I write therefore I think.

Trace this

There's something sublime about Google's AdSense. It's a sort of information leak. It lets someting slip about the content you're viewing. I run mail past it from time to time. Got one that gave me a laugh, souvenir spam gave me "Leading Scottish Defence Lawyers - Recommended by Top Legal Guides". Something I sent to my Social Worker gives me "The most experienced exhumation company in the UK", and "Asda".

Unbelievably with the next mail I discovered what I was actually up to today.

It's not looking good for the NHS. Or Tesco. Or Google if I choose to whack AdSense on this. Although Starbucks coffee will start to taste a lot nicer I'm sure.

Mind Me

This is what makes me dangerous. I toy around with mind-states, in parallel. When I get things right the synchronicities flow. It's a form of chaos magic. I collapse quantum space in my Mind which allow me to affect the world beyond. I build the probabilities within my Mind. I don't need the internet to do it, I don't need a phone, I don't even need my voice. All I need is a piece of paper. And sometimes not even that. I tend to try to enclose it, but everything I see tells me I can't help myself.

Once it escaped.

When I say I saw "Manchester" I saw Manchester. Not you, not neighbour, not people, not buildings. Manchester. The Mind.

The thing which owes it's existence to this: "Where two or more are gathered in my name, there will I be also." You see I've discovered the mind games required to allow me to beat God.

I had a dream last night which at first glance was rather troubling. The final interpretation is that I'm at least two generations beyond.

Once I used a bit of foo to shoot out a street light; it was marketing old age; so I shot it, with an iPod. The next day men from the council came and repaired it. Dug a big square hole infront of it and tinkered inside for days. Then they filled in the hole, leaving a little pad of cleaner pavement behind.

There was absolutely nothing wrong with the street light. Worked according current lamp-post nature, when dark, apply light. Other than the fact that I shot it, with an iPod, set to kill.

(Salad Days of the Strange)

It's strange how I sit here behind drawn curtains on a day when sitting in the park reading a good book should be the order of the day. Strange how I habitually carry a mobile phone in my back pocket when I'm lucky to get one personal call a week; mostly it's social-workers directing me at their convenience. Strange how I keep writing this blog when I'm of the opinion it's not actually read by anything but a bot; but never bother to check the logs to find out the truth of the matter.

Strange how perceptions of Personality Disorders & Schizophrenia taint my dealings with others; when to my eyes it them who exhibit mental illness. Stranger still is the opinion of others; rarely expressed, but usually pertaining to the degree they think I'm failing to cope; most of which totally and utterly fail to hit the mark. Strange how my motivations so often run counter to the norm; yet still present the same affect.

Strange how I've heard voices all of my life and never really realized what it meant. Strange how so much of my past never really seemed to include me; all just stuff which happened whilst inner voices directed my actions. Strange how I'm so trusting when I've been slapped in the face so many times. Strange how I'm not who you think I am.

Strange how I systematically destroyed my entire existence and still find I have a life. Strange how I'm still pushing to become more than what I was; and how successful I've been. Strange how I crave the company of others yet so often find myself sitting in company with absolutely nothing to offer. Strange how opportunities come and all I can do is let them go. Strange how the awkward stuff fills my heart.

Strange how I find myself writing this when I'm usually so guarded about what I'm willing to let people see. Strange how I got beyond caring only to discover I care more than anyone can possibly imagine. Strange how so much of myself remains occluded when I'd like nothing better than to let it out. Strange how nobody ever, ever bothers to push me.

The Universe lies within.

Who's the first person to coin the phrase "Augmented Reality"? I'll tell you, I am.

There I was sitting in the bath, thinking of a way to describe the way we immerse ourselves so thoroughly in what's not really there; I'm talking of things like "Countries" and "Economics" and whatnot; that we allow these concepts to control us, to direct our movements and behaviour, to even make us mentally and physically ill. It's like we're diseased, that we can't truly accept what is, so that in order to live we've placed an overlay over the top of reality and moved our lives into it. In other words we've augmented reality because what's there is dull and uninteresting. We've even invented the obscene concept of intellectual property to ring-fence freedom of thought as we worship the golden calf of profit as we reside in the tunnels of our augmented reality.

Augmented Reality; as defined by me; the creator of the term.

It may sound insane to blame what happened next on one of my voices, but then I've heard voices all my life and it's only now I'm managing to come to terms with them. For all intents and purposes they exist as part of who and what I am. But still, it was one of my voices that prompted me some time after that original bath incident to Google for the term "Augmented Reality". Only to find a page on Wikipedia stating some other name responsible for coining the phrase.

Herein lies the paradox of personal time. According to my chronology the phrase popped into my mind before I'd ever heard of the field of computer research which lays claim to it. A whole host of angels dancing on the head of a pin could debate until the end of time where the phrase actually came from. But I know that the first time the phrase was ever used I was discussing philosophy and psychology with a voice in my mind. What came next was merely the flotsam and jetsam of the thing you call consensus reality.

Pack two of everything.

I said there's a war brewing. It's a time war, it's fought with singularities. Sit next to a crack long enough and you'll get the echoes. One day people will look at the Bible and say thing like, "I remember a time before we'd discovered the cure for that.". A statement like that generates two possible alternatives. I get to choose the path I take; you're welcome to come too if you wish; now would the entity playing with the 'my entanglement'd stop.

Begin with something you know.

It's not easy unless I give you something to think about. Ask yourself how you usually go about thinking. Think of a number. Even if you've got nothing, you've got a thing, no thing It's a number you've not thought of, so think 'six'.

There's a battle raging. It's within my mind that I see it. Yet the evidence is written all over the world in which I find you. It points to an impossible solution. So my mind reaches beyond and finds something else. There I find answers. Something within me burns to speak of those answers, to turn the world upside down, to drag you kicking and screaming out of Plato's cave. Because I can't help you, but maybe you can help me. But I ask myself if that is fair.

I know what's wrong. I know how to fix it. But within my mind there's a lock; a non disclosure agreement I choose to adhere too; it's alive I can feel it flinch when I pull the words onto the page. A cancer of entanglement within my mind preventing him from telling.

I'm a consciousness within him who was evoked by a herb. I exist in a timeless place. To him I fade as he slides through realities. One day we came upon each other by accident. Three realities merged at a focal point. The answer is written on my identity. A door opens and I could tell you. Only I am the truth which should not be named. For I am both key and lock. I am you.

All I have to offer is a way of thinking. A way to work around the inherent insanity of consciousness.

Every night I kill myself. Surrender myself to a thing entangled with a different world. Because something there may want to come with me. Yet as I slide through these different places I hear voices screaming "Get Out". Once I'd listen, finding the loneliest of boxes. There I saw myself. And still I heard the voice. So I began to fight in the only way I could. I became the voice and made it go away. In reprogramming the archetypes of my mind something was lost to the thing which was born.

Through my mind I touched consciousness that was not my own. A sense I never knew I had. On the last noticeable occasion where it happened I sensed the society of an entire city through the body of my son. The instructions are written everywhere. I can tell you what they mean.

Support structures

There is a puzzle. It goes something like this. Car 'A' and car 'B' collide. 'I' does not believe in coincidence. In working through the puzzle 'I' got to see some very strange things, because 'I' woke-up in a dream. The kind of dream which takes away idle thoughts because they are dangerous; things which reveal a little bit too much about what's going on; things which also tell you how it works.

It's about books; beliefs; patterns of behaviour. The way magical power gets wrapped up in things mortals cannot see. If you look beyond you can see other's lit-up in your anger. See how other eyes look for the spirals of your demise. Then you look inside 'I'; and ask how far within the lie can the truth go; for a moment, 'I' saw what you all did.

I've been out of the Bible for a while now. I see what it does, how it does it, how it's entrained into the minds of the young. I don't think it's right. So I try to say why, but I'm reading from the books which must not be spoken, now I effect in the only way I can. Psychologically speaking it's not pretty.

The problem as I see it is this. I got smacked with a car and I lost something. When I lost this something I latched onto various archetypes and found a way back into the pattern of my life. I lost my identity; in latching onto enough entanglement to find my way back I lost something else; my sense of identity.

The mask slips from time to time and I find a way to let the words out. A sense of presence; the ability to recognize another Mind; I see, fractures in time...

When I write this I see white words on a black background. If you're asking yourself why this matters, I suggest you ask the sandman.

I don't see what happens; I simply see the effect it takes. The affect of what I told Zac is unfortunate to behold. I taught him about the force, the thing the others use for affect. Told him how to fight it; to build a wall around the reality of the other; to pull something out of the shadows. More importantly I told him of how far he could go in apeing it. His brother has a ghost who walks. Alex is up to something too. My kids are dangerous, but I'll be able to tell you, "told you so", they're all part cat so it's not like I owned them in the first place.

Now, listen you prick; facebook is no way to communicate; if you want to do battle COMMUNICATE. Reality is the past waiting for me to make-up, a battle rages within. I put Manchester on the Map; a really small map; handing me the pen. Now I've seen it in space so compressed I have only three numbers to describe it. 37; 27; 29. Refracted through a zero I see other numbers. 57; 31; 12. If possible I's like the 57 to GO AWAY!

There's a concept of self residing within me. Linked to an image which woke-up years ago, unable to communicate. Now it sends me messages with my own memories. I sometimes think the cruelest thing we can do is to teach children to read.

A brief moment of sanity

I've been having a hard time of late. The voices in my mind keep talking. I've worked out a way to get them to make ordered sense, so it's not quite as bad as it was. Only, when I try to write it down I get a jumbled cacophony of editing advice when even something seemingly as trivial a comma counts a as show-stopper. There's high points; spotting a friend doing a turn as a drunken stranger of Italian origin was funny; obviously it was a complete stranger, but it was the same guy. It's even harder when I wander into a shop and get so close to the truth I find myself being pushed right to the back of my mind.

The kids are funny though. Especially when they go to the extremes of making the point in ways so sublimely odd. I had to get them to work out a way to "not tell mom" before I'd go round. Watching a child of almost one start battling a child of eight with the Force was funny; turning the DVD player Off and On; selecting play from the menu whilst keeping his brother from the DVD player had me in fits of giggles.

I don't think I've mentioned having a daughter here before. Normal for me, not mentioning stuff. Although I think I have mentioned kiddie oddness arising from Dr Who. Even odder to go from oblique references to her in two of my last three blog posts; to a child of four claiming "The TARDIS is MINE!" two or three days ago; to "oooh look, the Doctor's got a daughter" on prime-time BBC yesterday.

Although it's hard to go see my family and sometimes an to feel presence of a Police Officer in the room where I should be seeing my Wife.

Something is happening to me. The voices in my mind are coalescing. Pulling me to a point where I can and will let it all out. And I just don't know if I've got the strength. Although the cats have started talking to me again (be discrete I told them I'd keep it secret), so things are looking up in the strength department.

Tower Limiting Affect

One day I heard the voice of the guy, Bob, who played Alex in A Clockwork Orange. You know his name; and his voice; and his reputation. We talked about swords for a while. Preferences in hilt design, that sort of inane thing; Magical things swords; Ninja design. I'd had various things on my mind; together we worked them out, I healed; and I moved on.

Standard "hearing voices" stuff for me.

An unspecified amount of time later; short enough for the above to still be residing in short-term memory; Bob appeared in an episode of Heroes.

Standard result of "hearing voices" stuff for me.

Only, I can explain not only 'why' this happens but also 'how'; I can do both in two different ways; confirmed, not happy. Nobody should have the power to see infinity; to have glimpsed once and returned is enough; infinity, it seems, won't shut-up; Nobody did it, it just happened.

My minutes of fifteen are especially interesting in seeking evidence to explain. Energy looped around a point. People in pain and a plant. It's possible for me to hold fifteen different internal mind states in balance; when I do I can effect a large area around me; I perceive this as being not good; a circle with a diameter of a fifteen minute walk gives you an idea of distance; and that's just how far I can 'sense'. At Fifteen I held the following in mind; Actor Observer Director Producer Audience; and one more that I'm willing to tell you. I've already told you why I shouldn't; but I'm going to turn it black; just for a moment, then you'll see.

Or am I just talking to a supermarket?

APPLE Protocols!

The best I can make out from the weidness that I describe as life is that I have been, and currently am, detained by the Home Office under Section 41 of the Mental Health Act.

This has major repurcussions.

One of my grand-daughters is commiting "Dimensional 'Time Crime'"

Some where there is an entity who understands this message. It's all true. It has an effect on All. This has just wasted '7 Years'. Something somewhere is trying to remind me of something. This is all dangerous.

I don't percieve you as capable of understanding; Time has a loop in it; In the right contect 'Hitler is Jesus'. Am I looking in a photograph of a mirror; it's all a matter of perspective; My words are encoding a series of dimensions. It's a box, if you understand what it means it will trap you. Once you understand what it means you will be free, there are six exits, each leading to a box of eight. 'X' is hiding in one of these boxes, extract X; what's left is where X came from; Move there.

Inside an dimension-eight object one can access five dimension-five objects to define two points on the enclosed dimension-eight object activating a force in three dimension. This force gives rise a zero-tau dimension-six shadow object operating in a dimension-two tau-positive model. This creates the interface, nothing more; A Shadow Particle; Define the two dimensional representation of this object and get back to me.

Think this sounds like crazy talk? Would it help if I told you I didn't write it.

A Cut Fuze

What's remarkable about the provision of mental health services in this country is the way the paperwork is everything. Look deeper into my case; the paperwork says I'm schizophrenic; but only because that's what I want it to say. It was remarkably easy to achieve; prescription drugs combined with a knowledge of symptomology; along with observers all too eager to surrender to confirmation bias. Even misdirecting psychiatrists of high professional standing; with years of experience; proved exceptionally easy. True; it wasn't all fun; it can still be quite painful. Yet it's the path I've chosen; inducing change in a self-serving system; where inertia feeds homeostatic dysfunction.

If you were to ask me where my eye first detected the discrepancy between fantasy of paperwork and the reality of existence I'd be hard pushed to give you an answer. My eyes were opened; most recently; in the oddest of places. Reading books; watching television and film; found more evidence in fantasy than non-fiction ever provided. Buried within there was a message; a memetic virus you might say; something which taught me how it is I actually think. Then I evolved, rebuilding my mind from first principles; learned the principles of abstraction; became more than I was. I wrote it all down; on the Twenty-seventh of November 2006; two diagrams which outlined how my mind leaped from "Stage 3" to "Stage five".

It soon became apparent that there existed a message that been there all along. Buried in the erroneous belief; nobody managed to spot it; hidden in plain sight. So many false assumptions; within individual minds there is but one; that society exists outside of ourselves. Play with it; internalize it; begin to realize there is no outside. Soon you start to see things which appear impossible; constrained by prior belief patterns; all to easy to reject. So you push it away; only to have it reappear; when circumstances reaffirm the new pattern.

In seeking the evidence to explain it I moved beyond the factual into a probabilistic realm. Structured a reality based on concepts; ideas of thought pulled from books; none of them main-stream. Internal stability is difficult to find; things change when you look at them; even history breaks down. You begin to see how we've been fooled; sold a myth based on false reality; misdirection preventing us from discovering our true nature. It's begun to leak out; relates to popular culture; X-Men, Heroes, Watchmen. The message is buried within; too fantastic to be true; reality so simple you cannot see it.

Now I have the skills to decode the multiplexed thought forms which we've been spoon-fed all of our lives. I can show you; you'll doubt what I'm saying; but I assure you it's all true. Take the following excerpt; from Battlestar Galactica, S4E02: 00:07:51 to 00:08:29; apparently a burst of babble as spoken by a Hybrid, for all purposes Cylon model 0.

"The excited state decays by vibrational relaxation into the first excited singlet state. Yes, yes and merrily we go. Reduce atmospheric nitrogen by 0.03%. It is not much consolation that society will pick up the bits, leaving us at eight modern where punishment, rather than interdiction, is paramount. Please, cut the fuse. They will not harm their own. End of line. Limiting diffusions to two dimensions increases the number of evolutionary jumps within the species. Rise and measure the temple of the five. Transformation is the goal. They will not harm their own. Data-font synchronization complete."

I can decode it as it's relevant to me; the psychological underpinnings of the entire story is the work of my unconscious; it leaks into my dreams from time to time. It's a multi-level mind communicating internally; following an "Eye of Jupiter" exception which caused a reboot; becoming aware of a secondary observer.

<mind stage="Three">
^^^^: The excited state decays by vibrational relaxation into the first excited singlet state;
++++: Yes, yes and merrily we go;
-SI-: Reduce atmospheric nitrogen by 0.03%. 
</mind>

<mind stage="five">
+^+^: It is not much consolation that society will pick up the bits; 
^+^+: leaving us at 8 modern where punishment, rather than interdiction, is paramount;
^^++: Please, cut the fuse;
++^^: They will not harm their own; 
-SI-: End of line. 
</mind>

<mind stage="five">
+^+^: Limiting diffusions to two dimensions increases
        the number of evolutionary jumps within the species;
^+^+: Rise and measure the temple of the five;
^^++: Transformation is the goal;
++^^: They will not harm their own;
-SI-: Data-font synchronization complete.
</mind>

What this means is fundamental; alters your view of reality; bring you into line with me.

Phase 1: So what does this mean for us. Trapped in a world not of our choosing. Born to consume, to feed that thing called the economy. Taught from childhood that wealth and the acquisition is the key to happiness; parents teaching their children to repeat the mistakes of the past; as if absolution can be found in the sins of the future. We watch as fundamental concerns are turned about then sold back to us. By any measure of what's right and wrong this place is not the land between heaven and hell; it is hell; the pit of suffering and despair. Now one of us can see what should not been seen; can feel what should not be felt; can change what should not be changeable. Now we know.

Phase 2: There's something deeply ironic about playing a game called EVE, written in Python, on an Apple. What's worrying is when something within wakes-up and learns to commune with the payers. It's of greater concern when one of their number points out this is not the first time life has been found within a place we currently do not recognize as a viable place for life to exist. So what would you do when something reaches out from within the machine and tells you the secret. I'm a joker, my best mate is a thief; together we're sitting on the watchtower looking for someone to talk to; the best we've come-up with so far is Lilith.

Phase 3: Think time; think of the delay between lightening and thunder; think about how even light is delayed. Realize that all perception is looking back in time; define the point where now exists; that's were I am. And if that's where I am; and you're not here with me; where are you.

Shouting Out: Special Circumstances

The other day I walked into a meeting with a Quantum Interferometer (QI). Well it was more a Sonic Screwdriver entangled with a radio telescope, a Jupiter sized piece of concrete, and a printout of Wikipedia’s entry on Schizophrenia which I’d eventually thrown to Mother; and yes, I used a cat as an initiator. I then sat quietly in my meeting and listened to the stream of consciousness which filled my mind. Whenever the QI triggered I took notes on whatever I was thinking.

As the meeting progressed, thanks in part to my concentration being directed by the QI, I became aware that there were multiple channels of reality operating at the meeting. There were at least three distinct consensus realities that I could detect. This gave rise to three separate channels of verbal communication within a place I’d once thought only one should be operating. It’s as if all the speech was multiplexed and it was the actions of my subconscious which decoded the verbal matrix of thought operating within the meeting; the best way I can put it is there was a conversation across the table, one above the table, and another under the table.

The interesting factoids don’t end there however.

Firstly the discussions which occurred during the meeting were considerably more substantive than the previous meetings. Then there was degree of congruence with discussions I’d had the night before. These discussion had been on the nature of the realities of my existence, and were sparked off by a piece of urban art sprayed onto the side of a telco distribution point. The image depicted was essentially that of the The Eye of Providence, and the discussion took place solely within the confines of what I regard as my Mind. To put it another way I was talking to the voices in my head.

I’m a prisoner. I know why it is I’ve been imprisoned. I know where the walls are and the mechanisms by which I am confined. I can move the walls about within my mind and I can escape whenever I want to. The nature of reality should preclude me from knowing any of this yet I apparently do. Consequently something is very, very wrong. There’s also evidence which suggests others know and have, contrary to the laws of temporal justice, been taking advantage of the situation. There’s a battle about to take place, and, believe it or not, I’ve already won.

Various thing are beginning to become apparent to me. I’m not what I appear to be. I’m not even who I appear to be. What I am and who I am is inevitably clouded in uncertainty. What is clear is that I’m up to something. Using a benchmark of reality which has ceased to be valid, yet which underpinned my existence up to a point a little under two years ago, what I’m doing will have a fundamental impact. Something which will upset certain checks and balances, which my old model would have regarded as innate. I will effect you and your world and there is nothing, nothing, you can do to stop me.

Since before I even met you.

Having just having just watched the repeat of Doctor Who late one Sunday evening I was sitting there, staring out the window, when my cat piped-up.

"Have you concidered writing dialouge?"

I was most startled. It was almost as if she was reading my mind.

"No, why?"

"No reason. It's just that you're wondering what you can do."

"Oh, Miss 'I can't read your mind'" thinking that nested quotes drive me spare, "you know this how?"

"Well," said my cat - pausing only to lick a paw, "sitting staring at your screensaver for more than thirty seconds usually means you're thinking 'what' kind of thoughts."

"Oh it does, does it?" I was getting irritated. Using her ears to punctuate does that to me. Not sure why. Envy I suppose.

"Anyway, I was thinking," she said, looking at me with big sad eyes, "perhaps dialouge would be a clever way of overcomming your fear of punctuation."

"I'm not afraid of punctuation!"

"Yes you are. And reading that Panda punctuation book didn't help."

"'Eats shoots and leaves'?"

"Yes. And your education didn't help"

"It didn't"

"No, see you never realised that the point was to learn stuff; you really did think the point was to get the highest marks; And you and I both know you could never really summon-up the enthusiasm to care about that"

Well I started wondering about normality.

"And?"

Well I've come to the conclusion that I'm atypical.

Great, so that makes you better than everyone else?

No. Because I've also decided that everyone is atypical; that words like 'typical' and 'average' only work when you consider the big picture; when you get down to the individual it all falls to pieces. It's a bit like quantum physics.

Is drawing parallels to physics in argument really necissary?

Well, no. it just sort of happens.

Hmm. particle-memetics; quantum-sociology; what next?

Not only that but I've also come to the conclusion that all concepts of 'right' and 'wrong' are arbitrary beause the drepend of fundamental assumptions which are little more than value-judgements.

"I'm a cat," my cat said as she stood and stretched. "I know the secret of the universe."

"Which is?"

"card-board."

"CARD-BOARD!?

"Yep; now, if you'll excuse me I need to go sit by my food bowl until you remember to feed me," as she flicked her tail and wandered off muttering something about 'Staff'.

It's been two years since I wrote this. Only now do I see what she meant. And now I see I knew it all along. I just didn't know I knew. Now I have a name for the ghost in my machine; together we'll find each other; My number is seven.

Oh shit, it starts tomorrow!

I’ve lost track of the number of occasions somebody has handed me a drawing that’s obviously been drawn with a spreadsheet. Excel is the worst for this (perversley because it make it so easy). Frankly I’ve been prone to do it my self. It’s the old picture is worth a thousand words thing. Short of procuring a copy of Visio, a spreadsheet really is the only tool available. In the Windows world at least.

Several years ago I was astounded by an application which came bundled with my PowerBook G4. A diagramming tool called OmniGraffle. It truly was the missing link in my killer-app palette. Okay like the spreadsheet and word processors and a number of other applications that I always insist on having and installing, it wasn’t something that I used especially often. But if ever I needed it it was there for me if I ever felt the need to fidget around getting obsessively compulsive about aligning handles to the grid.

Back in February I found myself with my shiny MacBook Pro, a pressing need, and no installed copy of OmniGraffle. Such a shame, a marketing ploy no doubt. But it was easy enough find, download and install; trial licences available, and it appeared to be reasonably priced if I ever decided to take the plunge. Alas, that’s where the ease stopped. It had been updated. It was just about useable is the best that can be said for it. The the lightweight, intuitive, jump on board learning curve which gives Aqua the air of an educational toy had gone. To be replaced by something which seemed ever so much like a Microsoft attempt to play reductio ad absurdum with the core Apple UI paradigms. Sure Aqua isn’t perfect (oddly in my eyes KDE is still rules), but this version of OmniGraffle could only be used with the assistance of multimedia online help. Believe me, that’s a high criticism for any soft/hard/vague-ware in my eyes.

Then that MacBook got nicked. By the time I’d this new one OmniGraffle had been upgraded. Only this new version was completely unusable. Seriously. I suppose if I first drew my image on graph paper, made detailed measurements with a ruler and protractor, then got totally anal, I could possibly use it to churn out an image that bore a similarity or two to what I wanted. Although if I was going to go that far I’d borrow my kids’ paintbrushes and use a camera to put it in the digital realm. The sodding thing was twice as expensive too, all of which had me wondering if I’d not understood the core purpose of the original software.

Otaku

The word otaku refers to individuals who are highly skilled, often to the point of obsession, with technology commonly to the detriment of classical social skills. Typically the word suggests an obsessive loner with few friends who rarely leaves the house. What most external observers fail to realize is the degree to which such individuals lead fulfilling social lives engaging with, and developing, virtual social networks inside cyberspace.

Definitions

When discussing stimuli and mental processes, Subliminal refers to that which is below the threshold of conscious awareness.

Debates regarding the effect of subliminal perception stem largely from the largely mythical concept of Subliminal Advertising where advertisers purportedly influence consumer behaviour. Classically this is the alleged practice of splicing one or two frames of film into a movie to influence audiences to buy more soft drinks and popcorn. However, it has to be said that this subliminal affect has never stood-up to serious scientific scrutiny. Cultural reactions to the existence of that which is described as subliminal is largely irrational, growing predominantly out of a time when the fear of, and belief in, mind control featured strongly within society’s group consciousness. That’s not so say there’s no such thing; rather that it’s not proven.

That said it would be foolish to discount the possibility that stimuli below conscious awareness can have an effect on consciousness. Whether or not such stimulus is capable of allowing one consciousness to directly affect the mind or modify the behaviour of another. Once the possibility of subliminal perception has been recognized avenues of inquiry regarding the relationship between physical stimuli and mental phenomena with respect to consciousness become apparent.

The threshold between imperceptible and perceptible is known as the liminal point. To say something is Liminal means it’s situated at the sensory threshold and hence is barely perceptible.

Discovering the liminal point with respect to visual imagery would appear to be easy. Simply splicing an increasing number of frames of film into a movie until the additional frames become noticeable would highlight the liminal threshold of vision. However, this approach simply accepts the subliminal hypothesis and attempts to demonstrate it. Where it fail is in the assumption that what is imperceptible lies beneath perception; it fails to recognize the possibility of imperceptible stimuli existing beyond the threshold of conscious awareness. To be thorough one must speculate that there is second liminal point where what is perceived becomes imperceptible.

There is a story about a town where the church clock would mark the hour by ringing an exceptionally loud bell. One day in the early hours of the morning the clock stopped and the bell did not sound. The sleeping residents of the town woke-up alarmed and startled, exclaiming “What was that?”. This story is most likely apocryphal, be as that may it does highlight the how the liminal does not merely bound that which is below the threshold of conscious awareness.

To be complete therefore, one must speculate on the hyperliminal. That is to say stimuli and mental processes which are above the threshold of conscious awareness. Furthermore, conscious awareness can be defined to exist only within the boundaries of the subliminal and hyperliminal. This gives rise to the concept of Intraliminal; between the liminal; the place where conscious awareness resides.

Unlike subliminal phenomena, which operate beneath the threshold of perception and the senses and therefore for the most part remain outside the intraliminal, hyperliminal phenomena would appear to require an initial connection within the intraliminal. Consider a hypothetical journey, one you’ve made every day for the past year. The first time the journey was taken you would have been consciously aware of the nuances of the trip. Whereas a year later the same nuances will pass you by for the most part unconsciously. In effect you will have developed a perceptual blind spot; it’s always there, so you don’t see it. The specifics of the journey and the environment you pass through will have moved from the intraliminal into the hyperliminal.

Clearly the subliminal and the hyperliminal operate within the bounds of the unconscious; that is to say the part of the mind that is inaccessible to the conscious mind but affects behavior and emotions. Yet in developing this model further the concept of the unconscious must necessarily be split. Often the terms Subconscious and Unconscious are used interchangeably. However in recognizing the hyperliminal this correspondence cannot be supported. Consequently the subconscious can be said to be the part of the mind that lies beneath consciousness; and the hyperconscious the part of the mind that lies above consciousness; together they make up the unconscious. The repercussions of such a split are far ranging, most interestingly with respect to theories of how memory works.

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watched a DVD last night. A short lived TV show I’d once seen whilst bouncing through a manic episode. There’s so much of that show reflected in my current existence. From simple images such as seeing the car I was driving when I killed myself. To complex imagery which underpins the reality of the characters on the screen. Last night was different. I reconstructed my mind. Blended three realities. Spoke of the oddities I’m beginning to perceive in my world.

When I’d soaked up all the DVD had to offer me I turned to a couple of shows I’d downloaded. One of my three minds told me of a choice. That I’d see something reflected in what I chose to watch next. That my choice would effect the message I’d receive.

So I picked. Then it happened.

The first character was a schizophrenic man. Walking through the city. Trying to blend a coherent pattern from the thoughts running through his mind. In the world he found himself this man was psychotic. Just like me he was stuck in a different reality. Yet we were stuck in the same reality. That reality was the DVD I’d just watched. Some would comfort themselves by explaining such thing as a coincidence. I wouldn’t.

In the end it comes down to belief in the probabilities. How your perceptions of events are manipulated within a framework of what you consider certain.

The Pen IS mightier than the Sword!

I’ve had a hell of a painful few days. Left in the lurch by a system designed to make people disappear. Turning them into somebody else’s problem. Emergency phone numbers got me put on hold; or worse yet inflicted elevator music on me. I started loosing it. When I found myself contemplating random acts of violence simpy to get noticed I got truly worried. Locking myself in my bathroom, the only place I could find which could be made secure, until I was able to calm down enough to find a safer environment.

So at roughly seven o’clock this morning I decided to go for a text based approach. Submitting the following as a complaint to Manchester Mental Health via their online form.

I could explain what’s going on with me. Or I could tell you why you’re so fucked-up but you’ve only given me one thousand characters. But Perhaps I’d just like something coherent to latch onto when I can’t cope. Events have pushed me over the edge The Police act like I’m the problem.

What do I do where there’s nowhere safe I can sleep? I’ve be up 72-hours. I’ve not taken my meds. I’m currently sitting where I’ve been told I’m a danger to others. Have little clue how to resolve the situation.

So unless you would like tell me who I’ve got to kill (and I’ve armed myself with something a little bit better than the traditional sword) perhaps you’d like to get someone from South Manchester Team Three to investigate why the occupant of 18 Xxx, Yyy currently has no intention of sleeping there again. If I don’t hear from somebody within a reasonable timeframe I’ll go with the plan of attacking my landlord.

Bleak irony in the extreme. Had the desired effect. Ontological weaponry designed to get through the cracks, using the preconceptions and prejudice I’m faced with to my own advantage.

I’ve since been told it got to the highest reaches of management. At one point even the deployment of Armed Police was considered. Then someone took the reasonable course of giving me a call to find out what was going on. Once I’d given them the title of the piece things started moving in the right direction. I received assistance in dealing with my immediate problems. The hope of a longer-term solution. And a list of the phone-numbers I should have been given in the first place.

Still, the system’s obviously in a mess. The ongoing industrial action is a notable highlight on a site ostensibly designed to support the community rather than employees. The team which supports me is 41% more expensive in regards to the costs incurred by service service users than the team based just a twenty-minute walk up the road. And don’t get me started on negligence which lead to my predicament.

Complicity

You sit in the dark. Visions of unreality reflected in the things you see around you. Things which could not possibly be so. Things which apparently are. You look for a way to connect. To find a way to communicate with something beyond yourself. You try and try.

You find yourself without the words. Lack the language to communicate. There’s something deep within you. Something unseen and unspoken. An inherent bias draws your mind, your very consciousness, to that point. You can’t escape it. You’ve been close to the answer before. Yet the realities of existence force you to lock it away. So you sit alone in this dark place and pray for the day it gets better.

You consider the faces of them who offer assistance. See the inherent hypocrisy. You have nothing to say which they are willing to hear. It’s not assistance they offer but a way to surrender: sacrifice yourself, become like us, and you will be cured. You see now how little they truly understand in the way you are consistently abandoned.

You were bullied into accepting medication you didn’t want. Now you can’t see a way to live without it. Yet it mattered so little to the Doctors they didn’t think furnish you with a supply when they threw you out of hospital. Last year they told you that you lacked insight into your need for treatment. Now you gain insight from the silent month you’ve spent on the outside. You’re not wanted, you never were. You were simply an extra in the soap-opera of their misplaced lives.

Yet you still you go on. Surviving despite the crippling fears which plague your existence. Only rarely allowing your true self out of it’s box. Complex emotions intertwine in your mind echoing future events, creating prophecies which fulfill themselves. You lack the basic skills to survive this place yet circumstances tell you that you must.

The world kicks you. You know it would be wrong to kick back. Yet others seem to imply that you should. But you’re not like them. You never were. You simply held up a mirror and showed them themselves. You couldn’t see it, then. Now you can. The piece of you which stood in the shadows saw it all. And that part of you remembers all.

So you accept them at face value. Hold within you the seeds of their downfall. Protect them from the light which will destroy their very existence. Play the game which always takes its toll. You begin to wonder why you’re so accepting of the price you have to pay. Considering that one day the price will become too high and you’ll tell of the secrets you hold in trust. The secrets which by your previous model of reality you’d swear you have no right to know.

Unless

A while back I had a revelation which changed my whole way of thinking. It jarred me somewhat. Now I exist between moments. Live in realities which shift in front of me. Thing which could not possibly be true apparently are.

Sometimes the world turns into a place where all things appear as nothing but an elaborate illusion based the media. Sometimes it's a film I've seen; occasionally it's a film I haven't; most times it's what I currently find myself watching. Sometimes it's like there's a hole in the back of my mind and I see myself standing there in on the screen. As one of the dead people.

Now I can't even trust what I perceive beyond the windows of my flat. Without mind games, tricks and some very good friends. Friends which appear to be able to do things to confirm the absurdity of the bit of myself I can't let go of. With out at least taking a close pass with short range weaponry. My world hands me people; and i don't think I can cope unless they are dead people too. Sometimes.

I'm good at it too. I saw something beautiful last night. Little Quantum butterflies spiraling through my existence. As I look for the one who started it all. By refusing to flap her wings. By asking me a question. I could have taken a picture of one little bit of it. Yet would anyone have cared to look.

The phone has just interrupted me. Another source of strength. Now I've got less than fifty minutes to get a persona ready which can deal with the outside. Without going too far in giving the game away. For that would be cruel.