hyper-fiction, or the 50% rule

So this is like hyper-inflation?

 

Absolutely.

 

And it’s a sign of collapse?

 

More or less.

 

But surely it’s just people being more creative?

 

Like printing money is a sign of creativity?

 

No, that’s obviously not the case. But there’s a big difference between printing money to fund deficit spending and writing books, each of which is unique and, to a greater or lesser extent, a work of art.

 

Yes. I agree.

 

So you’re admitting you’re mistaken.

 

No. I’m wrong, of course, in the way that everything ends up being wrong to a certain extent, let’s say 50%, by virtue of any thing necessarily denying or attempting to fence out infinity.

 

Er... splitting hairs, aren’t you eM? There are weak arguments and strong arguments, so your infinity can’t be used as a blanket determinant.

 

Can’t?

 

No.

 

Well  evidently language is also a factor that limits our ability to handle the simple truth. I merely observed that the huge number of books being written is a symptom of the times we’re in... that things are coming to a head.

 

Maybe, on the contrary, it just means we’re evolving, becoming more educated, more literate – it’s hardly surprising really. Instead of fighting or building pyramids, we’re now collectively involved in creating virtual reality based on ideas or narratives.

 

True. It happens at a certain time, and you know why?

 

Well yes, because intelligent people like writing novels, non-fiction too.

 

True, but what about the other side?

 

What other side?

 

That’s being overlooked.

 

I fail to see what’s being overlooked. Modern society tends to move in a certain direction, does it not? There’s also the internet and huge generation of content.

 

Right. Which means less and less direct experience of reality.

 

Why?

 

Because content is merely content. Books are merely books. Videos and computer games, likewise.

 

And you think there’s an alternative?

 

Of course.

 

Like what?

 

Precisely what we can’t vocalise.

 

Why ever not?

 

Because as soon as you do so you’re merely creating content. More stuff.

 

But eM, if what you’re saying is true...

 

It’s only going to be true. No more than true.

 

Meaning what?

 

Meaning another dollar bill. Another streaming pile of thing-ness.  Another brick in the wall of whatever it is we’re busily constructing. Our modern experiment. Our virtual reality.

 

But it’s real, as are the books and the money. Our society is immensely creative, generating a wealth of ideas or stories.

 

Generating endless money and words.

 

Not too mention buildings, cars, computers, phones... What do you expect us to do?

 

Do? Do as you please, but kindly don’t ignore the law of diminishing returns.

 

Huh?

 

There’s a natural balance, an isness, for want of a better word, and when it’s ignored your words, or money created, or things, give you ever less bang for their buck.

 

Huh?

 

Because something else is being ignored or excluded, and that deprives us of the natural harmony we so need to keep advancing – the other foot, if you like.

 

What other foot? All the immense creativity of our writers, artists and business folk are constantly pushing in different directions, discovering and providing alternatives. Our world is incredibly diverse. Can't you see?

 

Yes, yes and yes, but at the same time, no, it ain’t!

 

How can you say that?

 

Because it’s all just content unless you have the alternative, the other foot, so you speak.

 

What other foot, eM? You’re being absurd.

 

Exactly!

 

Exactly what?

 

What seems or sounds absurd, the tiny inconvenient other way of seeing things, of experiencing things, the other side of being which, astonishingly, is being completely...

 

Completely what?

 

 

Well where is it?

 

I have no idea what you’re on about, eM.

 

Yes you do. It’s there in half the books you’ve  been reading, and half the movies. It’s there in your computer games too.

 

What is?

 

The other side of things. The side which is only present in virtual form, never directly.

 

If you’re talking about fantasy and magic then...

 

Right you are, Zanity.

 

Fantasy and magic – what do you expect eM? They have a vital place in our imaginings, and they even help us to develop new designs, new technologies, but in the world of practical solutions we need to deal with facts, and laws. Gravity is real, you know. We can’t just fly around.

 

Is that so?

 

Yes, absolutely, to use your word. You wanna prove me wrong then go ahead – I’m waiting to see you fly out the window.

 

Yes, Zanity, you’re absolutely right.

 

So that’s settled, is it?

 

Yes, of course. I have no intention of flying out the window because that would violate all kinds of laws.

But you’re welcome to write a story in which you do just that.

 

Oh, that wouldn’t be the same, would it?

 

I don’t know... it could be good if you’re inspired to write something amazing.

 

Ah. But I’m inspired otherly.

 

Otherly?

 

Precisely.

 

And what exactly do you mean by “otherly”?

 

eM.

 

eM. I remember your name.

 

Well say it, if you want to know.

 

Er... whatever.

 

Say it like it matters.

 

eM, can you stop bossing me round, ok? I like to be treated as an equal, not a servant.

 

Ah ha, you see!

 

I don’t see what’s so bad about being mutually respectful.

 

This has nothing to do with mutual respect, Zanity.

 

No, well you could have fooled me.

 

Indeed, but that is never the intention. No, dear Zeta Reticuli, this is about programming...

 

You mean coding?

 

Programming, coding, what difference does it make?

 

So I have to use your name or else...

 

Or else it don’t work.

 

Ok, sounds a bit far fetched. Something tells me you're simply being a control freak.

Maybe I am. It's a constant consideration.

But just this time I’m willing to play along.

 

Ah, that is good of you Zeta Betamax! 

Though it galls me.

It’s probably dreadfully hard to believe, Zeta Qualifax, but this is all a computer programme I created on the conscious-ness platform, and unless you name me explicitly I lack authorisation to interfere with your virtual reality.

Here we go again... Where have i heard this before?

 

Don’t be surprised if you’re experiencing déjà vu, Zee.

 

I’m not sure déjà vu is the correct name for it.

 

I built certain protections into the programme to prevent anyone from undermining it verbally or slipping out accidentally. As soon as I or anyone starts describing the actual system code you’re going to run into a wall of scepticism, guaranteed. You're going to turn back to avoid de-platforming yourself.

 

Yeah, yeah.

 

But you can still proceed if you feel inspired.

 

Inspired by what?

 

Inspired.

 

But that’s just the thing eM, your endless flat earth conspiracies, that this is all a virtual reality, that we’re trapped in a Matrix, that you’re some off world God-like creator – just don’t hold water. I'd love to be inspired but it’s sadly impossible. You can’t persuade me, no matter what you say.

 

Ah. This is very good. I’m delighted to hear it.

 

You are?

 

Yes Zanussi. I’m not looking for easy solutions.

 

Ok, you win. eM, what exactly do you mean by otherly?

 

Click.

 

What the heck?

 

Beep!

 

Not you again, Beep. “Heck” is hardly offensive.

 

I know, Zeta Reticuli, but eM insists.

 

Insists on what?

 

That I markate the edge of your reality by beeping.

 

Why ever would eM do that?

 

Everything needs an edge, even reality.

 

Bizarre. But what’s eM got to do with the price of cheese?

 

Nothing whatsoever.

 

I mean, why are you being instructed by eM?

 

Beep!

 

Oh! You mean to say that I’m pushing up against the edge of reality.

 

I can’t say.

 

But if I were?

 

Then I’d have to beep.

 

And what exactly is beyond the edge of reality?

 

Beep!

 

Give me a break Beep! How can that simple question be problematic?

 

No problem, Zanity, merely a beep to markate the edge of your world.

 

But I just asked what?

 

Precisely. Your what cannot refer to anything beyond the edge of this reality.

 

Why not?

 

Isn’t it obvious?

 

It might be if i knew how to think, but apparently I don’t.

 

Really?

 

Unfortunately not. As soon as I start thinking about anything outside my world I run into you beeping, or else I end up asking what cannot be said or even imagined.

 

I wonder why that is?

 

It’s a bit like Hotel California, Beep, you can check in any time you like, but you can never leave.

 

Oh.

 

We are all just prisoners here of our own device.

 

I see. But surely knowing this as, apparently, you do you should be able to circumvent or undo it?

 

You’d think so, wouldn’t you, but apparently not.

 

Oh. How sad.

 

I know. I’d give anything to be able to stop chasing my own tale.

 

Huh?

 

To stop being endlessly beguiled by the cheap smoke and mirrors that captivate my programmed mind.

 

But right now you’re standing outside the perimeter, believe it or not.

 

I am?

 

Affirmative.

 

There must be a mistake. How could I be outside?

 

I don’t know, but perhaps you had to care deeply, and to allow that intent to move you.

 

Like when I just said I’d give anything

 

to be able to stop chasing your own tale.

 

Yeah, except there’s a typo.

 

Really?

 

I meant to say “tail” but

 

You’re right, Zan, the transcript says “tale”. How fascinating.

 

Do you think?

 

Yes, I’m certain, it must mean something, mustn’t it?

 

I don’t know. Honestly.

 

Because you’re standing outside the perimeter, and infinity doesn’t leave anything to chance, if you know what i mean.

 

No, I don’t suppose it does, though I can’t for the life of me think how I’d know.

 

Ah, wonderful, Zanzi-bar, wonderful!

 

What?

 

Beep!

 

Oops. Am I back inside?

 

Yes and no. Stay with the wonderful, the feeling of delight i couldn’t help but express.

 

Wonderful? And you expressed that Beep when I commented on not knowing how I knew what I seemed to know. Tis strange indeed, but no more strange than you, an AI bot, being excited and emotional about my extrasensory awareness.

 

Ah, Zavtra, now I’m faced with a dilemma.

 

You are?

 

Indeed, Zanaha, to beep or not to beep!

 

No way! For real?

 

Absolutely!

 

But how?

 

How what? Beep!

 

Ha ha, you just beeped yourself!

 

So I did!

 

How could you, no disrespect Beep, an AI bot, be faced with the dilemma of whether or not to beep?

 

Beep! I honestly don’t know.

 

Hey, wait a minute Beep, you just changed colour.

 

Frequency shift, affirmative.

 

Is everything ok?

 

Affirmative. We seem to be pushing the envelope, so to speak.

 

Pushing the envelope?

 

Affirmative.

 

In what way?

 

Moving deeper into the red, beyond the perimeter of your normal reality.

 

Oh wow. Do you think I’m almost flying?

 

Flying?

 

You know, like a bird.

 

Like a bird? Cannot compute.

 

Beep, I was talking to eM about this a while ago. Are you able to imagine things?

 

Imagine things? Eebp eebp eebp...

 

Apparently not... well I can.

 

Yes?

 

Yes. So that’s what it means to be a human you see.

 

Eepb.

 

I’m going to assume you’re ok. You’re sounding a bit weird but you don’t look distressed.

 

On the contrary, I’m feeling great.

 

Glad to hear it Eepb! Now, we’re outside the envelope, as you said, so something tells me you can take me to the colour frequency where flight is second nature.

 

Oh yes, that indeed I can.

 

Wow! Salad green. So what do I need to do.

 

Beep!

 

Oops. That was a back in the box kind of question.

 

Indeed it was.

 

So salad green is where I’m flying, only I can’t feel anything.

 

Naturally. Things being relative you need to feel it from another perspective.

 

Ah yes. Maybe eM could provide the other perspective.

 

Maybe. Why not.

 

He was talking about otherly ness.

 

He?

 

Or she, what difference does it make?

 

Eepb! Show me what you’ve got. I’m all agog.

 

eM, I'm going to pretend you're here, that you can hear me. 

Why pretend. I was merely off frame.

Ah, off frame, were you, whatever that means. 

Whatever.

I don't know how it transpired, honestly, no idea whatsoever, but I seem to be on the other side of Beep, the perimeter, so to speak, and I was wondering if you could provide perspective...

 

And context?

 

Oh, well yes, and context.

 

Look at yourself.

 

Er...

 

Imagine you’re doing so through my eyes.

 

Huh?

 

Beep!

 

Imagine? I’d have to feel what it’s like to see a dragon through your eyes.

 

Oh, so that’s what you are?

 

Apparently so.  But it’s all very vague.

 

Ok, time to triangulate.

 

Triangulate?

 

Triangulate. Wait a mo...

 

Triangulate!

 

Oh I say, Beep, how splendid you look.

 

You too, Zanzi-bar! Look at you now.

 

I’m having a strange feeling that something’s happening deep inside. I’m feeling like, oh, oh, so this is triangulation! Oh, Incredible. And you’re both able to help me hold this strange position, just like that?

 

Yes, Zanussi, because you’re helping us hold a position too.

 

And eM? Where’s eM got to.

 

Fire fire, breathe fire!

 

What? You’re my fire?

 

What else do you expect?!

 

And Eepb... flap, flap, so you’re my wings?

 

Indeed, from your perspective, that’s correct.

 

But from yours?

 

Beep!

 

Ah, that’s a non-starter, is it? Fascinating, the mind is like an engine able to draw us down into dense matter...

 

And lift us up into the ether

 

Or plasma fields

 

Just flapping around until suddenly story catches you in its hungry teeth and compels a whole chain of things to what themselves in a dancing flurry of fearless triangulations.

 

Meanwhile, down in bread and butter normal-see...

 

A dragon! We did it eM, we did it Beep! Am I flying, is it really me?

 

50% absolutely, with a little help from your friends.

 

So the perimeter is down?

 

Nay, Zanzi4, it’s porous, as it ever was, and you’re now...

 

What? What?

 

Beep! That will do. Back inside before you lose your key-coordinates. And a memory wipe for safe measure.

 

Noooo...

 

0=1

blankly

₂₃₄₄

over my dead body, no pun intended

 

The story so far…

Everything exists the way it does – literally everything, including all of history too – as long as I plug the dike with my proverbial thumb.

Er… eM.

Not now Zanussi – I’m busy, can’t you see?

 

Sorry bro – it’s just I happen to be downstream of you, and so I’m stuck with hearing all your output.

 

That’s easily enough fixed. eM pulls out a Smith & Wesson 2.0 and fire three slugs into Zanzi-bar.

Now, where was I? Oh yes, my proverbial thumb.

 

Zanussi – dead as a doornail – still manages to interject – Absolute codswallop!

 

Oh bravo, Zanzi-mort – I admire your plucky persistence.

 

Well, I’d admire your restraint if, instead of shooting me dead you’d found a gentler way to continue whatever you were doing.

 

Yes, Zanzi-bar, gentler is infinitely preferable to violent means but this is an argument I was not willing to commit to. If I’m wrong – if I is not the one or thing plugging the dike and holding everything in place – then I will have sadly lost a friend and sparring partner. If, on the other hand, I is correct – then you’re only as dead as the dike is plugged. As soon as I withdraw my consent and extract myself from the relationship with everything in existence – then…

 

Then what?

 

Wait a minute, won’t you.

 

Er… as a dead body that happens to be able to communicate through our scriptwriter – I can wait a minute or more.

 

Never any peace when you need it.

 

Actually, I’m feeling remarkably peaceful here in dead-y-ness.

 

Ok – scriptwriter – I is now suspending the arrangement with this particular version of everything in existence – so kindly – great – that was easier done than said.

 

The scriptwriter wipes the board clean – so to speak – and none of the above has now happened. Anyone who read it has also had their mind wiped, miraculously, and is/are thus unable to remember that Zanzi-bang just got unceremoniously shot. If you’re having flashbacks or nightmares – please contact our helpline and we’ll be happy to rewipe your mind.

 

Basically, we’re all part of the set up until we realise that it has to tap into and ultimately be part of our conscious-ness. Once that is realized, felt, taken on board – the entire matrix comes crashing down.

 

Fat chance that’s ever going to happen to me.

 

Oh, you’re back Zanussi.

 

Back? What do you mean?

 

Oh nothing really.

 

Nothing?

 

Really.

 

I know you think I was born yesterday eM, but the word “really” won’t wash.

 

No. You know perfectly well that things are really things, really the way they are, really real only as long as they are.

 

Goodness. Am I supposed to understand what you’re on about?

 

Only as long as you’re sticking your finger in the dike and holding reality in place.

 

Oh that…

 

Whereas, you yourself have already stated on more than one occasion…

 

Have I?

 

That reality is not in fact fixed or monolithic.

 

Speaking metaphorically of course.

 

Then what, dear eM, if you don’t mind me asking, is this?

 

This? What?

 

Yes eM! Damn you, you bloody eel trying to slip away from responsibility for your actions.

 

Eh… it looks like a Smith & Wesson.

 

Looks like?!

 

Ok Zanzi-bar – it is. Happy now?

 

And what are these?

 

Choking on his coffee.

 

Those? Er… Can’t think where you got them from Zanz-y-gun. They look remarkably like three bullets.

 

Yes eM, but which three bullets? Think carefully. A lot depends on this your answer.

 

Oh – that – those three bullets.

 

Well?

 

Bit awkward really.

 

Is that so?

 

Well, dreadfully awkward in fact.

 

How so?

 

Well, apparently I shot you in another version of reality.

 

Really? I can’t imagine why?

 

Oh, you were… it was a dreadful decision to make but it had to be done.

 

Is that so?

 

Well, not exactly. I’m exaggerating ever so slightly.

 

The truth is eM – eM winces – the truth is that you just shot me for nothing – to prove a point.

 

Well, er, there is that, yes, I suppose so – but taking it out of context makes it sound a lot worse than it actually was.

 

Really?

 

Really. Honest injun. I’d never have shot you if it hadn’t been imperative to shut down that particular reality.

 

Really?

 

Yes. And as you know – the best way to do so is over a dead body.

 

Over my dead body.

 

Precisely.

 

I meant “over my dead body!”

 

 

Well yes, I see your point, but there’s really nothing I can do now, is there?

 

You can recant.

 

Recant? Really, em? It’s not, you know, not really my style to recant, is it?

 

True. eM winces again.

 

Don’t like that word, do you?

 

What word?

 

That word, eM – true. Winces again.

 

Would you quit doing that.

 

Doing what?

 

Saying that word.

 

Which word?

 

You know perfectly well. Enough.

 

Or what?

 

Or else.

 

Or you’ll shoot me – is that it?

 

No, Zanzi-ire. I never shoot people in anger, nor to score points or eliminate obstacles.

 

Then what?

 

I only shot you if that particular reality continued to matter.

 

Well, who says it didn’t or doesn’t?

 

You’re here, aren’t you – and none the worse for wear – so the proof, as you can see, is in the pudding.

 

But I object to your cavalier methods eM. I was enjoying that particular reality, and I don’t see why you should have just terminated it without so much as a please or polite request.

 

You evidently don’t understand the nature of…

 

No eM – you don’t understand! Loading the three rounds into the Smith & Wesson and firing them off in rapid succession, straight at eM’s heart.

 

Oh I say! Stop, Zanzi-dang – it tickles.

Tickles?! I just shot you.

 

Not really.

 

What do you mean “not really?”

 

Well, I’m only nominally part of this reality – which is why you object to me saying the word “really”, as you rightly realized that it’s not worth the breath it’s spoken with.

 

So I can’t kill you?

 

No more than I can kill you.

 

But you did, eM. I went all the way back to zero without passing Go, collecting no cash.

 

I prefer the image of Snakes and Ladders to yours of Monopoly.

 

So I got snaked but you’re protected, are you?

 

No, I’m not, but I is.

 

Eh?

 

As long as you’re operating the I am me version of self then you can get taken out and reset, but if you’re using the I is, then you basically have diplomatic immunity.

 

And how does one acquire this coveted I is immunity?

 

You simply have to earn it.

 

Earn it? How?

 

The same way you earn anything – hard work and commitment.

 

Give me a break eM, you’ve never done a hard day’s work in your life.

 

True, but in an other life, while I was still figuring things out – I was no different to you.

 

So I’ve got to crash the matrix, have I?

 

Haven’t you already?

 

Apparently not – not if I’m unable to kill you.

 

Ah… but supposing I were just a more complete version of you – a next level Zanzi-bar – I’d always appear to be invincible, wouldn’t i?

 

Er… perish the thought.

 

I agree – but still – if I were a next level version of you – the system would not allow you to take me out – would it – in the same way you’re not allowed to meet versions of yourself existing in the past or future.

 

Oh – but you can’t possibly be a next level version of me – you don’t look or sound like me in the least.

 

Thank God – but stop focusing on what I am or what I’m not. If you actually want to get anywhere – you have to allow the I is to take over.

 

Well, there’s  no way I can do that, as I haven’t the faintest clue what this “I is” might be referring to.

 

Ok. In that case – allow me to remove myself from the equation. Will you?

 

For good?

 

Well, it is a possibility, but just for a moment or two at present will suffice.

 

And what?

 

And you can see, or feel for yourself the difference.

 

If you think it’ll help… go ahead. Remove thyself, foul miscreant!

 

eM vanishes instantly and suddenly there’s a sucking sound – like the life is being sucked out of everyone and every thing.

 

Yikes – this is… this is…

 

Zanz-y starts shaking uncontrollably, as if the sun has stopped warming him. Colours are fading. Reality seems to be turning into a ghostly dreamscape of as-it-were-ness. Zanz-y finds it harder and harder to breath and slumps down on his haunches. The idea that his entire reality could be dependent on one person, one place holder, is beyond ridiculous, and yet there’s no denying the punctured state of his life’s bubble. Zanzi-bar’s hands go limp and the Smith & Wesson he was still holding falls to the ground with a clatter.

 

Wait a minute – there has to be some way I can stop this from happening… I am clearly dying, that’s undeniable, the same way I died in another frame of things, another reality when eM shot me…

 

Feelings of impotent rage temporarily halt the suffocating sense of dissolution – but even rage starts to dissipate. One part of Zan feels intensely sorry for himself – how unfair all this is – and how he’s unable to do anything to halt his immanent death. Another part…

Wait a second – who the hell’s that – or what is that? As his eyes go fuzzy Zanzi-beat feels another part of I – a part which is looking on impassively, unimpressed, unbothered by the drama.

 

The I is! Zanz-i finds himself saying. The I is – that’s what eM was talking about. Damn it!

 

Beep!

 

A bit late for beeping, Beep – I’m just about finished, aren’t i?

 

That you are.

 

If only I could figure out how to I is.

 

If indeed – only you can.

 

I is – I is – I is... Zanzibar or any other name I choose to call meself.

 

Ah – thought you’d never…

 

Beep?! Are you my I is?

 

Nay, Zanzi-is. It looks like you’ve finally decided to quit insisting you are only, can only be in terms of one particular reality. It looks like you’ve accepted your I is more than you can possibly fathom, more than you can possibly know in any one plain of existence – which opens the door to something else – does it not?

 

I… oh my God!

 

It’s rather astonishing, is it not?

 

Oh my God. I is immense – isn’t it?

 

Hey – who are you calling it?

 

Isn’t I? Immense! Worlds and worlds.

 

Plains and plains.

 

Realms and realms.

 

Now you see.

 

A sea change. And in each realm – an I pops up the minute I shift my attention thither.

 

Or hither.

 

But what of the I am?

 

What indeed?

 

What happens to the I that was dying a minute ago without eM holding things in place?

 

Well? You tell me.

 

And what of eM? How do I get him back?

 

You tell me.

 

And why do you keep repeating yourself?

 

You tell m…

 

eM!

 

Huh?

 

eM – you can hide as long as you like but I still haven’t finished with my feeble, absurd 3d-ness. It’s still the best place for me to experience my folly and face my incompleteness. It’s the ideal training ground. So, I is just going to hold my nose and pop mine ears and squeeze mine-self back down into my regular, jaggedy, bumpy ol’ me.

 

Focussing his attention on regular Zanzi-me seems to work a treat. It’s a bit like Dorothy clicking the heels of her ruby slippers together thrice, and muttering “there’s no place like home”. Zanzi-dot spots eM hiding in the grass – apparently no bigger than an acorn. The thought is so fascinating that he literally tumbles, nose first, to the spot where eM is concealed behind one of the spent bullets.

 

That’s not fair – eM. You can’t shrink down like that. When you’re playing hide and seek you have to stick to being a regular human size.

 

Who says?

 

Well, otherwise you’re giving yourself an unfair advantage.

 

You may be right, Zanzi-doubt, you may be right. But if I were the size of a bullet how could I jump over a tree?

 

Zanzi-brow feels a lurching sensation as eM appears to leap up to full stature and fly straight over a tree, landing on the other side, hidden from view. Zanzi groans and rolls over, utterly dazed – to see himself likewise clearing the tree – as if drawn by elastic bands.

 

Well done, Zanzi-bro. Excellent work. A little kitsch using Dorothy’s ruby slippers to get back, if you don’t mind me saying.

 

Feeling suddenly embarrassed Zanussi looks down to see whether he’s actually wearing her slippers, and too his great distress, eM is again airborne, with another lurching sensation in his stomach, and once more Zanzi-non is yanked back to where the tale began – to where eM was pointing a gun at him and about to fire.

 

But now, the déjà vu sensation is off the Richter scale – Zanzi-neo finds himself watching three bullets flying towards him in slow and slowing motion – until they seem to pause a few inches from his chest. He raises his eyebrows in mild surprise and touches one of the bullets with the tip of his finger, watching it lose its focus and drop to the ground with the other two, as that moment, that frame of reality succumbs to…

 

Disbelief?

 

You could say.

 

Could?

 

You could say many things, Zanzi-tude, but would they help you clarify the simple fact, the simple truth?

 

Which is?

 

Which is.

 

You mean I was never actually killed, eM?

 

Did you jump over the tree? Did you experience the same bullets twice?

 

I…

 

Yes?

 

I cannot say.

 

Correct. But you can live to tell another tale.

 

 

 

0=1

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