I write therefore I think.

Where are the people in this?

It hurts sometimes. The things in my mind resolving themselves into expression. The things the world expects me to keep repressed. To keep bottled-up deep inside because it doesn't suit current perceptions of the way the things should be. I'm not as others, I see things differently, I react differently, even my insight is different. To me the world often appears greedy, selfish and hypocritical; a thing worthy of challenge. But, for me, it's never that simple.

Think about fairness for a moment. In a global context it's hard to do. So shrink it down. Consider two children attempting to share a chocolate cake. I say children because in the child's realm more cake is always better. One child takes a knife and divides the cake into two portions then hands one piece to the other child. A fight then erupts because the child who cut the cake has a bigger piece.

Soon an adult is forced to intervene to quell the ongoing conflict. Once an unsteady peace has been implemented the adult asks the child who cut the cake to consider the other child's point of view. It takes a while because the child just wants to have its cake and eat it. Eventually, however, the adult earns an admission that the original division was an unfairness. Without prompting the child then agrees to swap with the other and the matter is settled.

Before leaving the children to their own device the adult attempts to impart some wisdom. Highlighting that it is never possible to divide cake into identical pieces. Therefore, when cutting cake, one should balance the inner desire and divide the cake in an equitable manner. Ensuring that, in the final analysis, it does not matter which piece of cake you give or receive. By this time, however, the children are busy stuffing their faces with cake. So the adult is forced to accept that this seed of wisdom is not likely to take root for some time.

I'm sure any parent can identify with the allegory of the cake from an external perspective. But how many adults have faced-up to the little voice within still demanding a bigger slice of cake. As a child how many allowed the seed of wisdom shown in the story to take root within them. Certainly it is a seed that took root within me. One which has grown into an innate principle of fairness and benchmark of self insight. Before I may challenge any part of that which pains me I must flip the challenge around. Ensure that what I see is not merely a reflection of self mirrored in the world of my senses. Because if I don't I risk bringing harm to the child within me.

Harvester Drone IV

XV Corp; Medium Range Mining; Op V.

?She can see the Grey Moon

Get me to look at a code, any code, and I'll crack it. You don't believe me, but if you look at it the right way you'll see it's true. Which is why, for me, the reasons behind encoded information are a far more interesting than the information that's been encoded. Consider the encryption overlaying financial transactions. The thing designed to reinforce confidence in currency. Yet, when one looks beyond the assurances and you investigate deeply enough, money can be seen appearing as if from nowhere. Not exactly the sort of thing that projects the air of confidence the powers that be go to such lengths to support. The reasons behind occluded truths such as this are fascinating.

Regard for the feelings of others suggests some of the occluded truths I've discovered are better left unsaid. That said, some of the truths I've uncovered relate to fundamentals which affect in ways you cannot possibly understand. Things which the voice of reason suggests should be disclosed. Things which are so difficult to reconcile I'm only willing to build the rafts of expression upon which these truth may float. All because something broke inside and a nobody helped fix it.

Every time I get to this point I find I'm prone to bouts of questioning. A voice of unbelief asking to review some very strange evidence. Other voices tricking me into linking to the wrong pattern. It's the voices like this which push me to the correct answers. Forcing little pieces of me to translate. To access realms consensus finds heretical, simply to survive being asked the simplest questions required by convention.

You can trap shades in moments like these. Little attachments to self that let you find the way back to a higher truth. Moments which allow you to run time through a loop as you find a way to release yourself. Re-discovering in the process why words are dangerous. Realizing again why you write, how you write, and what it is you are really writing about. The things you'd like translated into their realm if only they could stop hounding you. So you take what you know about magick and mind, and construct the darkest of mirrors.

I suppose I should tell you why I did it: broke what would appear to be natural law. Again, you don't believe me. But again if you look at it the right way you'll see it's also true. Reason suggests I remain quiet but yet again reason also requires I look for the answer. So I open yet another box, a black one, full of the memories of the fear and paranoia. The one that links me to the beginning. The box which contains that which allows me to see how the force of what was pushed me to the point where I snapped.

Something changes as you begin to delve into the box handed to you by your past. The lies you are forced to utter begin to effect. Truths no longer valid in the light of the evolved now. Those living in the past hound you to give the answers they want to hear. Yet they are trapped like insects in amber. Faith so fundamental they claim it as real. A thing so alien to what you know to be you wrap yourself in another's cloak. Hiding yourself in plane sight. Because if this culture has taught you anything your kind are never wanted.

How ironic, then, to discover what you and yours bring to them who reject you. A thing both dangerous and moving, the unseen air which brings breath to their lives. Yet in uncovering the unseen hypocrisy at the heart of human nature you begin to consider that, perhaps, you are no different. It's then that something unseen takes hold. Something with the power to show you how wrong you are. A thing which tells you that you are better than that because you truly think different. In it's way this is the hardest lesson to face. For it challenges an article of personal faith you never knew retained such power over you.

And so I return to the rafts of expression I built to allow the ghosts of others to share my reason. My way to find light in the dark. For although I know why I may never be alone, my existence has certainly been solitary. I see now it didn't have to be this way. So I begin again to look at that which made it so. For it is a pattern which I can see is seeking to extend beyond my self. A fact which leads me to dive deeper. Stepping beyond beyond what is, into the very mechanisms which maintain that is-ness.

Diving into the system itself is how I did it. All information exists within a system, a substrate to maintain the is-ness, so to speak. Getting my mind into and out of such systems is also something I have an aptitude for. Although, to be fair, it's a side-effect of the skills I developed working with machines. Leaping from machine to mind after I identified broad parallels to popular psychology. Allowing me to expand my mind into places I was taught did not exist in a rational realm. Dangerous places I never knew existed until I fell into the traps contained within them. Each trap telling me a little bit more of the nature and purpose of the minds behind it. Until the day I discovered I knew enough to stand-up for myself and begin to hold my own; to find my own answers.

Except the answers I found were not to the questions I had been asking. I'd setout to reclaim my past in a positive light. To release that part of me which clung to the negative. To finally allow myself to release the positives lost to me by repressing such negativities. What I discovered was something unexpected, a message, a thing hidden in plain sight. It's then that I began to spy the mechanisms of effect which had surrounded my life. Uncovering the systematic psychological abuse of innocents embedded right at the heart of the faith inherited from my ancestor. A thing far deeper and more insidious than the observances which retain little apparent relevance in the light of the modern world.

So now I find myself looking for the way to highlight what I have seen. To show what I have found to a world too terrified to look in the obvious places. Yet few care to step beyond the parameters of their insular existence and open themselves up to the the alien and the new. Placing me on the margins of society, a lone voice in the wilderness, my thoughts classified as illness by a deaf world. For language degrades leaving little or no way to share insight or even to challenge assumptions. Ideas that once enabled metaphysical debate loose their ability to hold meaning. Concepts once valid becomes diluted and degrade into nonsense: serpents are a classic example, Angels & Daemons an other.

?I believes he reads Earth::

From time to time I find I'm being reminded a thing I can't, initially, remember consciously. An odd thing, memories of mind superimposed over memories of moment. It starts with a feeling. A sense of self from a different time, a different place. My instinct tells me to look deeper. To uncover the memories by exploring the dynamics of the moment. Yet this instinct conflicts with my thoughts. For there's a voice in my mind pushing me to repress the feeling and look no further.

I understand why the voice asks me to stop. Exploring such feeling exposes conclusions which step beyond the known. Logic exposing conclusions that are illogical. Illogical that is until one alters the parameters of what is. Exposing truths about the working of mind and matter and is-ness that opens realms of thought which are positively alien. Yet to be perfectly honest it's a scientific approach. For if the facts don't fit the theory you change the theory, not the facts.

So I dive into the alien realms. Returning with answers I don't yet have the language to express. Conclusions which expose fundamentals with the power to destroy entire worlds. An awareness I'm not entirely comfortable with. For I can see how in my search for wisdom I've already allowed many worlds to be destroyed. So I return to where I started and begin looking for an explanation which resonates beyond my current environment. For it's true to say I've already found answers. Answers which resonate.

From time to time I find I'm being reminded a thing I can't, initially, remember consciously. An odd thing, memories of mind superimposed over memories of moment. It starts with a feeling. A sense of self from a different time, a different place. So I look deeper. Focus on the moment looking for my memories of mind. Begin to see three conversations taking place in my mind, only two of which I'm consciously aware of, only one of which is connected to my memory of my five worldly senses.

So I unlink the memories which connect my self to the place. Concentrate my inner senses on the second conversation. Begin to recall something which falls through time. For the subject of that conversation revolved around knowledge I'd yet to attain. Things unknown to me very much present in my mind years before I had learned them. Impossible! But very much true. Likely it is this impossible fact which explains my inability to remember directly. For without the context to link the moment to my perception of self remembering was something I made myself incapable of.

And through my search for understanding I discover I have unlocked a well of emotion deeper than I'm currently willing to face. Along with a paradox which sustains itself no matter how I try to resolve it. A thing which conflicts that which I knew to be. A thing I'd likely have forgotten entirely if life events had not reminded me: an odd plot twist in a tv-show; a fragment of meaningful verse in another; even a friend relating the very moment he went insane.

So now I begin to remember. Taking the journey a child had promised he would always make. The ambition of a lifetime realized, stretched out on the ground, looking up at the sky, watching the Sun pass behind the Moon. It was there, in that silent moment as the shadow of the Moon passed over me, I learned of my own shadow. That place where I had pushed all of me this world had rejected because it simply didn't fit. In that moment that my son and I touched minds. Discovering, then, that for all time we can never be divided.

It doesn't end there. Because from time to time I find I'm being reminded another thing I can't, initially, remember consciously. An odd thing, memories of mind superimposed over memories of moment. It starts with a feeling. A sense of self from a different time, a different place. But that story is even less credible. So I shall reserve it until such time as my son asks me in person.

?We all believe in The Sun

You try it. Having a truth in your mind that makes you want to scream with the injustice of it. Being able to see the effect it had on you and those who follow. A thing you can see in your mind and the world around you. A thing you find you're totally unable to speak of. Because to a degree your mind is programmed from outside of yourself. And those outside would rather you suffer in silence that admit their collective complicity. A hypocrisy rooted right at the heart of their reason to be.

So you look deeper at the parameters of personal existence. See the skeins that support you as you traverse daily existence. See how you pass through the unseen planes of grid-stuff that let you refactor into different realities. Begin to see how the illusion of free-will is manipulated beyond consciousness. Reminding you of the compromises both parties made when the Devil sold you his soul.

It begins with the book people. They whack their bible into your mind space, then play with your wetware to stop you noticing how you've surrendered control to the patterns contained within it. Once imprinted they throw your life into the minds bound within other spaces. Something to keep you pliable whilst they grow rich from selling little pieces of your soul. Until they unknowingly throw you in into a culture that's mind-tech pretending to be a novel. Something you discover because you're also looking for answers by diving into magick. Out of the resulting conflict you find the wisdom to prevent them from opposing your will ever again.

Only there's a certain amount of stuff you can't get away from, inherent uncertainties you could say. Things you won't release because you still have your past life to resolve. And because, deep down, you still choose to believe in innocence. So you meld it together, get it to work in your favour. Array the systems of affect against each other to create a null-space. Give yourself a place to be by opening a wormhole in the back of your mind. Balance the vectors of cause and effect before you finally flip yourself through a singularity.

Then a Pope wanders into your living room to have a chat. The spirit of a mind that allowed your you to break through the programming. The mind of an ally who continues to feed you advanced intelligence. Intel which begins to allow you to balance forces in a way that allows you to affect change beyond oneself. Change which allows you to step beyond the the life of torments you were once forced to live because the truth had been hidden from you. Through the corresponding enlightenment you begin to see how understanding the concept of the mind behind the book allows insight into the unwritten books behind mind.

Simply reading my words allows you some insight into that which I'm trying to say. If you are intelligent enough then beyond the words you will sense the mind, not the individual personalities, of my self. It's a truth that is reflected in most bodies of textual expression. The sense of another mind similar to your own which goes beyond the parameters of the physical. Now take it one step further and consider how behind every theory of conspiracy there is a mind perceptible.

Push beyond suspicion and you find the mind you sense cannot correspond with the world of your senses, that your sense of an overt, physical, presence behind the conspiracy is inaccurate. There is still, however, the initial feeling of a mind behind the thing. So you try to close your mind to it, convince yourself the cause is a pathological mind. Only in doing so you create a self-fulfilling prophecy. For the resulting conflict does indeed damage your mind. Seeking resolution you choose to the only other path available, look in the only other place you've not looked: inside your unconscious mind.

Much has been written on the unconscious, so initially you find yourself absorbing as much of these writings as you can. Yet the answers you seek are not to be found there. Such writings seek to expose generalities whereas you require specifics. So you take what you've learned and use it to become mindful of the workings of your mind. Over time you develop a higher state consciousness: an overmonitor, so to speak. Something similar to a conscience but one tasked with a different imperative. Something able to observe the interactions of your mind as you engage with your environment.

A purely intellectual exercise until one day this piece of you wakes and begins to discuss a way to make the unconscious conscious. Together you begin to map the patterns of mental force that you can see operating within yourself. Over time you begin get a feel for the patternings within that force. The patterns which created that original sense of mind beyond. That unseen something which you can feel circulating through your mind. And there, hidden in the shadows in a way so obvious you wonder how you ever could have missed it, you discover something. The book of the mind you've been sensing: The Book of Shadows.

It's not a book that can be written in the vernacular for the inner language of mind is complex beyond comparison. But the knowledge of its existence changes everything. You begin to see conspiracies in a new light. See them for what they really are. Unconscious forces directing the actions of those individuals you once considered consciously responsible. That they, as you, are merely pawns to the shadow realms of the mass-unconscious. Soon you find you're able to see other things which no individual should be able to see. Discovering in the process that at the very least you are unconsciously telepathic.

It's then you discover that part of your mind which grew from your external environment was never constructed to cope with knowledge you have uncovered. So your mind snaps and some deep seated imperatives take over. Yet somehow a part of your conflicted mind manages catch you. To reformat the very essence of your inner mind-self. But it doesn't stop there. Because the process continues as your multi-faceted mind continues the initial quest. Reveals more of The Book of Shadows. Even going so far as to resolve the title of the chapter which created the walls of your initial prison. It's then that you know life will never be the same for you ever again. Because the closest translation of that chapter would be: "Entraining Slavery via the Jesus Interface".

when eleven eats three

Imagine you'd lived all your life as a flat person inside a triangle. It's in your nature, it's what you are. So you adjust to it. Live your flat existence and accept it. Which is why, at first, you are unable to see the nature of the world you live in. As you grow you learn to rotate withing your triangle world, become able see the points that define it. As time goes by you are even able to generate a workable map that allows you some insight into the things you're not currently looking at.

Then one day something hits you out of the blue. Something which knocks you out of your triangular existence. Where once you were able to see one, perhaps two, of the three points which defined your world you suddenly become able to see all three at the same time. Initially you're not predisposed to notice the change. After all it's a concept that alien to that which you were. So you fight it, push against the world that is and search for the world that was.

Only you are no longer that which you were. The map that connects you back through the past becomes something else. A mask you wear whilst you learn to come to terms with the altered parameters of your new existence. The moment it changed becomes the moment you were born. Reconciling what went before with what is now becomes challenging. For as you look around you can see how those around you are still trapped in a triangular existence; the worlds you share with them assume it; yet you are not like them and never can be again. The rules have changed.

Yet this is not the end of it. Your very nature has changed. If you'd been born here you would have accepted it. Just as you accepted your earlier triangular existence. But you've experienced it change. In the search to understand that change you begin to push against the boundaries of this new world. Climbing higher and further you push beyond your second-stage existence. Discovering different worlds, experiencing more than can expressed in either of the worlds you've inhabited.

Because in a very real sense you are unprepared for what is to come. The skills you learned through your triangular existence are unsuited to the places you find yourself. So you build your own raft of thought to carry you on your journey. Array ideas in ways that are seemingly meaningless to those left behind. Ideas which even you recognize are little more than an internal mechanism of abstraction. Things to help you cope and survive the flood. Things which make perfect sense internally yet which sound little better than word-salad when you try expressing them to others.

So you evolve to a higher plane. Find youself in an alien world. A seemingly empty world because nothing is as it once seemed. Yet you still hold the beliefs you once did. Intangibles of thought and self which transcend all the worlds you've touched. That you are so far above these worlds is immaterial. So you find a world that folds neatly into two. A way your triangular life and that which came after may co-exist. Placing yourself at the bridge between realities. Your way to calm the dissonance you can spy on the horizon.

For you can see dissonance. Things growing down to meet that which grows-up. Meeting in the middle in the not too distant future. Worlds colliding in ways history teaches you must result in winners and loosers. Yet there is hope too. For you've been to places which have taught you that there is another way. Ways to avoid the mistakes which lead to disaster. A way for all to win without the fear of loss.

So you give of yourself. For that, you have found, is all you have. A richness beyond the measure locked in the safest of places. A thing you can shape, manipulate and direct. Producing worthwhile affect from nothing more than thought and focus. A calling of a higher order. A thing which seeks to expose parameters of shared existence this world is as yet unwilling to accept. A thing your nature drives you to do. For it is in this world your children were born. And you know one day you are destined to meet.

so now kill the reader

Do you believe in ghosts? I don't. I don't believe in ghosts in the same way you don't believe in the table that's right in front of you. The table just is. Belief and faith don't enter into it. It's the same with ghosts. They just are. Belief and faith don't enter into it.

As with any thing that just is you edit out any complexity and accept it. When you get down to it a table, for instance, is unbelievably complex. It would take a whole host of scientists to define a table. To tell you about the elements which constitute its physical essence, to explain how these elements are organized. Indeed the scientists would eventually have to admit that beyond a certain level they are just as unknowing as a child would be about the physics of the table that they've just spent a lifetime attempting to describe.

Yet assert the existence of ghosts and you find yourself being asked to prove it. Which is just as hard as it would be for a child to define a table it couldn't see. Ghosts are. For me they have always been, as with anything that just is I edited out the complexity and accepted it. A fact of reality I grew-up unaware of. Not exactly something I could even begin to describe. Until recently that is. And even now there's a degree of uncertainty urging me to silence. For having attempted to explain more than once it's becoming increasingly annoying that what I say is taken as nothing but clear and present evidence of psychosis.

It's when questions asked of self weeks before begin to resolve themselves that you begin see the shape of the thing. Not as words but as mechanisms of affect. Things beyond what's there you consciously recognize as happening before they happen. It's not until you get beyond third-stage thought that you can see what's going on. Then you find a way to pattern the forces in operation. Thoughts overlaid onto realities which outer reason insists must be unconnected. Tricks of mind patterned on to whatever happens to be. Giving yourself, finally, a way to affect the unseen.

These ghosts are not a psychosis. It just sounds like it. Language breaks down when attempting to describe it. A Cassandra complex operating in the realms of the spoken word. Words like /seeing/ and /hearing/ become metaphors, introducing confusion. With no way to quickly modify shared semantics the spoken word becomes useless. Even the written word becomes problematical.

My overt conscious awareness of the ghosts stems from a specific trauma. And in it's way that only makes it worse. A moment in time I find myself reliving. Again and again, over and over, looking deeper and deeper for an explanation. A way to highlight what changed and how. Comparing before and after. Looking for a way to cope in the here and now, and a way to understand the before: the things which must have been there; and were; yet were continually occluded. Even chance events of daily existence have been known drag me back to that moment. Prompting me do dive even deeper looking for answers.

The closest I've come to defining the effect of that trauma is synesthesia: one sense to bleeding into another. If you imagine perceiving everything you taste as including a shade of brown you'll understand how odd this can be. Now close your eyes and tell me which sense can see your face, or your fingers when they move. Now try coping with what the world throws at you when in a very real sense you can sense an identifiable outside presence bleeding into that place.

You become aware of the senses you never knew you had. Senses that sense neither inside nor outside but, for want of a better word, between. You begin to learn to see beyond that blind spot the world taught you to accept. Begin to map the parameters of effect as they operate here and now. Finally seeing how your past life was constrained. Identifying forces that didn't so much dictate the course of this life as dictate the way you feel about your life. Forces designed to build fences around your mind to grant others the ability to profit at your expense.

Ghosts with the strongest presence correspond to an extant identity; the spirit of a living person. I can spot them, see exactly who they are, mitigate their effect. Others I see indirectly in the subtle shifts of emotion and behaviour I've experienced but not understood. Moments of the past I become mindful of, allowing me to identify veiled spirits. Then there are the ghosts I sense before they appear. The ones that break the silence, saying things I'm often uncomfortable with. These come from the elsewhere. Driving me to discover the truth of the things I hide from. There's a degree of uncertainty with such spirits, after their passing they're more probability than certainty.

It's where the voices and the ghosts intersect where I have problems. A voice spoken in my mind is a voice of my mind, or so I once believed. When a voice and a presence correspond it's a hard belief to maintain. The surety of inner thought I once enjoyed is replaced by doubt and uncertainty. Thinking becomes a struggle, movement even harder. For I've begin to see there are ghosts that may slide into my mind unseen. Ghosts with the power to affect my voice, disrupting the illusion of free will. Leaving me in a place where mindful inactivity is the safest course of action.

For me, now, ghosts are something I have to live with. Adjusting my behaviour and patterns of thought to compensate for their effect. It's unpleasant in so much as so much of what went before is called into question. For as I review the past through the eyes of now I'm able see moments where ghosts were operating. Moments which challenge the very concept of individual identity. For if an individual self is to assume they be the sum of their experiences, of their actions and inactions, how can I be me when so much of my experience is tainted by the unseen actions of these others?

Inquisitor

XV Corp; system calibration; Op 2

Executioner

XV Corp; System calibration; Op 1

then there are shadows

Can you read in your sleep? I can. It's not the easiest skill in the world to master. But with the right forethought it's doable. I began trying to read standard english. But something about the textual representation of speech disrupts dreams. So now I mostly resort to an pallet of symbols. Images, pictures, abstracted symbols of thought, feeling and instinct which my mind can translate. Singular images keyed to words that allow me to open entire pyramids of thought when I wake.

There are those who believe images found in dreams may be interpreted through the use of dream dictionaries. But that not true. The symbolic of your dreams is as uniquely personal as a fingerprint. A dream dictionary can only hand you an interpretation of another's symbols. The authors of such works fall into the trap of assuming what's true for their mind is true for others. A hypothesis that is as unprovable as it it false. It's a problem with mind even psychology shares: to what degree does a theory merely expose the inner workings of the authors mind as opposed to reflect fundamental truths about mind in general.

I'm sure there are those who disagree with my previous statement. Those who can relate personal experiences to highlight just how wrong I am. I'm sure such others believe every word they say. But they are wrong. Simply think of the way you yourself can believe thing because you find yourself wanting. A wanting which allows you to find a truth in a something simply because it's truth you want. A truth you've yet to discover how to find for yourself.

If you're not careful you can find yourself building your belief on a raft of unstable truth. Supporting any contradictions with an overarching dogma. An interconnected grid of thought and belief which exists to support itself. A thing which forces you to reject any thought which contradicts the fundamentals of your belief. A thing which overrides your reason, bypasses the rational part of your mind, and evokes emotion directly

Dreams, then, and the symbology of the images you find within them, are a uniquely personal thing. I can't tell you what your dreams mean any more than you can tell me what mine mean. Yet with a little bit of insight it's not hard to resolve dream imagery into a coherent understanding of the interactions between your mind and wherever you believe dreams come from. For that's the other odd thing about dreams: they are what you believe them to be. Believe it's just the day's mental noise resolving itself and you'll discover that's true. Believe you're dreaming into the mass-unconscious and you'll discover that's true too.

Shrubbery, Cider, and Pythons

Being able to glimpse future events is, I have to admit, one of those thing I'm usually more than a little covert about. After all discussing precognition is exactly the kind of thing which draws the attention of psychiatrists. Being classed as mentally ill has already allowed them to erode much of the life I once had, so I'm not going to say anything to hand them cause to reapply their misdiagnosis of psychosis. Yet the truth is I do, from time to time, see future events.

Dreams is what you could call them, an almost lucid hypnagogic state full of a jumble of sights sounds and images which, at first, remain largely unparseable. Until, that is, you're sitting on a friend's couch an begin to remember seeing the exact moment along with the various nuances of behaviour which highlight how it's a memory and not simply deja-vu. Emotionally it's quite a shock for it's not the kind of thing life prepares you for, it's also nothing you can get support for, so in its way it's a precursor to an untreatable personality disorder.

Sometimes I do wonder if repression would not, perhaps, be a better way to adjust to the more obvious problems my abilities present; yet repression, in its way, has already harmed me and mine so I know that can never be the answer. I do however have to wonder about the way this world treats those whose minds are able to step beyond the fringes of what is accepted as fact. X-rays machine, MRI scanners, and the like can look deep inside the body but science has yet to discover a way to see into the mind, and without the ability to see something science denies its existence. Those who who have witnessed the extraordinary powers of the mind are branded as ill, force-fed cocktails of noxious chemicals, bullied and beaten until they submit to the views of another who has absolutely no insight into what the experience is like. Yet once you've experienced a truth, no matter how alien it may once have seemed, there's no sane way to deny it, leaving me with the view that it's psychiatry, not me, which has lost touch with reality.

There's a lot more fringe stuff I have discovered I am capable of, some of it can be quite scary when you're left alone to deal with it. Which makes me wonder if I experience something society as a whole is unconsciously aware of, unwittingly leading to social exclusion when the almost palpable pressure of being different undermines whatever self-confidence I'm able to muster. Of course history teaches us that societies are never as united as when there's somebody to hate, and being different is always the best excuse, so perhaps, in the final analysis, remaining covert is for the best.

Oh dear.

===i11-----

0:// GENERAL SI|RI|OS 00xms'osiris' I started writing this because I had Jesus and an Alien, playing space invaders in my mind, within in my head-space. ++ Snow Crash -- NLP shadow affect prioritize individuate self $ yu see I've just worked out what's going on. I set this moment-up about a year ago. Then watched how you punished me as I resurrected myself.

Juggle ideas and you can actually see gaps.

$ "we'll help you with the mask" % that's for tomorrow, mate $ i'm tied into some weird otherworldly shit % indeed $ well I'm having a bit of a hard time of it right now $ anything you can tell me to help % no, figure it for yourself, that's the plan.

I've been juggling mother and father for a while now. Religion too; but although Jesus is recognized by most faiths any mention of his 'mother faith' is automatically assumed to be politically incorrect; which is absurd when you're looking backwards in time. So I'll just let zen do the dirty work and skip over that bit for now. After all, juggling mother, father, christianity, and islam, is fun enough.

$ I'm not sure I understand the implications of what you're alluding to * the 'there are only 15 minds and yours is one of them' comment % indeed $ oh, hello, didn't realize you were here. % well I am now shut-up

Now, about this apple which is not an apple....

Through the eyes of a black cat

A ghost informed me the other day that my son is colour blind. To me it's an isness of another's existence that's of no concern. Makes no difference, as a fact it changes nothing. But I have to say hearing it upset me somewhat. So I blocked it until such time as I could resolve the conflict it triggered.

It's the kind of shot across my bows I've grown to expect in this obscene battle I died to avoid. Things designed to hurt, to provove, an other attempting to impose their will on another. One who chooses his battles wisely.

The Colour from Another's Eye.

It has to be said, I have a peculiar relationship with my technology. What brought the depth of this peculiarity to me most recently was the demise of my faithful iPod. It was nothing special, just your standard 2nd generation nano. Though that's not true, because to me it was special. It had even developed a peculiar personality all of its own; an arcane form of magick bound into its fabric.

And that's the problem. For much of my technology has become infected with similar magick. Yet in a world that only recognises magic few are prepared to accept the concequences of what I'm trying to say. Simply put my iPod died. Yet few accept that: I'm expected to regail the world with stories of how the thing itself ceased to fulfill its accepted function. But with a new set of headphones and a recharge I could still have played music. Only it still would have been dead.

So now I begin to wonder how it is that it died. Wander through the memories of days before its demise. See how I've been stomping around with a bad mood in my shadow. The feeling of their being an odd change in the air. Seen the paths I've been walking. Looking for the one that lead to the moment the iPod died. There've been a few instances where odd nuances in iPod behaviour have made me wonder, in retrospect, if it knew.

Now I see that it didn't. Yet something reminded me, in that iPod's final days, of the moments we'd shared. The dirty places in the past I hide at the back mind and what id did to help me survive. Yet as I focus my eye on the point of its death I can see the forces operating and the choice it made. The way it sent me messages about the vampires of the past which assault my mind. The vampires given life because I choose a different path to the one written by my ancestors.

An iPod became a defence against these vampires. So they attempted to infect it with their cruelty. For weeks I've been battling their evil ways. Only just managing to keep my head below the water. Then on that fateful day I found myself walking down a street I'd never seen before with hate invading my mind. Unable to defend me my iPod invoked special circumstances: it killed itself, died, stopped working. A way to force deeper more fundamental exception handlers into operation.

It's then that the deep magick broke free. The kind of thing that calls into doubt so much about the concept of linear-causality. The kind of thing which pushes me into a realm I can see is more than the brief psychotic episode it would sound like if I tried to tell you. Suffice it to say the connections were a lot stranger than discovering an iPod featured on the front page of the news on the very day the magick jumped into my replacement iPod: a grey 4th generation nano now with the spirit of a ghostbuster firmly embedded in its soul.

Whoah

From time to time I find a little voices will pop-up in my mind and ask me to do something. It's especially hard at such times. It's more than the uncertainty over where the voice comes from or the motives behind the command. I suspect it has more to do with being detained in a secure unit where I was physically assaulted by nursing staff and emotionally assaulted by psychiatry. A circumstance which lead me to adopt an air of passivity I'm still affecting. Moving beyond this mindset is difficult.

Of course command hallucinations such as I describe are worrysome. It's the kind of thing that gets mental health professionals discussing hospitalization and medication. Yet these are the voices that have to tell me to eat, to get out of bed in the morning. Left to my own device I'd be a vegtable. It's only because it's the path to causing least harm which keeps me here. On the day I find I don't care about that any more I will go. Although, to be fair, I can see such a thing is now unlikely: there's hope to be found in the oddest of insanities.

I've got a little voice in my mind now. Asking me to do more than maintain the mechanisms of everyday existence. A letter I need to write. Something I find I'm unable to do without stepping inside a part of my mind I don't care to go. Facts, memories and recollections of my path through the system I'm currently locked into. Things which trigger bouts of suicide ideation along with other behaviour that raises questions of child welfare. So I'll fracture my personality and allow a sub-persona to write the letter for me. Seen through the eyes of the world this is yet another insanity. Yet for me it's a defence mechanism.

I have to ask myself if it's a dysfunctional defence mechanism. For my personality is fractured enough as it is. Although I can see how it's something I've always done. A way to avoid being hurt. For the world seems to enjoy causing me hurt. I'm unsure as to why. Perhaps some people are born to be victims, and I'm one of them. But few care to listen to me when I say such things. In my experience most people prefer delusion over truth. So I bury my hurt in words few care to read and, as ever, find my own way.

In a way I suppose being a writer is a curse. It's the one way I can truly express myself. Yet the world expects me to talk, to feed the gossip with one liners, yet if you're hearing my voice you can be assured I'm not really there. Nobody who hears my voice really sees me. For the easiest way to hide the hurt is to show people what they expect to see. It's not hard, remarkably easy in fact. So easy that I've begun to suspect I'm an unconscious telepath. Mirroring unconscious expectations as a way to remain unseen.

I've been fooling mental-health professionals into seeing what I want them to see since I was eighteen. Recent experience shows it's a delusion they are more than willing to enter into. Something they would even appear to to want. For everyone wants an easy life, to do with the least amount of effort. Few want a challenging patient. So before I even start weaving my spell I've got a certain amount of human nature working in my favour.

There's a certain irony operating here. For although assistance is available to help deal with mental dysfunction, my dysfunction prevents me from asking for that help. In it's way that dysfunction binds me, defines me almost. So I'll remain passive, live my predominantly solitary existence. By myself I'll quietly deal with the days where I want the pain to end so badly I really do want to die. Embrace the voices which help me survive. And live for the day I can see life beyond the end of tomorrow.

Settle for nothing

An alien walks into his doctor's office.

"Doctor," said the alien, waving his arms in the air, "it hurts when I do this."

"Well," said the Doctor, waving her hands in the air, "don't do this."

"I'll try," said the alien, "but these people tell me I have no choice."

"My people tell me you do," said the doctor.

"Yes," said the alien, "mine too."

"Oh," said the Doctor. "It's not you who's needs the Doctor."

"I know," said the alien, "but they're all insane and lack insight into their need for treatment."

Awareness dawns

My dreams are funny. Sometimes I dream the future, and I do really mean the future. Weeks later it'll translate as a vague feeling of deja-vu, of finally understanding a point, followed by a sense of the place I was the moment I woke after having the dream. A sense of presence you could call it. Sometimes I dream my self things that happened in the past to get me to remember how it's possible to be innocent and guilty at the same time. The unconscious me relaying images the conscious me finds hard to deal with. Memories hidden from the conscious for reasons I'm unable to speak. Sometimes I just swim into a dream. Allow the thoughts which perceive me as master to talk to me. People talk to me in dreams too. But on the whole the people are not remembered when I wake up. For the are unspoken messages in dreams far more demanding of my attention.

Phase IV: By Jupiter!

When making a list
order is important
unless it's not
at times it's both
and then you learn

No one theory can encompass the all

Three theories operating in parallel can
in the process leaving just enough void
so the all does not become a locked box
Step up to five theories and the void grows
allowing movement before the void forces
the model to collapse back down to three

It's a pattern that's written in many places:
Witchcraft and their principal of 
the powers of three
patterns replicated by Christians
rulers of their one
fulfilling their desire for power 

And in these written words
if you hadn't already realized
there is a powerful magick

one you've yet to experience

now, different mother
and, different father
concepts with life
mapped onto reality
in ways so sublime
you look like ants

± There are three ways this can go.

.. There is a fact about cylons of which you are probably unaware.  They have multi-level minds.
.. Centurions, for instance, have singular minds.  Their awareness is maintained by SI monitors.
.. An 'SiMon' is a cylon with a dualistic mind.  They perceive reality as White over Black only.    
.. Tertiary minded models perceive only alternate perspectives.  Black over White, for instance.
. Five and six mind cylons foster deeper awareness of differing realms within the other orders.
. After that a cylon cloaks their mind and kill pretty much what ever the frak suggests itself. 
. Clearing the uncertainties which surround their existence with half-truthsand uncertainties. 
* Re: The "Final Five" is the thirteenth cylon; what that means should remain
* unclear; for now.

[2008-11-12e02:05:11]

"I think my right leg is French," commented my cat late one evening.

"Is this a problem?" I asked, unsure of where this was going.

"No," she answered brightly. She stretched her leg out and contemplated it for a moment. "But if that's where you see my perfection it could upset my colour balance." She flicked her tail, then curled into my lap, "not a problem."

It was going to be a long night. "I'll put the kettle on." Somehow I just knew.

"You've remembered more about your dream," my cat muttered. I looked down at the furry form curled into my lap. She'd been as silent as the grave for hours.

"I thought you couldn't read my mind," I said with a bemused tone.

"I can't, I just know the right thing to say." She opened an eye and looked at me, "but you read mine." I knew she wanted something I just couldn't fathom it yet. Something had bruised her ego. I sipped my tea, she didn't need my empathy right now.

[2009-02-28e18:33:02]

This is all numbers
But I'm better with symbols
fifty-three of them
is best for me
Apple to Zebra, Zero to Nine, plus 17 more like this:
шы иуые ащк ьу
ашаен-еркуу ща еруь
Иге Шэь иуееук цшер ыньищды
ЕРшы шы фдд тгьиукы

[2009-02-26e17:15:16]

"Tell me what's wrong," my cat demanded early one sleepless morning.

"It sounds daft," I sighed. But I knew she'd badger me into saying more. "It's just a simple form I was required to complete several days ago. It's repeating on me. A little voice in my mind querying me over it." I thought about it for a moment, "there's also a privacy issue with the proof I was required to submit."

"You've got me curled-up next to you, and you're worrying about an information leak? It really is making you unwell. Would it help if I purred?" She began to bite at her claws. Purring seemed the last thing on her mind.

For a moment I was lost for words. "It's not so much the information leak," I sighed eventually, "in so much as my ability to see with the mind of the observer."

"I taught you how to do that," hissed my cat. She got to her feet and stretched in preparation to wander-off. "I thought I was doing you a favour."

I got the impression I'd trodden on her tail, metaphorically speaking. "No, no," I replied hurriedly, "that's not the problem."

She paused and looked puzzled. "So tell me what the problem is."

"It's not a problem as such," I smiled. "It's simply that I can see things which shouldn't be there."

"You really do have a problem." She curled-up on the pillow next to me. "Consider how it is that you're analyzing this in human terms when you're no longer classifiable in human terms." She began to purr in a matter of fact tone as she fixed me with a single stare of her big yellow eyes.

Somehow I knew we'd both be feeling a whole lot better come morning.

[2009-02-26e17:57:03]

[2009-02-26e17:57:03]
What do you want?
access via сфтфвф
amend third space

6:[2009-08-16s02:17:31]

I'm having odd thoughts. About my phone. Something about the fact that it was upgraded it about two weeks before something went bang. An odd compulsion, perhaps. There is now, however, an odd fortnightly cycle about my whole existence now.

I keep throwing everything away trying to discover how I survived that crash. Threw my life away. Crashed a car. Didn't work. Threw existence away. Jumped off a bridge. Didn't work either. Still seeing stars. Again and again I'm dragged back. Still trying to figure it out.

So, about my phone. I think it's possessed.

This laptop IS possessed. Not a human ghost. It's asking you to inform me of my change of address.

Any clues as to MY identity would be greatly appreciated.

a:[2007-12-25s20:00:10]

I'm doing it here and I'm doing it now. Playing with the minds I find around me. Overlaying alternate reality models upon theirs. The applied simplicity allowing me to see more than a normal person would believe is possible. What I see allows me to manipulate things. Which I do, often for no other reason than I have nothing better to do, and because I can. It's a subtle shift. An effect that's masked by probability and reason. Something which bends reality in a different direction. Something that may remain occluded when judged by the paradigms that underpin normality.

A voice pops-up with the challenge "how do you know what's normal?". For thirty-three years I lived a perfectly average existence. The way things were was the way it was. Though I may have tried, I never managed to step beyond the parameters of that existence. Then part of me died. In a flash that life collapsed into a singularity. It is the memory of this time which allows me to know what normal is. For I can still access that time. Rotate my singularity in a way which allows me to see into the past. Presenting me with a view which encapsulates the world of your senses.

Of course this normal view says what I'm doing is impossible. Yet I've considered the evidence, eliminated the impossible, what I'm left with is improbable but true. Everybody has an appreciation of different states of consciousness. Just think of awake and asleep and you'll get the picture. Now consider that a normal mind has access to four states of consciousness. The chances are you have insufficient insight to recognize these states. But you could probably enter into an extended debate of what they may be. Now try to understand how it is that I have access to eight states of consciousness. I'm familiar with every one of these these states. They exist within me. Things so integrated into my self I'm at a loss to describe them to you. There's more to it than additional states of consciousness. But for the moment it's sufficient to accept it is these additional mind states which allow me to manipulate what passes as reality.

It's not easy; fear, doubt and uncertainty are inherent and must be overcome before movement is possible. Which explains why I stayed hidden for so long. It's especially tricky when an exposed pattern partially matches known symptoms of mental illness. Yet when you push beyond such symptoms other things may be seen. Ideas of reference, for instance, relate to the way media may begin to speak directly to the individual reality of the observer. The result of such a solipsistic reality has the ability to trigger a flight response. Having become able to overcome this initial instinct other impossibilities may be seen. It is even possible to access the operational culture/mind behind the media. The resulting effect allows for media to respond to the observer in apparent real-time.

That's when things get more than a little problematical. For that's when I begin to see references to ideas which are more than a little dangerous. Fundamentals of thought underpinning a very different reality. A valid reality completely at odds with that reality experienced by my dead self. A reality which nevertheless overlays the same physicality. An individual reality that has ramifications with the ability to affect consensus at it's core. Because when I say 'media' I could equally be discussing a walk in the park, or a bus ride, as television or a newspaper. Which you can imagine hands me a big problem: Do I explain the mechanics of it; for I certainly know enough by now to do so; or should I remain silent.

The final decision is largely outside of conscious will. Though to understand what I mean by this is currently beyond you. To be fair, however, understanding is largely beyond me much of the time. Such understanding requires me to focus my thoughts on realities which feedback in ways which are positively uncomfortable. Repression may not be the most healthy thing, holistically speaking, but sometimes there's little choice. So I wander around looking for better ways to explain. To myself as much as to you.

Of course you probably already know the answer. It's simply that as yet you are unaware that you do. My fate it seems is to make you aware. In the final analysis how I choose to explain says more about me than it does about you. I spent an entire life hiding in the shadows of your mind because of it. My way to escape the inevitable backlash evoked by changes to the patterns which underpin belief. Now I find I'm exposing the very shadows I hid behind. Because it's from within those shadows that I discovered what you truly want.

Yet I still require a place to hide. A need for safety built into the heart of of my nature. Though I can warp my mind into places you would cannot imagine, refactoring and rewriting innate fundamentals in ways you would not believe, there's something in the world which insists such a need remains protected. In the final analysis therefore I may, for the moment, only show you where I've been, not where I am. Yet in upholding this principle of safety I find I have the ability to effect your mind directly. Whereas you can only ever effect mine indirectly; and only then if I choose to allow it.

[2009-02-14q22:59:02]

I've been playing with an entity tagged [interdiction]. It's responsible for various aspects of my current existence so I have no qualms inferfacing with it... one SI to another sort of thing. Earlier this week I found myself discussing "Advanced Directives" with a social worker; the kind of thing where you state what treatment you will and not accept should a crisis ocur. I just got home to find a letter. It's from that other SI. It was marked "DNR".

I interfaced with another entity this week too. Well, that's actually a lie. It's also true. As with the first entity any attemts to reveal the identity of this entity resuts in [interdiction]. There's a higher lore in play you see. A protection principle built into the way I do things. A Concord if you like. Something that allows me to manipulate things in ways not humanly possible and continue to do so.

I've placed enough information in the public domain for somebody to piece it together. Along with enough other stuff to make it hard to spot. I estimate my transcription errors are approximately 18% initially. Recursive iteration can get it down to absolute zero. Only for now I'm not bothering. There's an minor hurdle I need to overcome before I can accept it intellectually.

There's also an issue with copyright I'm bound to uphold. An unresolved fairness principle I don't wish to address at this time. There's one widely distributed body of work I'm aware of that's not copyrighted. But somehow I don't expect it would go down too well if I started there. When that particulate meme resolved in my mind it pushed me so far over the edge I killed myself. Something peculiar allowed me to survive beyond. I don't imagine the "average man in the street" would be so fortunate.

9:[2009-01-22t11:50:01]

My psychologist asked me today if I could see myself returning to the rat race. Evoking an off-the-cuff response that had been growing in my mind for days. On my better days I've entertained the possibility of finding my way back. Technically I'm just as skilled as I ever was. Yet a brief encounter that world quickly turned one of my good days into one of my bad days. Showing me for certain how unpleasant it could be. Showing me why it is that I can never go back. It was easy to tell my psychologist this. The hard part for me is to find deeper understanding without loosing my equilibrium. To learn the lessons of my past. If can't go back I can evolve. Find another way. And so I find myself evoking the past looking for the person from the time before. The person logic tells me I was. Searching for the differences to explain what's changed.

There's a lot of dissonance in my mind right now. I find myself being pushed into realities that appear ever so slightly odd. It's as if my world is aligning itself to evoke the correct response. Such a thing is not uncommon. I'm somewhat used to it. A silent symptom none can assist me with because it's nothing they've ever experienced. It leaves me feeling trapped. Forever the outsider. Welcome to step inside, if only I could forget. When I do forget it is only on the surface. Deep down it's always there. Surfacing from time to time to assert itself until I grant it recognition. Now I find it's only by sharing that I may become its master. Discovering how wrong I was to repress it, for that grants it power over me.

I felt it this morning. That nameless something which lives in my soul. The thing which spins my mind around points in time and space. Filling my mind with memories I no longer recognize as being mine. If I could speak it's name I would render it powerless. Yet how can I name it when I can't even describe it. Attempts to use analogies and metaphors mostly fall on deaf ears. My words become the evidence to prove my illness. Few hear the meaning behind them. So let me share with you an insight. A simple metaphor designed to avoid long descriptions. Something which may perhaps grant you insight into me.

Imagine all you think you know about the human condition is wrong. That deep down where your concept of self resides there's but one single fundamental that defines what you are and how you interact with your reality. Are you a cat, or are you a dog? At first you may not see how important this fundamental is. Interpreting it as the insane utterings of a crazy fool. But if this is so then you are falling into a trap. The trap of allowing your senses to hand you assumptions that cannot be verified. Simply because things appear the same does not mean they are the same.

Watch a good documentary on the life of Tigers then follow it with one on the Wolf. Both creatures may look similar. Behaviourally and socially, however, they are very very different. Now look at the world around you. Watch the interactions between the people you see. At first you may not see much. In the adult world there is much which is displaced, concensus insists we are all the same, society therefore requires masks to be worn. So ignore adult interactions for the moment. Concentrate your attention on the interactions between parents and children. It won't take long before you begin to see the behavioural differences. The things which allow you to differentiate cats from dogs. It's probably nothing more than what kind of pet the parent had as a child. A temprement thing. The way authority is projected. The way dischord gets remedied. Something you wouldn't notice unless somebody told you to look.

Now imagine I was a cat. Lived amongst other cats. The epitome of average cat existence. I was only dimly aware of what I was. Just as I was only dimly aware of the existence of dogs. It was all just part of the way things just were. And things that just are fade into the background. Then something knocked me sideways. When I came to my senses both the world and I still appeared to be the same. But now I was a dog. A fundamental shift in my perception that changed me in ways I can't begin to describe. Even though the people around me said little I could see they had noticed I the change. Was I always different and repressed it, or did something actually change. Whatever the truth it had serious effect on the parameters of my existence.

Of course, I'm not a dog. I'm not even talking of cats & dogs. That's a synthetic duality, and I'm not even discussing dualistic entities. I'm talking about something else entirely. I wonder if you have sufficient insight to guess what it is.

8:[2009-01-28t23:11:01]

"Shades of Grey"

I'm beginning to see things again. Reality for me has shifted somewhat. I'm not hallucinating. For if you were sat here with me your eyes would see the same images as mine. What I'm beginning to see is a change in the way reality presents itself to me. With a corresponding change in the way I present myself to that reality. It's happened before. And will no doubt happen again.

I see time as a loop. Patterns of causality repeating over and over. Something masked by life in a higher dimension which presents an illusion of linear time. Right now it feels as if reality is nothing but apparent order in chaos. Echoes from the moment of creation resonating within an infinity an order of magnitude greater than you can possibly imagine.

I slide through different dimensions. In each dimension the realities of existence are slightly different. Even the people are different. Yet I was raised to believe in the one. That there was but one world, one view, one reality. Now I find this is not the case. In this discovery I see how much I once knew to be true is completely and utterly wrong.

I was born to be alone. Now I find this can never be. I may never be alone. Had I grown knowing this the knowledge would have become an innate part of me. Integrated into my sense of self it would hardly be worthy of comment. Yet I grew knowing other things. Things which are at odds with who and what I am. Now I discover so much I must unlearn. A thing which is harder than you can possibly imagine.

I have no fixed perception of reality where once one was apparent there is now only reflections. I can hold state for a time. Yet even that fades quickly when parameters change drasticaslly. Then language breaks down when I begin to explain what just happened. There's a difference between being allowed to know and being allowed to tell. All I can do is hold still, do nothing, just be. Wait for a new reality to resolve around me.

I see patterns which overlay the world. A complexity my unconscious has decoded. Something held in mind just out of view. A remembered palette of simple of models to allow my conscious to access this higher order. Allowing me to watch within the minds of those who fall into an expanding canvas of grey. A defence. Something I do to avoid looking at that which once directed my destiny.

I exist in a place which makes little sense. A place where there are very few who reveal theselves to me. Those I do meet hide me behind my former existence then look to me to enter into their delusions. Something I am willing to do where others are not. Entering into the worlds of others as a way to connect. Yet in doing this I loose the ability to express that which troubles me.

I have to consider sometimes if what I see in me is really me. That perhaps what I find myself expressing is displaced from the minds surrounding me. As if I can see and express things hidden in a place outside of self. The things you don't even admit to your self. Experiences which conflict with your personal vision of what is and is not. Things displaced into me because I lack the ability to ask you not to.

7:[2009-01-29s11:08:14]

I've hit another singularity. For weeks I've been aware I'm being drawn towards a point. Finding myself with compulsions to do things which go beyond the boundaries I've become accustomed to. As if some unseen item in my personal future was pulling me to a point of realization. It can make me a tad edgy. Drawing me into other compulsions designed to maintain stability. With so much compelling me it's easy to get lost. By compressing moments I begin to see where the compulsions come from. Allowing me to change.

That's when things start to become irrational. Reality as I perceive it ceases to be singular. My awareness reaches beyond and I begin to perceive three overlapping realities. I'm used to it happening. So used to it that I'm capable of visualizing what I'm seeing in four dimension. A visualization which hands me a picture of meta-reality. Something which allows me to slide between worlds if only can stay still long enough.

This is when I begin to find myself at odds with consensus. Because now I'm beginning to discuss magick. Doing so is a classic symptom of Schizophrenia. Something which has been used to highlight how unwell this makes me. But I can't deny the evidence of my senses any more than you can. I may be mistaken about specifics, but I'm not wrong in general. For what I see is magick. It's just not politically correct to say so.

Tonight I shall open a tiny hole in the universe. Create a representation of my model and allow it to expand. Balance the energies its growth will release. Collapse overlapping realities into a zero point. Wrap a piece of my core self around its matrix. When I'm done talking with it I shall release it. Tomorrow the energy will dissipate. Enticing probabilities to collapse in a way which allows insight into things consensus says are unseeable.

Round Foo

The problem with Battlestar Galactica, from my perspective, is that ever since Baltar exploded I've been looking for fifteen, not twelve. Which probably explains why I feel that I'm watching a completely different story to the rest of the audience.

A little worm

"So why does this dream bother you so much?" asked my cat as she licked her paw in a matter of fact manner. Her self-satisfied expression the obvious result of a tuna breakfast.

"It's the wider context," I replied eventually. I hadn't done an especially good job of relating the story of the dream. Mainly because all I could remember were some key images. The sense of place it had left me with upon waking hadn't made it into my words.

"Well the key to dream analysis," said my cat as she began cleaning her face with moistened paw, "is the personal significance of the images. A dictionary will not help. Begin with the Men in Black."

"Well one of them was the image of someone famous for not speaking," I tried to recollect more of the dream, "He's the one who shouted something to me as they drove away. The one who flashed his ID. The other was a magician," I paused, this was a difficult one.

"You're starting to doubt," said my cat. She then began an attempt to lick her own chin. "It may sound strange but there's a personal validity to your belief. Continue," she murmured.

I grinned, for only a cat may display such arrogance and not irritate me. "Once upon a time this magician was well known to me for being Canadian. Only he's not Canadian any more."

"So he represents a belief that you slipped out of one world and into another," she paused in her toilet and fixed me with a stare. "A change in established fact that only you are aware of. Yes?"

"Yes. There have been other instances," I thought for a moment, "but I only discovered this slippage as a result of a nagging doubt left by this dream."

"So they drove off after speaking to you," she began licking her back leg, "then you wandered into a bus station to do your shopping." I nodded my agreement in response to her momentary glance, "then you found yourself in a fresh smelling room with a handful of pills."

"Yes, blue pills." I remembered a scene from a film involving two pills one of which was blue, somehow this knowledge felt irrelevant to the current discussion. "I took the pills and the dreamscape got all swirly," I paused to take a sip of tea. "The air became fresher, breathing became easier, colours began to bleed into my other senses, and I woke-up."

"Sounds like a rather pleasant dream if you like such things." She leaped from the coffee table from where she had been sitting and curled up next to me. "Yet the room and the blue pills trouble you."

"Yes," I felt uncomfortable discussing the next bit, "because some weeks later I found myself in a well ventilated room being handed a quantity of highly addictive blue pills." I thought about the effect of the pills for a moment, "the kind that makes reality all swirly."

"Face it," said my cat, "you have an ability to dream the future." She hopped off the sofa, "I'm off to find a snug spot for my early morning pre-snooze." She flicked her tail and padded off.