appearing in a different capacity, as a master of thought, not a mage of the Rood.

 

Oh... I see. Why is this always so...

 

Complicated?

 

Yes.

 

It's only complicated to the rational mind. Infinity is actually incredibly simple once you’re ready to accept its basic nature.

 

Nature? I thought it was a number, or something that can’t be quantified.

 

As it is on the left or right side of things, but elsewhere it's more a mood, an essence or, in some respects, an entity.

 

Yikes. An entity?

 

Well isn't that what you are?

 

Er, I guess so.

 

You could hardly expect it to be any less than you, could you?

 

I suppose not.

 

So, it’s only as complicated as the extent to which you seek or need to box or label it, thereby reducing it to something manageable for your pretty little rational mind. The minute you're willing to as-is it...

 

?

 

To take it as it is, that's when it becomes, or starts to become childishly simple.

 

Er... Very interesting Jamaiz, but shouldn't we be on our way if we’re due to attend this lecture. It starts at sundown, doesn’t it?

 

Don’t worry, I took the liberty.

 

Huh?

 

I took the liberty of attending us already.

 

?

 

We’ve been there ever since it starts, an hour ago.

 

Starts?

 

It’s a timey-wimey feature, Gorgon.

 

M not G, you swine!

 

Do excuse me, Organ-M! Names have the habit of dephasing and squirling as we approach infinity.

 

Ok, if that's what it is. So if we've been there at the lecture for an hour already how do we tune into our other ness?

 

Good question. Try this.

 

A fish?

 

Put it in your mouth.

 

Do I have to?

 

No, not if you know a better way, but this will certainly work, and fast.

 

Oh, but it looks so...

 

It’s a narka. That's what they look like until you've plugged in.

 

Here goes.

 

Morgan le Fay places the narka in her mouth which instantly silver-lines her insides, top to bottom, tipping the balance of things onto the infinitely slippery, zero friction side of Um. The reality she was occupying is instantly reassigned to a narka colony of the Pink Dolphin Nebula, leaving Morgan free to slide into another spiral branch of infinity.

 

***********************************************************

 

 

 

Ah Morgana, there you are. We were expecting you.

 

Professor Engledweeb.

 

Ah hem, it’s actually Etheldween, but don't worry, we shall overlook your solecism.

 

My apologies grand master.

 

“Your Eminence” will do, or here in the Green Room, among friends you may call me Jock.

 

Jock?! Giggling

 

Yes, but be sure to readjust your dweeb transducer – you’re still in stuff-n-bother 3D phase, aren't you?

 

Morgana makes this adjustment and immediately sees Jock in his true light, sensing the numerical significance of his unassuming name, evidently a play on the relationship between Pi and the golden ratio, evidently a shout out to Scottish ancestry, a name that subtly wrong-foots the intransigent self-importance of reality.

 

My apologies Jock, I made a rather foolish entrée.

 

Not to worry Morgana. Le Fays are known for their gaffs yet remain, nonetheless, highly valued members of the G-nome community. In fact, infinity, as all of you know, thrives upon occasional indiscretions, or apparent...

 

Cock ups!

 

Well thank you, Master Travers.

 

Squiddly bloops!

 

Indeed, Hannah Quey.

 

Er... Er... 27s

 

Indeed, Lord Lookfoot.

 

Morgana glances round and now, in Phurry phase, sees the large crowd assembled to hear Etheldween talk. Far from being daunted she feels entirely at home in this setting, after all, le Fays have always taken such matters in their stride, have they not?

 

“So without further ado, I’d like to call this assembly to iffly-ness,” announces Stellar Swine, Mistress of the moment, and warmly welcome our speaker today, a man who needs no introduction, our very own, utterly incomprehensible yet always highly entertaining Edwin Etheldween of the Ash grove.

 

Polite tapping of feet and hear-hear-ing.

 

Nothing gives me greater pleasure than to... Etheldween begins speaking in a murmerous voice, weaving a web of words which, like sea snakes, coil and move in the air above the heads of the audience. This is an experience beyond the rationality of flat-screen comprehension. It unravels the basic assumptions of who or what each of the attendees is or might be. One by one they dis-en-me/ are dis-en-me-ed by Jock’s meek and unassuming speech until the entire assembly shifts into the wavy line, snakey phase of Essy-ness, leaving only a token aspect of self sitting on the chair, a place marker, nothing more. The real lecture is more a dance, a murmur of starlings flying round, a snakey swarm in the air, a meeting of kindred souls in qufie’s endless here-y-now. Le Fay, at first, resists the lure, wanting to observe all from her body-mind but she too allows Jock, the Green Room and iffly-nuff to work their magic, slipping into the not-whatness of Is. The snakey dragons are now a fully-fledged singularity, even as Jock drones on...

 

The quantum field, as you all know, is not a here or there. It cannot be pinned down or controlled any more than infinity itself. Simply stated – it is i am...

 

Huh?

 

It is i am...

 

But...

 

It is i... the dancing dragon ring is frozen in expectancy, awaiting completion, its culmination still unvoiced, unresolved, the pregnant um of am.

Indeed – the am will not be suppressed, will not be denied, the am that rises up from the depths of infinity as am-ma the mother force, the very same amma that births all that is living, all that is...

In another quadrant of infinity Etheldween continues as a walrus perched on an ice floe.

In your body, in 3D, you gaze at a rock, inert, a thing, and your rationality tells you what it is – a rock – you think automatically, a rock, a thing, a rock, before you can prevent yourself. Thus is 3D reality – a constant assertion of what is what, without which things would cease to matter, things would cease, believe it or not, to be things. Qufie, on the other hand, neither denies nor affirms the rock as rock, neither ignores nor fixates the 3D version that rock be-eth rock, otherly. Qufie it is i am’s to infinity, beyond speed of thought, beyond doubt, beyond belief, accepting, exploring, evaluating the isness of be, the totality of rock is if i am, as equally i am if rock is, for anything less, anything else would be to deny the totality, deny the basic ness, the fundamental relationship between one thing and is as opposed to an other, to take as proof of pudding the fig leaf scarcely concealing infinity, thereby ignoring, disingenuously, the Shiva to your Brahma, the absence to your certitude, the is to your what.

 

A rock?

 

“But I’m not a thing” you may be thinking, you may indeed, and that too is part of the totality, a mildly disconcerting discombobulation, an awareness of separateness, which howsoever true does not, cannot preclude an other, an underlying unity, the oneness, an isness of be...

 

Observe the words – their cymatics dancing through iterations of is, geometries leaping unexpectedly from disorder while the collective unconsciousness of our audience dances at the very edge of matter, the coal face of meaning itself, chiselling away, feeling the rock yielding to the axe of is-fulness (for want of a better expression), revealing blow by blow the tortuously slow emergence of a David, the genius of a Michelangelo, from a formless lump.

 

Yes indeed, the power of creation, a new master spark, star in a jar, a new universe in the offing, is a consummation devoutly to be wished, readily to be achieved, as soon as I is willing to engage, to roll or flow with the totality of am, releasing the matter of time-bound-thing, an endless quest for verification, to nought, without presuming, forbearing relying on the conveniently linear contrivance of absurdly uni-directional time. Here, observe our dragon ring spinning both ways simultaneously – it is evolving into i am – i am decaying to it is; big bang and entropy: matter, spirit, passion and an age of Kali where the beast consumes itself, thus clearing the board, thus releasing the tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nought.

 

Observe, here in our hallowed halls of G-nomeportal, the simplest relationship, the Petra on which the Church of State, the state of matter is founded. Each of us a trillion rocks, maybe more, each of us atoms, tiny things, mere carriers, an infinitesimal packet of space-matter-time, and yet, at the other end a me, confused, without a doubt, bedraggled perhaps, but a me nonetheless. And now, star in the jar these two data points – allow the basic light of awareness to connect the dots, and reveal the infinite paradox that each of us comprises, the double helix, the mobius strip that we be, and what have you?

 

Chaos!

 

Insanity!

 

Music!

 

Light!

 

Death!

 

Ave Maria!

 

Magic!

 

Pain!

 

These, dear dragons awakening, wave-forms y’making... these and words without end, words, and worlds nestling in the folds of almost-matter and all be meaning, rocks waiting, looking for spirited beings, awaiting Spirit worthy to tame its heavy-ness with fire and light, to temper its gloom with joy and incandescent gaiety.

 

Ah, matter! The mother awaiting a child, awaiting time’s turning tide, as life flows back and round her headland, into the bay, washing up on a beach, reaching into the furthest rock pools teeming with life, separated from All until the tide, until the ocean returns, to drown once again in her isness.

 

As Etheldween’s pitter patter flow of words reaches an undisclosed bend in the road, the Green Room itself seems to take over, while our gentle speaker allows infinity to subsume even himself into its all-full-ness... till nought remains – a slither infinitely thin, the narrowest disk, humming silently in the darkness, shimmering blackly, hovering, a ufo, hinting of light at the blackest gates of dawn, as all the attendees coalesce into the grandeur of nought, the worm itself, ouroboros, spinning at the very speed it would consume itself, unable to more or less its utter absence of deviations or differences...

 

A b b a

 

?

 

A b b a

 

?

 

A b b a

 

A voiceless voice, a wordless word, and before you can say dawns-a-new-day a pulsating, syncopated b  b-b  b, or else the more Beethovian d d-d d, if you prefer, soundeth through the vast echo chamber of iffly-nuff, and by that primal beat, drum unseen, the power of things unleashed, once more into the electromagnetic mothery-ness of a new day.

 

Etheldween, at this particular moment looking suspiciously like Morgan le Fay’s crimped hair with a few stars tossed in concludes:

 

And thus, dear All and One, we celebrate our unique role in the be and end all, as keepers, as guardians of the twelfth, the end and beginning again, through  darkness of the soul’s retreat into Petra, the very rock itself, upon which our venerable g-nomeportal in fact rests, as thus it is, as thus evidently i a...

 

Here! Here! Here... All present and correct, all fully restored to that physicality we so dutifully wear, a skin or body of things fully integrated with our very beingness, it is i am, until we see fit to dis-en-finite, to finally call matter’s bluff in the Green Room with Etheldween, or on the biblical mountaintop, or in a moment of sublime...

 

Stop pulling my hair!

 

****************************************************************************

 

Can't for the life of me imagine why he ended with a b flat.

 

B flat? It was C sharp.

 

Guys, what's wrong with you, it was a Pythagorean zeta quan.

 

Er...

 

It’s the narka, Gorman, you'd better remove it. Here, drink this. Hands her a vial.

 

Euw! That’s gross!

 

But the narka fish disentangles itself from Romanag’s body-mind and slips silently back into iffly-nuff.

 

The end? Things are back to normal again?

 

I guess so, Morgie.

 

Oh for Pete’s sake James – isn’t it time you…

 

Morgan stares in horror as James appears to be frozen on screen – only there’s no apparent screen – they’re walking towards the local park – or were.

 

God, what am I supposed to do? This can’t be real… It’s er…

 

Morgie feels it before it reaches her – in the pit of her stomach – as this lurching sensation, as Time definitely fails to provide the unidirectionality it was hitherto always wont to do.

 

Help – I can’t move! Is her first thought.

 

Fun isn’t it – she hears James’ thought as clear as day.

 

Fun? You’ve gotta be kidding. It’s the final straw.

 

Absolutely. Time to quit yabbering and act, instead.

 

Act? When everything appears to be frozen on screen.

 

Absolutely. It is I am – poetry in motion – a living word – a disk of irreducible isness… and suddenly James is free, released from the bondage of Time – fully reconciled with the world around.

 

Hey – how are you doing that, James?

 

I dunno. How are we communicating voicelessly? We just are. I guess you’ve gotta accept the simple truth – the Petra – the rock that is I am. That seems to be the linchpin.

 

The rock? But rocks can’t move.

 

I know. It’s bizarre isn’t it – but watch me go…

 

James whizzes around – like an energy field in motion, a ufo, an...

 

I wanna wake up. This is horrible.

 

And you call yourself a le Fay, Morgana?

 

I… her eyes spark, fire in the soul erupts like lava – and there you have it, there you are – system integration now complete flashes on a screen somewhere in iffly-nuff while Morgana finds herself inundated with data released, memories and a horrendous in-tray, jobs half-done urgently requiring attention. She’s bewildered by the scale of this enterprise, this undertaking.

 

Morgana, peace. Leave it to them.

 

To who?

 

m

 

Huh?

 

To whom?

 

Ok, ok… to whom?

 

Well, they have many names.

 

Try me.

 

Angels.

 

Oh God.

 

Gnomiki.

 

No.

 

Tachyons.

 

Now you’re talking! Suddenly she feels them moving in – these Tachyons – buzzing around, if buzzing’s the right word – which it ain’t – and through her All, bringing some semblance of relief and order to her raggedy ness, her gaps as yet unfilled..

Come on, system integration’s a big deal. They’ll be wanting to welcome you back.

 

They?

 

Who else – the seven mages – Oak, Ash, Thorn…

 

Oh my God, this is… redacted Please don’t tell me I’ll need to insert another narka. I’m not sure I can face it. Not now. Not today.

 

No... System integration means you’re now rock solid. Feel your Petra. Take it from there.

 

I won’t say what happens next, dear reader. Each of you has access codes – if and when you’re ready to reintegrate, at which point we’ll have something further to discuss. Until that happens, until then-y-now, adios, confreres, consoeurs. There’s simple truth, no more than a rock or a stone, that just happens to house all the code needed to complete the universe, 0=1, or your connection to it – waiting to be discovered, waiting to be stumbled upon, rejected at first, perhaps, resisted vehemently, and finally, sooner or later, when the game is up and nothing remains, by the grace of God – embraced with tears of joy, with gratitude and a thumbs up from old Englehump – or Etheldween himself – if I be not greatly mistaken.

 

 

if 0=1
it is i am
tachyons n’all

 

 

 

 

 

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