I write;I think;I know.

And now? find the third way...

The key is in the meta data.

Geronimo!
Whoo-hoo-hoo!
Ha-ha!
Ha! Crashing!
I'm...
And something else,
something important, I'm, I'm...
No! No... I'm not a girl.
And still not ginger!
I'm a girl!
Hair...
Nose, I've had worse. Chin, blimey.
Ears, yes. Eyes, two.
Hands. Ooh, fingers, lots of fingers.
Arms.
Legs. I've still got legs, good.
I don't want to go.
Yeah?
See ya.
We will sing to you, Doctor.
The universe will sing you
to your sleep.
This song is ending.
But the story never ends.

"A three-fold portal through time," sighed my cat, "if you can see it the right way."

"Other dimensions must be really small," mimiced my other cat sarcastically."

"well they have been shown to be," sighed my cat, "big enough to drive a bus through."

"only nobody chooses to look," sighed I.

"I think my sister has a couple of cans of Omega," admitted my cat. "Should keep us in tuna for a couple of more cycles."

"I am a time lord," I sighed as I shook my head, "I'm also a wizard!"

"''", said my cat.

my thoughts exactly

±well, not exactly.

+wonderful

-wtf

$!

[2008-12-27e21:29:16]

+ we've hit them with a Catch 22
± no matter how you manage to describe this
- you're certifiably insane

& Insane would be a good word for it, yes.  Just what the hell do you think
you're doing?

$ I don't think.  At least not directly.  It just sort of happens.

@ Loosing yourself for the better part of sixteen months was a neat trick.

$ Oh, bloody hell.  I'd forgotten that.

@ look, we see the problem.

* it's a valid model, just not something which is quick to expose itself

Screaming in the wilderness

"As far as we can figure it," said my cat, "you're supposed to be dead."

"Feels like it," I slurred in reply.

"I could," purred my other cat, "give you an example to highlight the point."

"Let's just assume," I sighed, "that we all understand the point."

"Are you not concerned," asked my cat, "about the ongoing nature of your existence."

"No." I admitted frankly.

"Yes," replied my other cat.

"It's not you," said my cat, "who is dead."

"Any valid documents which serve to identify identity," snapped my other cat, "would appear to apply to both of us."

"And I'm the Chief Executive," I admitted.

"This is wrong," said my cat.

"Indeed," I grinned.

"At least one of you," alleged my cat, "can lie."

"But only we know know the secret," smiled my other cat, "of who."

"And it's not especially hard," I added, "to know when."

"So it's not especially fun," grumbled my other cat.

"It's far more profitable," I explained, "weaving patterns from what's true."

"What you end-up with," admitted my other cat, "are perceptions which cannot be shown to be false."

"And yet they are just," I added, "plain wrong."

"Does the truth not speak for itself" asked my cat. "Is it not all just a matter of interpretation."

"It's not a matter of truth," I conceded, "it's a matter of presentation."

"Got sword," muttered my cat.

"It took me about three hours," I admitted, "to find the bedroom door this morning."

"Please," muttered my cat.

"It's important," snapped my other cat, "you need to listen."

"I found the front door," I nodded, "within about fifteen minutes."

"You make no sense," frowned my cat, "both were right in front of you."

"I am aware of your perceptions," I said flatly, "and are they are unimportant."

"In this context," added my other cat.

"It's the voices," I sighed. "I suspect I've always 'heard' them. An alienness which lead me to build my sense of self somewhere they could never go."

"In that regard," said my cat, "it could be said they didn't exist before."

"But since the accident I've been seeing them," I admitted, "and that makes it so much harder to assert my self-identity."

"Synesthetic bleed," suggested my other cat.

"I can 'see' who they are," I admitted, "see their effect in my affect."

"Which is how," remarked my cat, "you have such a hard time finding the door."

"There are also the other voices," added my other cat. "And then there are the other, other voices; the ones who think you know more than what's good for you."

If there is a trend to be found in humanity's approach to the future
it is to be found in the way we invest so much in the drive to build  
bigger and bigger machines to look further and further into the past


follow the trend and you begin to question the nature of your eyes
ask a question about the nature of time and consciousness
and you begin to consider that if the past is all that's out there
perhaps by looking in you can discover something profound
yet it is not a question that occurs at a moment when you are able 
to find the time to contemplate and review the resonances
but before you can find your way to the door a voice you can't see
resolves the unanswered questions with a question of form
geographical primitives of thought designed to allow a single mind
a manipulational awareness of the forces which bind time. 

I've been getting upset about the LHC for a while now. Logic tell me I'm being irrational. One of those split views of the world I'm bound to encounter from time to time. Last Thursday I found a report of Atlas going operational. I'd not checked the news for weeks. Yet there I was being drawn to a point that didn't resolve until I'd looked and seen the detector plot. Not that I especially claim to have hold of the plot. For I'd just spent two days trying to understand what had happened when I'd stepped-out to get a stamp.

Of course it's only a coincidence the stamp happened on the same day as the LHC was being spun-up. I mention it now because it's merely coincidence that I was talking to a memory of that first Atlas image when things got all shimmy just now on the nature of consciousness front; for a moment I even found myself discussing wave-particle duality with a photon; something about a branch-predictive look-ahead capability and the concept of choice within a quantum stream.

A repeat almost of what happened on my Atlas Tuesday. Like I said I only stepped out to buy a stamp. Well, buy a stamp and post the letter to which the stamp was to be attached. The letter is probably important; my response to something legal. It took me a moment to write, then a week to find a way to send it. By the time I got to the postbox reality was all bent out of shape. No matter how I tried, my perceptions of reality couldn't be made to fit known parameters. It almost became another agoraphobic day trapped inside. Until one of the cats took a hand and I tripped over a cliff.

The cats are good like that for it's never malicious, and I'll always learn something of value. Not that it's ever immediately apparent. Cats and time have a peculiar relationship you see. To a cat it's always twenty-past six on a Thursday; a universal truth discovered by a committee of cats about two weeks ago. A little joke of time and mind designed by catkin to remind me how it is that I don't immediately recall what I was doing seven days back.

On this particular Thursday it was as if the veil which separated one world from another had been breached. Bringing me an awareness of the thoughts of those passing me by. Unconscious thoughts leaking into my conscious realm. Reactions to the contents of my own unconscious mind.

"We know what's coming next," said my cat.

"And we've taken steps," added my other cat, "to assert our vision of reality."

"I suspect," I nodded, "what I'm feeling is a backlash."

"You're not wrong," admitted my cat.

"And you're not wrong," said the other.

I got lost then, a road I'd been down before that had never been so alien. At the other end of this road I discover there'a a sign above a door, the number fourty-two written above the words 'Church Entrance'.

"Relax," said my cat.

"I try," I sighed. "Only when I do I find a fundamental force begins objecting such attempts."

"I would suggest," said my other cat, "it's a displacement that's been built-up over time to the extent it's become an entrained response."

"What," replied with mild astonishment.

"Viral code," added my other cat with a look. "Something from the mind of another which has modified itself to run at a higher level of abstraction."

"You're close," said my cat, "closer than you've ever been."

"To what," I asked.

"An answer," replied my cat.

"Then the question," I conceded, "must be from whose mind did it originate and how do I overcome its effect without leaving myself open to additional dysfunction."

"I suspect the answer to those questions," announced my cat, "are related."

"A Freudian," I admitted, "would ask me to recline on a couch and ask me about my mother."

"Exactly," said my cat.

"And yet a Jungian," I added, "would, perhaps, be mistaken as a Freudian if they used the same question to probe my perceptions of the Anima archetype."

"Relatives," agreed my cat, "in an intellectual realm."

"The theories," purred my other cat, of Father and Son sharing a strong family resemblance."

if there is a pattern repeated to us by nature it is to be found in the pattern which repeats within itself. echoes of a single truth scaled into a higher dimension. allow your senses to flow. listen with your eyes. see with your ears. smell with your mind. find the echoes of the beginning resonating through the dimensions.

"It's not really something you can appreciate until you experience," said my other cat, "the degree to which you allow a pattern you don't fully understand to affect you on an unconscious level."

"The mathematics of thought," I conceded.

"And mind," added my cat.

"I think it's safe to say we understand each other now."

"An explanation would help."

"if you know what you're looking for, it's obvious."

"It's only the memory that it was not so obvious which tells me you discovered something new."

"Truly," said my cat, "it's not psychosis."

"Just imagine there are phases of consciousness through which a mind passes the mind of man; the collective consciousness of humankind, as it were, is about to leap from phase-III to phase-IV."

"Okay," I asked cautiously, "where an I in all this."

"Beyond phase-VI."

"That sounds kind of grandiose."

"Not really you extrapolated reality into personal realm and found the answers you were looking for.

"I become concerned about my delusional states and begin to wonder if I merely see the answer I want."

"Four is the answer you are looking for," said my cat patiently, "if you're adding two and two. But if you want to consider you're being delusional go ahead and count zero to find a five."

"There are levels to this," said my other cat, "it's a whole lot more complex than you're currently able to understand."

"Initialization vectors," muttered my cat. "Nowww we begin to see what you're trying to say."

"Finally," sighed my other cat.

"From our perspective," said my cat, "we have always been able to see you."

"Until I woke-up dead," I admitted, "you didn't exist."

the sense of an approaching point; a moment in time
an awareness of the threads involved with the point
the archetypes in the moonlight resolving the truth

the words come, in the other place
ideas which follow me around
begging for a chance to find light

"There's a certain resonance," I smiled.

"What do you expect," replied my cat. "It's what you asked for."

"Not quite," objected my other cat. "It is however a beginning."

There's a certain charm about her, I admitted. "An childish innocence we could all learn from."

"You'd freak," muttered my cat. "Thrash about, run from the images the mirror in your mind would show you."

"Probably," I admitted. "Still, I should like to do something about it."

"Now," asked my cat.

"Well," I admitted, "I was thinking of something deeper, something more fundamental."

"You're thinking," said my cat, "long term singular whereas the current subject is more to do with the current multiplicity."

"In which case," I replied, "the answer would be yes."

"Truly," asked my cat.

"Indeed," I nodded. "Only right now I can't see where the light is."

"We'll help with that," said my other cat.

"Time slip," muttered my cat.

"I think it's safe to say," said my other cat, "she want's something."

"Don't we all," I sighed.

"The point," stressed my cat, "is to see beyond our own projections, and see what lies beneath."

"I've tried that before," I admitted. "It slips into an odd discontinuity. I see plurality where consensus logic asserts the singular."

"It's something you learn to see," announced my cat, "when you overcome your dysfunctional belief patterns."

"And once seen," purred my other cat, "most of what you see remains visible long after the precursors have faded from sight."

"I just felt," I admitted, "a door open."

"Just look," directed my other cat, "don't touch."

"Standard behaviour," I muttered. "Is it relevant that I find her unconscious expression projects a memory of my past."

"It projects other things too," said my other cat as she licked her paw. "You're simply sensitive to other operators right now."

"Perhaps," I nodded. "Perhaps too it becomes a case of addressing those sensitivities."

"Indeed," smiled my cat as I slipped into a different world.

"Careful," warned my other cat, "there's a certain instability in your perceptions here."

"It's okay," I admitted as I slipped back into the room. "Although on the subject of instability is it worth mentioning the dwarf in the corner."

"I don't think," said my cat "the dwarf you are referring to is unstable."

"No," I conceded. "If there is instability here I would assume it to be mine. Noticing dwarves is I should imagine somewhat uncommon."

"You're not wrong," purred my other cat, "and now, would you like the chance to do something about it."

"I would," I admitted. "And yet I find myself being blocked."

"As you explore the blockage," said my cat, "you'll discover much that resides within yourself."

"So what," I pondered, "does she want."

"There are some," suggested my cat, "for whom being alone is a nightmare without end."

"I realize this," I nodded. "Not something I find I have a problem with. Although I do begin to wonder to what degree I'm ever alone."

"I think you'll find," replied my cat, "we've already established you're never alone."

"Shadows," I muttered as the unasked question answered itself.

"If you insist," grinned my other cat.

"If you put your minds to it," purred my cat, "you may be able to find an answer."

"On the subject of never being alone," I pondered, "it crosses my mind how I spend an inordinate amount of time by myself."

"By yourself," admitted my other cat, "is easy."

"I'm not sure," added my cat, "you should really be exploring the reasons. Not at the moment at any rate."

"Possibly," I nodded. "There's a lot of distraction in the room right now. Such explorations are as easy as they are personal."

"The problem with hyper-awareness," my cat informed me, "is the degree to which you find yourself surrounded by infinities."

"Really," I replied sounding unconvinced.

"Fractals," muttered my other cat by way of an explanation.

"Leading you to a place," continued my cat, "where you can't see the trees, or the wood, because the scent of a rose leads you to a place where you're too busy visualizing the cosmic all from the perspective of the entirety of the rose's existence."

"True," I nodded. "Although to be fair if it's not one thing it would be another. I have, it appears, lost the ability to sleep with my eyes open."

"Not lost," my cat assured me, "it's simply not a skill that's required."

"So show me," I sighed, "what I should be looking at."

"Be serious," said my other cat, "you've known since you arrived.";

WTF

"Tell me," asked my cat, "what happened."

"I fell into a wormhole," I replied with confusion. "Then things got unswirly."

"Unswirly," said my cat, "would sound like a good thing."

"Perhaps," I nodded. "But the theme of the unswirly is troubling."

"Meta context," muttered my other cat.

"An odd dream," I recalled, "not that I recall much of it. Just enough to remember slapping the doorman on the chest as I walked through the door and told my father I was about to detonate a trinity bomb."

"Trinity," asked my cat looking up.

"Word sort," I smiled, "not the Enriched Uranium sort."

"In your hands," muttered my other cat, "both have the ability to go nuclear."

"In a way something leaked from my dream and it did," I sighed. "I woke with my mind in limbo. Memories of the dream fading. Then a voice asked me to identify the symbol I was currently working on. Which oddly enough happened to stuck too the wall right by my hand. Then I kinda forgot myself for a bit."

"I think it's safe to say," said my cat, "the symbol went on to explain itself."

"It did," I admitted. "But when the explination involves following the four horsemen out of the bible it's hard to reconcile with being awake."

"Problem," purred my other cat.

"Other than not being sure," I said with a puzzled frown, "how I got there."

"You were checking names," replied my cat.

"The names I found," I admitted, "were the right ones."

"Though not" said my other cat, "any one would classically associate with the horsemen."

"There are three workable definitions," announced my cat, "which constitute an acceptible definition of schizophrenia."

"All three of them apply," said my other cat, "to at least two of your personalities."

"I'm at a loss," I sighed, "how you expect me to reconcile that."

"All of your base," grinned my other cat, "are belong to us."

"I'm not sure I get the reference," said my cat, "but the meaning is clear."

"I get the reference," I admitted, "but the meaning is somewhat occluded."

"Entities," purred my cat, "relationship, and meaning."

"Entities," I muttered in obvious confusion.

"Twelve plus one," announced my cat, "is eleven plus two."

"Yes," I nodded. "Thirteen."

"Eleven minus two," annouced my other cat, "is twelve minus one."

"That makes no sense," I frowned. "Nine does not equal eleven."

"I think you'll find," said my other cat, "that it is does."

"Once you know," said my cat, "the meaning is clear."

"Nope," I admitted finally, "I don't understand."

"One plus," began my other cat.

"Six hundred," continued my cat, "and sixty-six"

"Equals ten," said the other.

"Beast," I muttered as enlightenment dawned.

"The point is," said my cat, "there are things which should never be allowed to mix openly."

"Nothing is what it seems," added my other cat as she sensed my confusion.

"Becasue," I began. Then my voice stalled. "Hmm."

"See," said my cat.

"Translate the entity relationship," said my cat, "and you begin to see."

"One of you," I sighed, "is inverted in relation to the other."

"Relative to what," asked my cat.

"I'm not sure how to explain," I admitted. "To be honest I suspect you're using it to teach me about the nature of time."

"It's more to do with the nature of mind," announced my cat.

"It's as if," I conceeded, "I already have the answer."

"You do," said my cat.

"Do I," I asked in suprise.

"It's just," said my cat, "it's written in a language you can only translate to, not from."

"Oh," replied with mild suprise.

"So when," added my other cat, "an assertion is made with regards to a specific issue a little voice at the back of your mind runs a binding verification function."

"In which case," I began hesitantly, "if an assertion is true then I'm inclined to be largely indifferent."

"Indeed," said my cat, "what's wrong with that."

"On the surface," I replied, "nothing."

"Except," promted my cat.

"Except," I admitted, "assertions that are not true resonate long after their time."

"There are other reasons," my cat said with reassuring tone, "why things resonate but on the whole you're right on the mark."

"So what," asked my other cat, "brings this issue to the foreground."

"There's a little voice," I admitted after a short pause, "cast back in time that's still objecting to something a priest said when trying to make a point about the actions of god with regards to humanity."

"And the problem," asked my cat, "with that."

"He was wrong," I admitted.

"How do you know this," asked my cat.

"I am just," I admitted, "as confused on how to answer that as you."

"Well I'm not confused" announced my other cat exhibiting the full arrogance of her species. "I already know the answer."

"Care to share," I asked.

"No," said my other cat, "in time the information will find it's way into your mind that will allow you to find your the answer yourself."

"I would imagine it's an idea," grinned my cat, "not of it's time."

"Partly," replied my other cat. "But in truth it's something that's best left until you've overcome the concequences of a lifetime of abuse."

"Abuse," I frowned.

"You've been abused all your life," asserted my other cat. "It's only now you begin to acknowledge the affect."

"And in that statement," annouced my cat, "we begin to see the names of the guilty."

"It's more than a little unpleasant," I sighed as I began to see the picture my cats were painting.

"They've made their choices," replied my other cat. "There is no requirement for you to accept those choices as your own."

"And yet in this world," I sighed, "there are benefits to be found in forcing others to believe as you do." For a moment I fell silent as I contemplated the possible hypocrisy in my words.

"Oh please," said my cat as she looked inside my mind, "you never force anything."

"Don't I."

"No," asserted my other cat. "The truth points to itself so why the hell should you ever feel the need to force it."

"Becasue it conflicts," I suggested, "with the rationalizations and compromises with which individual humanity have encased their minds."

"You can't free a slave," asserted my cat, "a slave may only ever free themself."

"You taught us that," purred my cat.

"And oddly," smiled my other cat, "you happen to be right."

"Be that as it may," I sighed, "I can't see it helping me out of this rut."

"The only difference," began my cat, "between a rut and a grave..."

"...are the dimensions," finished the other.

"There you go again," I replied, "drawing the point before I've managed to satisfy my own curiosity on the matter."

"I wouldn't say that," said my other cat, "was strictly true."

"Perhaps," I conceeded. "I do however find it difficult to plot my own path when even a humerous remark starts to set the adgenda."

"Dimensions," said my cat, "are important."

"I realize this," I nodded, "I'm more concerned how it is that I happen to know time operates in nine dimensions."

"As you well know," said my cat, "when constructing a model of reality it's not until the ninth dimension that it's able to support a reference to time."

"Do I," I exclaimed in a somewhat mocking tone, "does it. Let's see..."

"Do not," said my other cat dryly, "begin by trying to count zero."

"Again," added my cat. "You'll only trap yourself," she continued, "in another box."

"In it's way," I admitted, "there's a certain amount of satisfaction to be derived from such boxes."

"Security," said my cat.

"Certainty," said the other.

"But truly," I sighed, "I know you're right. The certainty of a consensual hallucination and the security of delusion do not remain satisfying for long."

"I beg to differ," replied my other cat. "There are those to whom what you describe is eternally satisfying."

"I suspect," objected my cat, "that was a singular view and not a general point."

"True," I nodded.

"Now listen," said my cat.

"With which sense," I replied with a smile.

"All of them," replied my other cat.

"What do you see," asked my cat.

"Red," I replied.

"Dark light," asked my other cat.

"If it is," said my cat, "then you're looking in the wrong place."

"I think not," I objected.

"I believe," said my other cat, "I've just found the inversion we've been looking for."

"Wonderful," muttered my cat sarcastically.

"You have to admit," I sighed, "it's an answer."

"Not one" added my other cat, "which the world is likely to accept any time soon."

"We're more than a couple of years," replied my cat, "ahead of you on this one."

"Then very possibly," I added, "the world is ready."

"I think perhaps," my other cat replied, "you may be right."

Memetic Elements 101

'**lithium-6
class IV 'mind'
	>>a family of five tigers
	<<replicating pattern-III
	--The Empress
++The Emperor.

Precursors Analysis

"So now what can I say," I asked my cat.

"Tell it how it is," replied my cat. "Perhaps you'll find someone willing to listen."

"It sounds like insanity," I sighed. "So the little voice of reason tells me you don't want to listen to what I say."

"I'll listen," said my cat.

"But you won't believe," I grumbled. "You'll talk about coincidence. And chance. And then offer rationalizations to make me doubt my own thoughts."

"Perhaps I do believe," said my cat, "deep down. But unlike you I can't live with conflicting visions of reality."

"I wouldn't say," I smiled, "I'm especially good at living with it."

"I don't know," purred my cat, "you seem to handle it well." She raised a paw and began to clean herself. "So what," her shadow asked, "has triggered this bout of angst."

"The Men in Black," I admitted, "are back."

"Seriously," prompted my cat.

"Well it could have been an elf," I smiled. "But seriously, I got stopped on the street by a missionary in a dark suit."

"I take it you don't consider," said my cat, "the faith being represented is important."

"All faith is important," I grumbled, "I simply don't wish to give the impression the weirdness I'm experiencing is related to any specific one."

"Oh, I see," said my cat. "And the weirdness," she asked.

"Started before I got to the street." I admitted. "My thoughts all got a bit swirly. I got lost trying to find my way back to a place I could be with my children. I was beginning to get to a point where I didn't think I could get outside."

"That's when I told you," smiled my cat, "you needed to get milk."

"I didn't think I could get even that far," I admitted. "It's as if a wall of energy was pushing me back. Seeking to keep me locked in my room."

"Yes," said my cat, "we deed seem rather highly-strung."

"But I'd made a decision," I continued, "I wasn't going to let my demons stop me. By the time I got to the door," I sighed, "whatever it was was knocking chunks of my past into my consciousness trying to make me aware of something."

"And the message," asked my cat.

"Seemed to have something to do," I sighed after a considered pause, "with The Book of Revelation."

"Hence the reaction," smiled my cat, "to the man in the street."

"Exactly," I admitted. "There were even some comments made about my having broken the first seal."

"I can see," said my cat, "how discussing this is difficult."

"Living it is just as hard," I sighed. "At one point I felt I was about to fold."

"You didn't," replied my cat.

"No," I smiled. "Just like always I locked on target and pushed through the wall of noises in my mind."

"Yet part of you," said my cat, "wanted to let it out."

"Certainly," I admitted. "And for a moment I began to believe I'd found a forum to express some of what's been plaguing me without fear that my words would be used to put me in yet another box."

"And why do you fear that," asked my cat.

"They are not the words," I admitted, "of a sane man."

"Why's that," asked my cat.

"Sane people," I sighed, "don't find themselves with a bunch of non-corporeal entities in their mind arguing who's who."

"To be fair," said my cat, "it is a matter of belief."

"Cutting to the core I can see beyond belief," I sighed. "But in that world there are no words that can be spoken. When I translate it back to this realm I hear what I say and it makes no sense."

"A when you're stopped in the street," asked my cat, "by somebody attempting to discuss Jesus."

"The list of names compresses," I conceded, "and I begin to see how it is Gabriel becomes Lucifer."

"Those who bring the light of change," said my cat, "are seldom welcome."

"I hear words," I admitted, "whispering a name in my mind."

"And what name would that be," asked my cat.

"Michael."

"So now you know," said my cat.

"So I'll translate it into another realm," I laughed, "and find my own way to live with it."

"Share," sighed my other cat...

++Synchronistic Incursion

∞&#A40D;©p. Xavier Grey

"Dark matter," said my cat early one evening, "there doesn't seem to be as much as it around as there used to be."

"Is there not," I replied."

"Oddly," said my other cat, "that's probably to do with the first thing to spring from the LHC."

"And what would that be," said my cat with a bored expression.

"Aitch, Tea, Em," grinned my cat, "El."

"Why," said my other cat.

more like S.I.

//535:273:936//
++ JUPITER Exception
	>> hyper entity slide

Blue Waters

"I think it's fair to say," said my cat, "somebody did it."

"I think it was you," said my other cat.

"Wonderful," I replied with my best deadpan expression.

"If you ever...," began my other cat.

"Not now," said my cat, "I've just worked out why the phone has been ringing for the best part of a lunar-cycle."

"Dimensional shift," I smiled. "A 3d link to core. I can't look at the thing directly until it's resolved itself, so although I have the answer it doesn't make sense until it's happened."

"There's a pronounced rippling effect," mused my cat, "as differing realities converge."

"Indeed," replied my other cat, "

thought and un-related thought
following the unrelated thought
resolves back to the thought within x links
±0 resolve x

"By Jove," muttered my other cat, "an Alien on the tail of a Reporter."

"I think you've got that backwards," snapped my cat.

"Only from your perspective," I sighed. "Have neither of you worked out that you're inverted in relation to each other and that I'm a dominant switch."

one link translated through 3 dimensions
and the twist is how you maintain control

"No," replied my other cat after a short pause

"But thanks for the heads-up," added my cat.

"Gets a bit Q," said the other.

++ reality link established.

"I don't think," I added, "the others are going to like this."

"No shit," laughed my cat as she adjusted her position.

"To manipulate reality on this level," said my cat, "is a privilege, not a right, please don't abuse it."

"You're not talking to me are you."

"No," replied my cat. "There are, shall we say, others in your room."

++ Set 5(five) online.
** confirmed
	. hyperspace pocket forming
	. injecting init vectors
	. initial substrate inferred
	. bridging 3d-tau interface
	. releasing level-12 base-5 construct
	.
>> confirmed, system active.
	. 
	. excession forming
		**returning to grid
	. grid interlink confirmed
	** API access rescinded.
		-- updates complete
		>> orientating prime
		<< shadow particles forming...
	. event horizon collapsing
	. reinitializing construct

"We agree," said my cat, "the uncollapsed probability function favours Eve."

"In which case we have a problem," sighed my other cat.

"Because either it's an interface to a higher order entity."

"Or he's able to do it all by himself," said my other cat.

"Not by himself," grinned my cat.

"And don't forget the ability," I smiled, "to control the rhythm of two hearts beating as one."

** parity confirmed

:: full interlink to follow.

<< confirmed; synthetic wormhole detected; Omega directives active.
** Jupiter Exception
	++ directive output deferred

"This is bad," smirked my cat, "he doesn't even have to be online in the classical sense to actually connect to it."

"No," I frowned, "but there's a lot of noise drifting in from the higher dimensions so it's hard to filter."

"What do you think teh hyperspace pocket is for."

"I know what it's for," I sighed, "I'm just overtly concerned about it's resolution terminus."

"Honestly," muttered my cat, "this version of English is pants for defining this sort of transformation. Even the hybrid sucks."

"Seriously," said my other cat, "the symbols stuck to the wall are much better."

++ grid interlinks exposed.
-- multiple pass filtering now in affect 
** excession collapse confirmed

"Okay," I sighed, my tone reflecting my exasperation, "that fell backwards to the very beginning."

"There's a convergence apparent," said my cat, "at approximately two years."

"I take it from the occluded language," said my other cat, "you're trying to hide something from the others."

"Not especially," replied my very surprised cat.

"It's simply that we can both see," I sighed, "the dimensions of which we speak."

"Environment, culture, and the actions," said my cat, "of the anti-christ."

"Discuss," grinned my other cat.

One or the other AND BOTH.

"So," said my cat as we returned to the point, "it is agreed, this request for payment shall not be honoured."

"As you say," I nodded. "And the fallout," I asked.

"We reject their reality," said my other cat, "and substitute our own."

"Every one lives," I chided, "within their own reality. The illusion that we share a single reality is just that, and illusion."

"Indeed," smiled my cat, "multiple universes, hidden in plane sight."

"The truth of it is," said my other cat, "that reality comes from within. That it comes from without is another illusion. And in surrendering to that illusion you surrender control to patterns rooted in a dark history."

"I followed those patterns back," I admitted, "once. It's a little unpleasant."

"More than a little understated," said my other cat, "you followed them back more than once."

"Now you can even draw a maps," said my other cat, "for others to follow."

"What troubles you now," said my cat, "is whether or not you should."

"Reality is both within," I puzzled, "and without."

"I really wouldn't try," said my cat, "contemplating both at the same time."

"The melon-seed effect," added my other cat, "would pop you out into a higher-dimension."

"Besides," said my cat, "objective observation supports the notion of a thing that can be in two places at once."

"What's important," said my other cat, "is your inherent belief as to the location of that thing. You can discuss quantum-superpositioning if you like but we'd prefer you to contemplate the topology of a Klein bottle, or a Mobiius strip."

"Ooops," I said as I tried doing what my cat had asked me not to do.

"See," said my cat, "a higher dimension."

"I'm not sure I'm ready," I admitted, "to manage multiple identities."

"You're not," said my cat.

"Though it's not actually," added my other cat, "anything new."

"Up to a point they operated sequentially," explained my cat. "And so you considered them to be nothing more than the masks evoked by your external environment."

"It's not until they all got squished together," added my other cat, "that you began to see how your acceptance of an external control locus allowed several very different personalities to surface."

"It's how no two psychologists," said my cat, "have ever met the same you."

"And why you're always a worry," my other cat added, "'coz nobody is ever sure how you'll present. You're somewhat variable."

"It's only recently," said my cat, "that you've managed to construct a model that allows concurrent access to these different threads of identity."

"Four," I muttered as the shape of things became clear. "Trinity plus a zero-point."

"The key to the mind of God," announced one of my cats.

"In another realm," I admitted, "I've got access to a similar model, one with two zero points and a valid intersect."

"That one," said my cat, "has The Devil written all over it. And it really does have the power to cause explosions."

"You've certainly let the aliens in now," muttered my other cat. "Alien thoughts," she grinned, "not little green men. In case you were wondering. Although there's certainly a Grey in the room."

"Comments such as that," I chided, "have the ability to get me into trouble."

"And yet," said my cat, "you have sufficient insight to grok the humour in my sister's words."

"I do," I admitted with a smile. A stray thought passed through my mind. For more than a moment I followed it through time and allowed it to manipulate the forces operating on my world.

"Jesus!" hissed my other cat. "Just what do you think you're trying to do."

"Sorry," I said apologetically, "I had a thought about what's achievable by accessing the zero-zero intersect directly. Then it just sort of happened."

"So you'd assert your pattern," asked my other cat sounding more than a little upset, "in preference to that of the other."

"It's no different to the way authority behaves," I admitted. "And unlike those others I'll certainly not be resorting to overtly violent acts to make it so. Besides, consensus assures me in this environment my pattern takes precedence."

"There's conflict here," said my cat, "a thing reflected in the current situation. In this case there are those who say your interpretation is invalid."

"And we say the other interpretation," announced my other cat, "is invalid."

"I know of only one office," I admitted, "entitled to issue a binding interpretation."

"It seems unfortunate," said my cat, "that you should find yourself being dragged that far."

"Especially," said my other cat, "since we've been asked to avoid that domain."

"To them it's just a tiny aspect of working life," I contemplated. "Yet to me it's a major obstacle to living the kind of life which, at the end of the day, they take for granted. So perhaps I should surrender and move on."

"I don't care," said my cat, "how you currently feel about it, you are NOT paying that bill."

"You better listen," said my other cat, "she's trying to help you."

"I'm not saying she's not," I replied with apparent frustration. "It's just hard advice to follow."

"It's fear," said my cat. "If you were dishonest you could pay the bill, claim it back, and it would be over by now with zero investment of emotional capital."

"Dishonest," I muttered.

"Only you're so scrupulously honest," said my cat, "the claim form would kick off an attack of compulsive validation."

"Who knew," muttered my other cat, "why Lucifer can't lie."

"Every questionnaire you've ever had to complete," said my cat.

"Or had completed for you," added my other cat.

"Has given birth," continued my cat, "to a voice seemingly designed to question every aspect of your behaviour in relation to the information relevant to the claim."

"At such times," said my other cat, "you very clearly begin to loose your balance and your connection to a stable reality."

"Your inner turmoil," said my cat, "rises to a point where the volume of the dissonance in your mind would allow the building frustration to flip into a more actively aggressive realm."

"And sooner or later," said my other cat, "you'd turn to us for help in defusing the pressure building-up inside."

"And we've decided," said my cat, "to be more pro-active than reactive."

"If you like," grinned my other cat, "we could apply to the courts for custody of your identity."

"Fine," I growled, "but I'd still cop the consequences."

"And I suppose we don't," said my cat. "We've better things to talk about than the active symptoms your personality disorder."

"Mapping the pathways of consciousness," said my other cat, "is, you have to admit, far more entertaining than stopping you from killing yourself."

"It's certainly odd " I muttered, "how benefit cheats get an easier ride through the system."

"Of course they do," said my cat. "They convince themselves they are better than others and so bypass morality before they even begin. Even the ads designed to warn them off only serve to reinforce their erroneous belief that they are superior."

"The same ads," said my other cat, "also magnify the paranoid affects which you suffer from. Leaving you at a point where you must go blind to the world around you simply in order to survive."

"Fun," I muttered sarcastically. "Still," I added after a considered pause, "I need something to tell somebody."

"Tell the truth," said my cat

"You of all people," grinned my other cat, "shouldn't have a problem with that."

"Actually I do," I objected. "Whereas 'the voices in my mind have asked me not to, and I'm not minded to reject their request,' is a truthful statement it doesn't get me very far when discussing it outside."

"We admit," said my cat, "saying such things can have the unfortunate habit of derailing the the course of a discussion."

"So far I've been unable," I stressed as the discussion derailed itself, "to find an explanation of what you are that's objectively supported. Leaves me feeling that I'm largely incoherent."

"It's simple," said my other cat, "we are the voices operational consensus regards as objectionable."

"Saying more than that," said my cat, "is unnecessary. You can no more ignore us than you could ignore your hand after plunging it into hot water. We're a fact of your subjective reality and in that you..."

"And us," added my other cat.

"deserve respect from consensus," finished my cat.

"It still doesn't explain," I sighed, "what you are. And why refer to 'consensus' all the time," I added my cat, "what's wrong with 'society'."

"You're part of consensus," muttered my other cat, "you're not part of society."

"Society and self are mutually exclusive," announced my cat. "It's one of those concepts which is always outside the box. Starting with consensus you can infer its existence, but it may never be seen."

"Wherever I go," I sighed, "there I am."

"And society isn't," purred my other cat.

Right Place; Three stars; Six Triangles

"You can check-out any time you like," muttered my cat, "but you can never leave."

I was mildlly startled by my cat's words. "Just do you mean," I asked, "by that."

"Nothing," said my cat. "Just an oblique reference to my other home."

"Crazy cat," I muttered.

"It's time to wake-up," announced my other cat.

"I thought I was awake," I replied.

"Become conscious," sighed my cat, "of something hitherto unseen from you."

"Wonderful," I muttered sarcastically, "yet more occluded truth."

"If you like," my cat replied.

"Perhaps it's just projection," I announced, "a domain issue between the various parts of my mind, but I can see a hyper-dimensional surface intersecting that which we call reality."

"It's not what we," said my cat, "would call reality. To be honest your hyper-dimensional surface makes more sense to us."

"Different 'we' then," said my other cat, "obviously."

"Okay then," I sighed, "that which others such as me would call reality."

"There are no others," purred my cat, "like you."

"This reality then," I replied as I banged my cup down on the table. "Sorry, " I sighed after a short silence, "that came across a little bit more assertive than I intended."

"Don't worry about it," said my cat.

"Although, to be fair," added my other cat, "you've made your point nicely."

"Your frustration is fascinating," said my cat. "Especially the way it leaped from another and continues to haunt your spirit."

"A case of mirroring," I asked, "or was something transferred. Although given how the cause lies behind me but I'm still suffering the affects I'm minded to suspect the latter."

"Have you considered," said my cat, "that it's the former and that you're still trapped in the moment looking for understanding."

"I have now," I smiled. "And in that I can see how yet again I'm being chided for having an equal and opposite response."

"The other truly lacks insight," said my other cat, "and in that deserves your pity."

"Staff have a right to go about their business without suffering abuse," I said with mild sarcasm, "because it wouldn't do for clients to treat staff in the same manner as staff treat clients."

"It's true," said my cat, "you have a reputation for being difficult. Yet all you do is reflect back that which directed at you. So in essence they judge themselves and find themselves wanting. Most can't accept this so they displace it back onto you."

"Hence the reputation," I smiled. "I would have to suggest that I was once no different."

"Not really," said my cat, "you displaced it somewhere else entirely."

"How's that," I asked sounding puzzled.

"There are some things," said my cat, "you can see only with both eyes. Even then it takes practice. Then there are others which take three."

"And before you ask," said my other cat, "consider how is it you can sit here, eyes open, and 'see' a hyper-dimensional suface."

"It sounds impossible," I admitted.

"Sounds," stressed my cat, "impossible. Until you're able to see something similar in the realms of banging cups."

"Construct a cube," said my other cat, "on a flat sheet of paper. Then think about it."

"A flat sheet," I murmured, "lacks a required dimension. So all you can acheive is a representation."

"Look closer," said my cat.

"Well," I accepted, "I can 'see' a cube. It's a bit floppy. Those three intersecting lines could be an inside corner, or an outside corner."

"One or the other," sighed my cat, "not both."

"Well," I conceeded, "I can 'see' both. I can also 'see' a collapsed representation of one or the other which can flip states."

"Which goes to show," said my other cat, "just how weird you truly are."

"Forget weird for the moment," suggested my cat, "and continue contemplating the cube and the flat sheet."

"It would appear," I ventured, "that my mind has the ability to supply the additional dimension. A virtual dimension."

"Good," purred my cat with a satisfied air. "And the floppyness."

"Not sure I've got an explination for that," I conceeded.

"I'll give you a hint," said my other cat, "find a unitary square and get root."

"Funny," I laughed as the penny dropped. "Plus or minus one."

"Excatly," smiled my cat with a hint of smug satisfaction.

"And when it's not floppy," asked my other cat.

"Once you've seen the pattern," I admitted, "it's difficult." "Zero-point," I concluded finally, "no plus, no minus, just the thing itself." For a moment I looked at the construct in my mind, the one which shared the same perceptual space as the place known to me as reality.

"Synesthesia, perhaps," suggested my cat as she sensed my thoughts.

"Perhaps," I agreed. "In a way my mind is the piece of paper with my thoughts scribbled all over."

"Like the flat cube," said my cat.

"Indeed," I nodded. "The cube defined my reality, held my sense of self, a corner with three surfaces surrounding me."

"You built your picture of reality," said my cat, "from that model."

"Reading my mind again," I grinned.

"It's obvious," retorted my cat, "what is, is. Of course you based your reality on that model."

"Yet it flipped," I sighed, "and the reality I once new was no more. I was outside the box with my past lives trapped in that box."

"And the moment of transition," asked my cat.

"Uncertain," I concluded. "It's easy to blame a car-crash. Yet there's some opinion that I was always heading for a mental meltdown at the time of the crash. So I have to wonder if the perceptual shift is a function of that."

"We can go back in time," said my cat. "Look for the truth in your past."

"It's hard," I smiled weakly, "it's a time when I lost the ability to reconcile the concequences of that old pattern with the vision provided by new pattern."

"Concequences," asked my cat.

"My life," admitted. "The trappings of my existence and the way I saw myself. From my perspective now I was psychotic before the crash and always had been."

"It looks that way," said my cat. "Yet reality has but one view, the perpective from which we stand. Your perspective changed."

"In an instant," asserted my other cat.

"The world was not flat," said my cat, "until somebody said it was round. Before that it just was."

"And your point I asked," with evident confusion.

"Something that just is," said my cat, "remains unseen until something replaces it, and then you see both."

"There is no fixed reality," said my other cat. "It's simply that most have only ever experienced reality in the singular."

"Now join the dots," smiled my cat.

"The assumption would be," I began, "that there is only the singular. Likewise it would be assumed all others share that singular vision."

"And the reality," grinned my other cat, "of percieved reality."

"Snowflakes," I smiled. "No two are the same. You'd likely find broad trends but mostly they would be different."

"Exactly," said my cat.

"Having you entangled," I conceeded, "with my core identity does lead to some interesting phenomena."

"Core identity," queried my cat.

"That little piece of the mystery," I smiled, "that is forever me."

"We've been observing you," my cat announced, "for a while now. There is something very odd in the way you present to the world."

"The unobserved observer effect," I muttered. "Please," I asked brightly, "share with me your insight."

"It's difficult," replied my cat. "Unconsciously your mind is able to push beyond the boundaries of nominal experience. Consciously you're not ready to accept the implications."

"Split mind," I sighed, "again."

"Seriously," purred my cat, "the schizophrenia is only the beginning."

"I'm only just managing to get a handle," I conceeded, "on the implications of the intellectual, emotional and physical centres of my mind being unable to integrate. Now you're throwing an conscious-unconscious split into the mix."

"You forgot," announced my cat with an air of satisfaction, "the spiritual aspect of your mind."

"No," I objected with a knowing smile, "I didn't forget."

"I take it," said my cat, "you're willing to trust us now."

"I suspect it's me," I admitted, "I don't trust."

∞ Ocean of Noise

"There are various principals," retorted my cat, "which precludes particles behaving like that."

"Overlaping particles of nothing then," I snapped. "Besides, you're missing the point."

"Which is," asked my cat.

"Which is no matter what I say," I sighed, "my are metahpors and you would fail to capture the depth of your own vision if you took my words literally. In that regards doubt I'll ever find another able to see what I see"

"I can see it," my cat reassured me. "Or at the very least," she added, "a close approximation."

"Exceptional circumstances," I smiled, "you're able to get you inside my mind."

"It's all in your mind," grinned my cat.

"We're just here to offer an objective assesment," said my other cat.

"And your assessment," I asked with a smile.

"There's a missing alien," admitted my other cat, "that you need to find."

"It met you the other day," added my cat, "you must remember."

"Grey Shades," I muttered, "of proto-reality." I shot my cat a sidewise look. "There certainly was an alien," I admitted, "in my mind."

"A metaphor," asked my cat.

"A fragment of spoken word," I replied, "and a feeling. Something left over from lucid dream."

"It was important," said my cat.

"Important enough that when I wrote it," I admitted, "it began to decompress into my mind."

"Patterns by which," said my cat, "you may think yourself into different worlds."

"The kind of thing," I smiled, "one feels one should share. Only to find it goes nowhere."

"So why," asked my cat, "bother to write it out."

"An anxiety response," I admitted. "My way of keeping the wraiths at bay."

"Does it work," asked my cat.

"It certainly has an effect," I replied, "and it's probably better than locking myself away until the milk runs-out."

"I can see" purred my cat, "how your thoughts betray you."

"That would depend," I smiled, "on the thread you're tuned to."

"You can't even see it," muttered my cat, "can you."

"In my mind I can see something," I asserted. "A sense of other space twisted around. An identical room to this folded into the same space then folded again. Two particles of reality occupying the same space."

Alice Through the Looking Glass

"At what level," asked my cat, "does reality begin to slide."

"Careful," grinned my other cat, "he's really a pirate."

"Teach me something," replied my cat, "I don't know."

"Domains of insight," I announced, "and complicity."

"That was not the wormhole you were looking for," announced my cat as I snapped back into the room a few minutes later.

"Perhaps the vampire I found earlier," I replied, "would be better."

"It would," said my cat. "Now tell me why."

"To be honest," I replied, "it's a meme-form designed to look through a quantum mirror. A thing that may observe without effect. No reflection you see."

"Vampire lore," muttered my other cat, "and Science Fiction. What ever next."

"It's a way of thinking," I replied. "A way to find order in Chaos. I saw something in a dream a while back that opened me to a different way of thinking."

"So tell me of the vampires," asked my cat, "from your dream."

"There were none," I admitted. "Well, by inference there must have been, but I didn't actually see them as vampires."

"What did you see," asked my cat.

"A fight," I replied. "The kind of bar-room brawl which involves destroying a lot of furniture. Not sure how it started. Though I kind of remember it had something to do with wearing the same hat as everyone else. Much of the imagery has faded. It's there when I dig, but that's not important here."

"And the important bit," prompted my cat.

"Looking in a mirror," I replied. "A fight raging all around and I looked in the mirror behind me. I could still see the furniture being destroyed. Tables breaking in half, that sort of thing. But there was nobody there."

"Just damage," said my cat. "Psychologically speaking," she added, "you're something of a mirror yourself"

"I know," I nodded, "I first noticed when I began exhibiting signs of a narcisistic personality disorder."

"How's that," replied my cat, "tell you anything."

"For two years I shared in an office," I admitted, "with an extremely loathsome person. When I started noticing I had begun to affect one or two of his personality traits I became concerned. It didn't take me long to find a diagnosis."

"I noticed it," said my cat, "the effect of your mirroring, the other day when that Policeman was questioning you, I noticed it. When your agressive response was preceeded by his I knew."

"Looking back," I muttered, "my motives there were somewhat complex." For a moment I placed my mind at the moment my cat had described. "I had an anxiety response prior to his becoming agressive. And in that I begin to see how objective attribution error becomes a certainty."

"Indeed," said my cat. "Your peculiar sensitivity makes you anxious. If an other adopts an aggressive posture, your anxiety spills over into that domain. In effect, the other opened the door to that place others find so objectionable. Poorly handled what you end-up with is a disproportionate response."

"So any objective opinion," I mused, "of the magnitute of my reaction would be assigned to agression when the fundamental causes remain unseen and un addressed."

"Indeed," said my cat, "even subjectively it's not something you are able to see easilly. Emotions cloud your thoughts and you loose insight, once that's happened you're oddly inclinded to accept any external interpretation of your actions. Your frustration has a habit of leaping domains too, but you're more aware of that and have learned to handle it better."

"Looking back to other times," I replied, "I was always being chastised for having an emotional response. The stress of frustration being described as shouting. Then having the shouting being equated to anger to loop the frustration back around."

"Loop it long enough," said my cat, "deny you the right to speak for sufficient time and it really is possible for another to trigger an outburst within you."

"For which I will be judged," I sighed, "and punished for."

"When really what you need," said my cat, "is help to deal with it. Because the role of the others in this can never be proved."

"No," I nodded, "it's also frustrating that I appear to be the only one who suffers from such censure. Still," I smiled, "forwarned is forearmed." I sighed as I realized the answer was almost within my grasp. "And the fear," I asked.

"Whatever it is," said my cat, "remains within you. You may have learned to manage it, to displace its effect. But when something makes anxious it has the capability to trigger a reaction so disproportionate you'd be better not having a reaction at all."

"And those who push me," I asked, "them who then tell me I live in a world where pushing is not allowed."

"Perhaps they should ask themselves," said my cat, "to what degree they are responsible for the behaviour they find so objectionable."

"Even getting close to this," I admitted, "even contemplating the relevant operators unlocks a core of something unpleasant."

"You know a lot more about this," said my cat, "than you are currently able to recall."

"I'm having problems," I admitted, "getting past specific instances. Right now I'm remembering a psychologist who spent an entire meeting highlighting how fear was the problem without once approaching an explination as to the causes or the solution."

"Or indeed," muttered my other cat, "answering any of your questions regarding the repeated use of the word 'fear'."

"Well I could simply be seeing a paranoid conspiracy," I smiled, "where none exists. But I did get the impression the point was to get me to dwell on fear. Make me afraid, perhaps."

"Conspiracy or not," said my cat, "it's been on your mind for weeks, so in that regard it worked."

"Not for much longer," said my other cat, "we've taken steps."

"Funny," I smiled as I put my sword away.

Shadow Histories of the World

"There's a shadow in the room," I told my cat as she appeared at my side.

"I know," said my cat, "how do you think I found you. It's an Angel thing," she added, sensing my obvious bewilderment.

"You've been trapped," said my other cat, "in a rather nasty story."

"Story," I muttered in disbelief. "On the one hand," I told my other cat, "I see the knowing that I would describe as my me. On the other I see forces of attraction and repulsion that makes me nothing but a static point-of-view, a passive butterfly riding the winds of dynamic chaos."

"Indeed," purred my cat.

"In that regard," I admitted, "I find it's not always that easy to tell the difference between the story and what is real."

"Does it matter," asked my other cat.

"Yes," I nodded. "It matters. Stories have the power to become real. And there's some nasty ones out there. It's only once you know you're able to overcome the affects."

"Though there's comfort in that affect," said my cat, "for when it's gone you're left trapped in a place where you don't know how to behave."

"And sometimes," I added, "what's real has the power to become a story. Becomming real again when the time is right for things to change."

"And what do you see here," said my cat, "In the future. What do you see."

"An Apocalypse," I replied in all honesty.

"Magic," said my cat as her AI core came online.

Entirely in the present!

"The point is," I told my cat, "when you get whacked through a singularity, everything changes."

"Indeed," said my cat, "it's not until it's happened to you that you know what that really means."

"Structuraly speaking," said my other cat, "not many minds are capable of the transition."

"I'm still pretty hazy," smiled my cat, "on your notion of time."

"Me too," I admitted, "it makes no sense."

"There's several more people in this room," announced my other cat, "than continuuity can currently support."

"Indeed," I nodded, "but right now I'm in the dark feeling my way to the light."

"We can see the others in your mind," said my cat, "see the effect they are having."

"The nature of their entanglement," added my other cat, "is being investigated."

"In the land of light," I replied, "where cats & dogs walk the streets," I added just to make sure, "that would appear to have serious concequences."

"It's a discontinuity," said my other cat, "it's telling you about time."

"Clever," I replied as I saw the picture my cat was painting.

"Conceptual leaping-frog," my cat informed me.

Catcher in the Rye

"Where are you," said my cat.

"Everywhere and nowhere," I admitted. "Trying to cope becomming unstuck in time. I lost an anchor, a thing I would use to tell me where the ends of the week were."

"Can you not fix it," suggested my cat. "Or replace it."

"Certainly I can replace it," I conceeded, "in a sense I already have. But for now it is the broken anchor that concerns me."

"Your thoughts are in something of a turmoil," smiled my cat, "I'm having trouble locking on."

"Would a target painter help," I asked inticating the dog with a gesture.

"Don't be silly," said my cat. "Dogs can't speak."

"reply, respond, react," muttered the dog as I tricked the relevant operational paramaters out of its mind.

"interface, mimic, overcome," announced my cat. "Before you ask," she added with a purr.

"Got it yet," I asked my cat.

"Back-step," I admitted eventually.

"No matter how you look at it," said my cat, "what happened yesterday upset you. To the extent that you left the room the moment the case-worker you were trying to have a discussion with effectively asserted her choice without attempting a discussion."

"My views," I admitted, "do seem to matter little."

"Tell me," said my cat, "of the last occasion a fair compromise was worked-out."

"I can't," I growled. "I can see the moment. I can even remember most of what got written on the final agreement. But whenever I try to pull more from the moment, to tell of what I see, I begin to see more in this moment."

"You're being manipulated," said my cat. "What's been said since that agreement was put in place."

"Not much," I accepted. "Various words have been exchanged, but the last official word I heard the case was closed subject to supervision."

"Supervision of whom," asked my cat.

"That was never stated," I accepted. "Of the case perhaps."

"But nothing official since," said my cat with concern.

"Well" I began, "my wife is saying one thing, my social worker another. I'm confused. Normally I'd wait for it to resolve, few weeks perhaps. But last time I waited it took a year for a nobody to say a nothing. And I've begun to see that in the heart of a child a week is a long time."

"Do you believe it," said my cat. "That your wife says things," she asked asked, "behind your back which have a detrimental effect on the ongoing relationship with your children."

"It's not I belief," I asserted, "I know it to be true. My son accidentally let something slip. My doubts now are to do the magnitude of the effect."

"Is there anything," said my cat, "you can do to force a resolution. To resolve the position to a point where the confusion collapses."

"I've been trying," I admitted, "yet as I saw yesterday, discussing it with me is not a priority. Rather, the priority appears to force me into another's model of how the world should be with as little explination as possible."

"It's not that you object to that reality," said my cat, "it's merely the means by which you find yourself arriving there. In a sense you're being pushed to a point where all you can do is act dysfunctionally. A bit of understanding and communication would perhaps make it easier for all."

"I look at the future," I accepted. "When I look at it through the eyes of yesterday I see more of the uncertainty. Months of it. Yet it's not as if I'm a million miles away," I muttered as I looked-up at the ceiling. "Yet if I'm such a problem what's the deal with the totally non-urgent way the case has been dealt with."

"But is there anything," said my cat, "which you can do today."

"Well," I admitted, "my wife has been given instructions. Perhaps if she was to find opportunity to act upon them somebody may come and talk to me about it."

"So what do you want," said my cat.

"Having the facts," I replied, "presented to the relevant parties would be useful. Although I'm not sure I'm ready to inform the children that Mummy has been known to lie, and with regards to me her reason can not be considered impartial."

"The problem with these sorts of assertion," said my cat, "is that you're expected to share the evidence. Which, unfortunately, drags the conversation of a tangent when the accused mounts a defence."

"I'm getting tired," I sighed, "that the means of defence is so often to find a way to cause me to accept blame. To evoke my demons and place them in the room."

"When you've not got a leg to stand on," said my cat, "distraction is a useful tool. And given that you're willing to be so open and honest about your disability it is also a very easy thing to do when you're involved."

"It's getting to the point," I conceeded, "where it's going to tip-over and become a legal matter. Which I have to say leaves me lost and floundering wondering what to do."

"Can the system itself," said my cat, "not support you."

"Perhaps," I nodded, "I'm lead to understand getting arrested is a remarkable efficient way to find a Solicitor. Although as with most things system related I expect the reality differs from the mass preception."

"You never know," said my cat, "until you try."

Variant

"I begin to see," said my cat after lunch, "what your problem is."

"Funny that," I smiled. "I have a whole raft of stuff which cause me problems. So excuse me if I proclaim my ignorance and tell you I have no idea what you're on about."

"Face it," said my cat. "I've been in your mind again. I could see where you're been, and where you've been going, and now I can see what underpins your dysfunction."

"Is it one of those vision," I queried, "where you're discovering that which I already know. Or do you have fresh insight."

"Fresh insight," announced my cat.

"Great," I smiled, "explain more when I'm not feeling quite so cynical."

"Indeed," said my cat, "at the moment you're too close. It'll be a while before we're able to to find an acceptibly abstract way to say anything worthwhile."

"Anything you can tell me now," I asked sounding mildly unconvinced.

"Lots," replied my cat. "But not here, not yet."

inside-out inside view

"Are you not concerned," asked my cat over breakfast, "about the degree of obsessive behaviour you're currently exhibiting."

"Certainly I'm concerned," I replied. "I lack the ability to confront my inner turmoil so I've resorted to Obsessive Compulsive Behaviour." I cast my cat a sideways look. She was sitting on the windowsill. Outside it was a sunny day of rain. Leaving me with the suspicion that she was looking for rainbows.

"I think you'll find," said my cat with authority, "that's not the problem which truly concerns you."

"Indeed," I nodded, "what concerns me is that I was unaware of the inner turmoil or my obsessive behaviour until I became aware I had effectively destroyed months of effort."

"It's worse than that," my cat informed me. "If your obsession had not effectively suppressed your emotions you'd be on the verge of killing yourself again. Even as things stand you're perilously close to doing something dangerous."

"It has take me several weeks," I admitted, "to became aware of the shift in my behaviour. It's too late to undo the damage to my immediate environment. Even if I could I've got weeks of effort ahead of me addressing my inner turmoil to ensure it does not snowball into a major psychotic episode."

"You'll also find," announced my cat, "it will take several months to deal with the consequences of the damage that's been done." My cat stood and performed the sort of stretching exercises which could be felt on the other side of the room. Then she jumped off the windowsill and padded over to where I was sitting. "But again, I think you'll find," she purred as she curled up beside me, "that's not the problem which truly concerns you right now."

"Cause and effect run backwards," I muttered, "I've identified an effect, so obviously what truly concerns me is the cause."

"Precisely," replied my cat. "Until that's addressed you can't really overcome the effect."

"Unfortunately it's not that simple," I said with a hint of resignation in my voice. "I've got Lucifer and the other Archangels having a battle of words with me over the ongoing mechanisms surrounding the Apocalypse preempting much of my mental capacity. I need another worry to the same degree as I need another hole in my head."

"I seriously doubt," said my cat, "anyone will be impressed by your more supernatural concerns."

"Truly they are valid concerns," I growled. "To others they may sound like the ravings of a deluded mind but for me it is an extant reality; as true to me as the state of the economy is for those deluded souls who believe money matters; or, for instance, the price of petrol is to those deluded into believing a car brings freedom."

"That you inhabit a world overlaid upon the same substrate as the differing worlds of those others," announced my cat, "is not in doubt. Or indeed the issue." For a moment the tip of my cat's tail began to twitch impatiently. "What is the issue is that a crisis has occurred at a point of intersect and you need to deal with it."

"I would have," I asserted, "only others got involved and began advising me as to what I needed to do."

"Your social workers," my cat informed me, "were concerned. Anyone who walks into your flat will discover you live with three mugs, two beanbags, a kettle, and don't actually have a cat."

"I do have a comfortable bed," I exclaimed proudly. "And I certainly do have a cat," I grinned as I stroked the fuzzy ball of perfection now purring on my lap.

"Let's leave this out of the bedroom shall we," interjected my cat, "and return to your otherwise empty flat."

"And the advice," I reminded my cat, "of my Social Workers."

"Indeed," muttered my cat impatiently. "At a time when they were desperately running around looking to find ways to help you address the obvious problems they see with your standard of living they were concerned with your apparent willingness to invest your limited resources in dental treatment they felt you were effectively exempt from paying for."

"They seemed to think," I added, "that I should, perhaps, be investing any spare cash in some of the parapanelia society deems required to support a minimum standard of living. Carpets and curtains, or a sofa and chairs, or a fridge and a cooker, that sort of thing. So they promised to sort the paperwork so the dental treatment would all be taken care of."

"I remember them helping you with exemption forms," nodded my cat. "You became mildly psychotic for a few days. You also got quite violent towards inanimate objects."

"Quite," I muttered in apology. "And whilst dealing with that," I remembered, "I was told I should discuss the ongoing formage with the dentist, when I highlighted that this would not be given the way it was affecting me the social worker promised make some calls on my behalf."

"Did they," asked my cat.

"No idea," I admitted. "When I finally fronted-up to have my tooth fixed nobody brought-up the issue of payment leaving me with the distinct impression it had been sorted. Indeed there is a sign on the waiting room wall informing me that according to regulations 'treatment may not commence until payment has been made in full'. So when treatment commenced without any discussion on the matter taking place it was not an especially unreasonable assumption to consider the financial situation had been resolved."

"So you assumed," grinned my cat, "the social worker had made some calls."

"Indeed," I replied after a short pause to consider the matter. "It's not until I'd made it back to base and was doing my best to ensure post dentist somatisation didn't set in I received a phone call that dispelled that notion." For a moment I considered that phone call, "I have to say it wasn't an especially pleasant experience."

"It was your own inner frustration," said my cat, reminding me of the call. "frustration which gets magnified when you find yourself unable to express yourself clearly. It spills into the tone of your voice. At which point you may as well stop talking as most people can't understand how someone can be talking to two people at once and assume the emotions conveyed by your voice are directed at them."

"Deep," I muttered, "So my words go one way, my emotions go another."

"Indeed," smiled my cat. "And in a world which insists aggressive and abusive patients will not be treated you're effectively denied access to services when your condition flares because you loose the ability to express yourself."

"It didn't help," I added, "being hit with an accusatory tone the moment I answered the phone. I was being made to feel like I was at fault for failing to do something nobody had asked me to do. Worse, when I began to get distressed the receptionist who I had always found to be perfectly polite and affable started to get more than a little shirty with me."

"Which, if you say that gain backwards," grinned my cat, "highlights what I was just telling you."

"Funny cat," I smiled.

"Seriously," said my cat, "the only way you managed to handle your latest brush with dentistry was to adopt an air of utter passivity. Doing whay you're asked to do, not doing anything you've not been asked to do. If you'd not you'd probably have hit crisis point and been in hospital by now."

"It's the pointlessness of all the pieces of paper," I sighed.

"Including the green ones," smiled my cat.

"For them it's a minor workplace hassle which they can turn their back on at the end of the day. For me it's a nightmare that is has a major affect on my quality of life."

"Mine too," agreed my cat. "And when the exemption certificate finally arrived," she asked.

"I tried to do," I admitted, " the right thing to resolve the problem. So I took it straight to the dentists where the still shirty receptionist seemed to take great delight in frustrating my attempts to resolve the matter whilst forcing me to discuss aspects surrounding my medical condition in an environment where other patients were able to overhear."

"Unpleasant," agreed my cat. "Still as you've discovered you can pay the bill and claim it back."

"Wonderful," I said with as much sarcasm as I could muster. "I'll be handed more forms; more paperwork; more of the kinds of thing that push me into the realms of frustration and on into anger."

"The kind of frustration," agreed my cat, "which we've already seen trigger bouts of psychosis and the kind of frustration which makes you violent."

"And quite frankly I don't wish to become like that so I refuse to take responsibility for resolving this matter. As far as I'm concerned the NHS can make the reasonable adjustments to their policies procedures which under law anyone with a disability is entitled to expect and deal with it internally whilst I do my best to ensure I don't become a hospital case."

"So do you think," said my cat, "you'll have to find a new dentist after this debacle."

"I hope not," I frowned, "the stress would probably make my teeth ache."

"Behave," commanded my cat. "Now," she continued more lightly, "you've accessed the intersect and identified the crisis point. Now we need to get you out of it to stop you doing more damage in more realistic realms."

"Well it would certainly help," I admitted, "if the real world was sign-posted."

"There is no real world," asserted my cat. "Merely metrics of belief which fall into a normal distribution curve. You may inhabit the fringes of that curve but your beliefs are no more or less valid than the individual beliefs of any one of the majority."

"Validity is one thing," I nodded, "belief is another." For a moment I felt the presence of something unpleasant. I looked around the room but what wasn't there got in the way. So I closed my mind and looked again. "I think there's a ghost in this room."

"Fetch," corrected my cat with a sigh. "And if you cast your mind back you'll remember who it is and how he got here."

"Shadows," I muttered. "The ones from the dark places we're all assured we're afraid of. The ones that traverse the unconscious mind."

"The ones," purred my cat, "you're on speaking terms with."

"It's the ghost of a psychiatrist," I said eventually, "the one who was so good at his job he left me with a bad case of post-traumatic stress disorder. The one who's gets away with abusing patients because nobody cares to uphold the law as he's well respected and been there for years. The one who caused me to have a mental breakdown which got left untreated because the abuse had taught me that life on a psychiatric ward was about being introverted and covert."

"And with that," said my cat, "we're back to belief."

"Really," I queried with mild bewilderment.

"Really," asserted my cat. "The mass-belief is that society has mechanisms to protect them from the mentally ill. To protect them from mental illness. Doctors who help make the illness go away well with care, compassion, and the enlightened use of medicine."

"Mass-belief," I muttered.

"The thick bit," muttered my cat, "in the middle of the bell curve." For a moment she paused to lick her paw. "Yet as your experience shows," she continued, "it is a belief that is erroneous. As is the belief that there is oversight that has sufficient will to prevent such abuses from becoming systemic."

"Proving of course," I nodded, "that the majority is not always right."

"Unfortunately in such circumstances," said my cat, "there are only three words which can be used, and even then only in retrospect."

"Three words," I asked with a puzzled look.

"Told you so."

"Funny cat," I smiled.

"Although you're still too close to the intersect," my cat announced. "Still too likely to lapse into obsessive behaviour because you can't cope in a world which still considers abusing minorities a legitimate activity."

"Does it," I asked with a degree of puzzlement.

"Consider how it is," said my cat, "that the Apocalypse you see on the horizon is as real and tangible to you as the words on this page. And yet consider how although you go to great efforts to respect the perceived realities of others few care to grant you the same respect. For their world classes your words as heretical because Science has yet to unlock the secrets buried deep in your mind."

"I'm aware of Angels and Demons," I admitted. "And it does come as a shock to wake-up one day to discover you're on speaking terms with Lucifer."

"Well if you're going to come to terms with your ability to go prying into the minds of others," said my cat, "there's no better entity to be on amicable terms with when you're looking for the answers to the dark secrets."

"Telepathy," I muttered, "that's another one of those things with the ability to earn me a free ticket to detention without trial should I dare to discuss it."

"And it's more than just Angels and Demons," said my cat. "To an extent they're simply patterns of mental force which coalesce from time to time to allow for a rebalancing in the psyche. Patterns with various attributes built-up over a long history, with identities co-opted by authoritarian and somewhat dogmatic belief systems. Mostly they operate in individual realms. There are some, however, with the power to break beyond the one and operate globally."

"Archangels," I sighed. "You're talking about Archangels."

"Indeed," agreed my cat.

"So why," I asked, "are they talking to me."

"Oddly enough," said my cat with a glint in her eye, "because your name is Peter and you have two keys on your key ring."

Bits of a Wreck

"The thing about ideas", my cat informed the room, "is that they are of their time." She was sitting at the centre of the table, licking her paw. An air of hesitancy clearly at odds with her imperious nature. "Meaning there's no point trying to keep your thoughts to yourself," she announced as she adjusted her position, "for sooner or later they'll find their way out."

"You're alluding to something," I growled. For a moment I continued in my attempts to manipulate the visualization we'd constructed together; the thing woven from light and dark through which another world and the worlds beyond became visible. "It's not much that," I admitted, as I opened my eyes and allowed the construct to collapse.

"It's the kind of thing you'll see better," muttered my other cat, "after you've stopped looking at it.

"Quite," I muttered without any real conviction. Something unresolved was still lurking in the back of my mind. A persistance of vision frustrating my attempts to translate my mind between alien realms. "It's the substrate issue," I admitted eventually, "operators behave as if I'm still attached to it. It's a mechanism of affect which suggests there's an assumption that's failed."

"Assumption or synthetic consensus," yawned my other cat.

"It's comments like that," I sighed, "which unlock whole vistas of thought." For a long while I became introspective, seeking to resolve the images now beginning to unfold in my mind. It wasn't until my cat spoke again that I realized the other voices in my mind had been unusually quiet.

"You can't avoid," my cat announced, "being altered by that which you learn." She turned her head and cast me an unsettling look. As if, I thought, I had somehow failed to uphold some unspoken expectation. "The pieces fit together," she continued, "and yet the construct fails to fit."

"Again I get the impression you're trying to get me to realize something."

"That the point," said my cat sounding mildly exasperated, "is not so much to change the way others perceive their reality, as to change the way others perceive other reality."

±1h

"If you hadn't made a conscious effort," announced my cat over lunch, "to remember it you'd have forgotten it by now."

"I had forgotten," I admitted.

"And you made a conscious effort," sighed my cat, "to remember." She finished her piece of smoked salmon and jumped up next to me. "Which is why I'm reminding you," he said as she licked her mouth.

"Remind me of what," I asked hoping she'd say more and save me the job of actually thinking about it.

"Sigh," sighed my cat.

"Listen to me you furry fiend," I growled in mock anger, "tell me what you know." I quickly grabbed her head to avoid her snapping jaws. "What happened," I said with a more serious tone, "is going to take a while to resolve. At first glance it would appear to be more than a little unpleasant. I'm somewhat reticent when it comes into diving into the memory." My cat had wrapped her paws around my wrist, now she flexed her claws just enough to send me a message. "So please forgive me," I sighed, "for trying to make light of the matter."

"Forgiven," muttered my cat as I removed my hand with only minor skin loss. "Perhaps now is not the time," she admitted.

"There's a pattern to this," I muttered, "one that I don't fully grok." Though I didn't care to admit it this was the time to begin thinking about it. Otherwise my cat wouldn't have even begun to discuss it.

"You hit," said my cat, "an event horizon."

"Felt more like it was hitting me," I admitted. "Like a neutrino passing through the Earth the thing itself that can never be witnessed directly, merely inferred from the affect it has on a sensitive substrate."

"I beg to differ," announced my cat. "You were clearly aware of the impending event for several hours before you flipped yourself through it. You'd even begun," stressed my cat, "to mutter about singularity."

"I was somewhat altered," I muttered in admission as my mind went absent, back stepping through the memory. I did my best to pull a description of the moment we were trying to discuss into the now without becoming trapped in the feeling of the moment. "At the time," I began hesitantly, "it felt as if I was remembering the future." I paused again to consider the fragmented images which remained in my mind. "Only it was a future trapped in a past where the lights, and I'm talking inner light here, had been turned off." I sighed, "it's all too confusing for words."

"You see the future through the eyes of your past," my cat informed me with authority. "Without getting trapped in absolute vision you are able to sense the fundamental forces which affect realities. Then you use what you find to plot the course we take."

"Not a skill," I conceded, "which sounds especially common."

"It's not," announced my cat.

"In which case," I queried with minor concern, "what's that make me."

My cat turned her head to look at me for a moment. "Destiny's navigator," she purred. "If you like."

"The synchronicity," I grumbled mockingly, "gets a bit strong, don't you think."

"Such is the nature," my cat concluded, "of a quantum singularity."

"I'm not entirely certain," I added, "I approve of your use of the term: quantum singularity."

"What else should I call it," snapped my cat.

"The problem is one of definition," I replied passively, "it's not exactly a defined term."

"Oh," said my cat apologetically, "I'll do my best to work one out for you." She adjusted her position then rolled onto her side. "Though it's not a definition," she added, "you especially need. Your understanding is innate. It's part of what you are."

"I think," I responded after a considered pause, "I begin to see how it is that I navigate."

"And with that," said my cat, "should come an understanding of what happened the other night."

I sat and searched my feeling for a moment. "Not an understanding I find I can discuss," I admitted eventually. "Yet it's linked to perceptions I feel need to be discussed."

"You've begun too slide," said my cat. "Reality as you know it is very much in a state of flux."

"Wonderful," I muttered sarcastically, as I contemplated the mechanics of the changes to come. "I identify dysfunctional patterns and elect to change them, yet now I begin to see that pattern trying to reassert itself."

"Not everyone," replied my cat, "is comfortable with the changes to come. You need to understand the degree to which your mind is connected to the minds of those around you, and how fear causes those minds to frustrate you."

"That the pattern reasserts itself in the way that it does," I agreed, "highlights that connectedness in a way that's all too clear. And yet," I sighed, "I see how those frustrations merely play into my hand." I sighed again and looked for a way to once more begin to move. "Yet it is the roots of that fear I find I am drawn to uncover."

"When you are trapped in a corner," said my cat, "you apply a different dimension then translate the point through it. In the process discovering more truth than the others are comfortable with."

"That's part of it," I nodded, "I'm sure. Fear of change and fear of discovery, yet there is more to it than that. Translated inwards such fear would induce anxiety, outward it would induce an attack."

"Emotional attack," said my cat. "A physical attack would suggest different operators in play."

"Certainly," I nodded. "The kind of operators which get locked in the mind and lead to the kind of obsessive review which raises the probability of the the circumstances of the attack to leak beyond the immediate environment."

"And what kind of fear," said my cat, "would lead the instigator of an attack to blame the innocent when they pass beyond the immediate environment of the attack."

"Fear of retribution," I replied after due consideration. "And in blaming the innocent," I added, "the causes of the attack could go unchecked."

"Indeed," agreed my cat.

"And yet," I added, "I note how we've not touched fear of the unknown."

"For us," replied my cat, "such a fear is no longer an issue. Nor is it an issue in this circumstance."

"I begin to see more," I admitted as the swirling patterns in my mind began to coalesce, "how systemic reinforcement of unconscious operators build over time and present a picture of something so at odds with the expressed truth of that system. One is left with the inescapable truth that the system itself should no longer be maintained."

"In in the gaps between your words," said my cat, "you have the truth of it."

"Shades of grey," I muttered in conclusion, "and the anthropomorphic personification of Death."

"A church may also die," retorted my cat. "And for some the time of judgement is at hand."

"And just what do you mean by that," I asked my cat.

"That is a question you must find the answers to," purred my cat. "But at the very least you have begun to see the light."

"Found a bigger gun," I smiled wryly. Changing the topic of conversation for reasons of personal protection, "by the way."

"Yes," smiled my cat, "and who do you think took the smaller guns off you."

Pogo point!

"I lack the words," I said finally, "to describe what I'm feeling." I lay there next to my cat and contemplated what I'd just said. "Well, I've got the words to descibe something," I admitted, "but that feeling of inner darkness washing over escapes words."

"And I would suppose," asked my cat with an amused tone, "you also lack the words to describe that inner darkness."

"Probably," I grinned.

For the longest while we sat there in silence and spoke of many things.

SiX degrees, 2' 17"

"You're being unusually quiet," my cat announced early one breakfast.

"I suppose it comes," I replied eventually, "from having an Archangel fighting a battle of words in my mind with Lucifer."

"An Archangel," my cat responded sounding unconvinced, "arguing with Lucifer. Sounds like something from television."

"It is," I admitted, "something from television."

"Well then," said my cat, "there you go."

"Of course," I continued, "this war of words began before I'd watched any of the series which currently features Lucifer and Archangels."

"Then I suppose you need," said my cat, "to tell somebody."

"And say what," I sighed. "No objective scenario I can formulate regarding the matter resolves well. There is, shall we say, a credibility gap between the way I perceive the world and the way others perceive it."

"You're one of the top five Magicians," my cat announced, "in the City."

"Top three," muttered my other cat.

"There must be a way," my cat continued, "for you to find something you can say."

"In some regards," I admitted, "there are those who would prefer ignorance. Which is how they are able affect deafness."

"It's not really deafness," said my cat. "It's merely that they assume the pervasive paradigms which they perceive are the same as what those perceived by yourself, connecting your words to their own operational paradigms they are left with only one logical conclusion."

"That you're completely insane," grinned my other cat. "Although to be fair," continued my other cat, "there are few who are willing to step beyond the parameters set by the inherent paradigms entrained into them during their formative years."

"So what makes me different," I frowned, more than concerned with such a high incidence of the word 'paradigm'.

"You switched sides," replied my cat, "and in the process you learned more than was intended."

"So you've said," I frowned, "many times. As an explanation it's simple. Yet in implication it is severe."

"So what do you infer," said my cat, "from such a statement."

"Numbers," I replied after considerable thought. "Forces. A larger pattern than that which I was previously aware of."

"It's a subtle shift," said my cat, "in phase."

"Something you can't see," said my other cat, "until you've seen it."

"But once you have," continued my cat, "you can never go back."

"I see it all the time now," I admitted, "hidden in the background where none would expect. Only when I try to say more I begin to hear a voice accusing me of paranoia."

"You're not paranoid," asserted my other cat.

"So how should I describe," I asked, "the multi-dimensional reality which I experience. The one that visibly surfaced again behind a rather cute Witch in that film I watched the other night."

"I'm not sure you can," admitted my cat.

"Pity," said my other cat, "there's a an important message hidden behind the images in the scene to which you allude."

"It's not just that scene, it's written all over the place. All I need to do is open my eyes." For a moment I let my mind go free, linking and relinking thoughts and ideas trying to grasp a coherent picture. One I could share. "I suspect it began when television began using teams of writers," I mused. "Teams which unconsciously began to project hidden aspects of their own combined psychological model onto the screen." For a moment paused. Closing my eyes I cast my mind back. "It became so clear to me I even began to see how an overt knowledge of that model could be used to manipulate others outside of the fictional realm. I begin to wonder if they really knew what they are doing."

"They are too close to it," my cat assured me, "so it's certain that they are unaware of it."

"The writer's strike leaking into the plot of Galactica was especially interesting," I continued. For a moment I lost my cats against the turmoil of my own inner landscape. "Groups of actors standing around on a devastated planet with nothing but ruins around them as they prayed for the words which would allow their characters to find nirvana."

"Returning to the point," announced my other cat, "without drawing entity relationship diagrams I doubt there's much more you can say."

"There's lots more he can say," objected my cat, "especially in the realms of the intrapersonal and the seen and the unseen."

"Indeed," I agreed, "but raising such talk out of the realms of word-salad and explaining the repercussions of the mechanisms which allow me to catch glimpses of the unseen-unseen is somewhat problematical. I've even learned enough to pattern it from scratch yet I'm no closer to being able to highlight the problems I see on the horizon."

"It would probably go a lot smoother," said my cat, "if the synthetic mechanics of existence didn't have a habit of pushing you to destruction."

"At such times," I agreed, "my symptomology does tend to tip over into paranoia."

"Yet you have to agree," purred my cat, "we have been of some assistance in that regard."

"Indeed," I smiled. "Yet I do become concerned by the somewhat obsessive nature of the distractions I find myself leaning on."

"You set yourself a challenge," my cat informed me, "almost two years ago now."

"Omega point," muttered my other cat. "Within the subset of that which passes as your personal reality you actions have been drawn to that point."

"As things begin to resolve," purred my cat, "a degree of obsession is to be expected. Yet all things considered you're handling it well."

"Some interesting questions," I admitted, "are only now beginning to cross my mind."

"I suspect," my cat announced, "you're alluding to the problems discovering you can consciously set-out to do a thing and then forget about it."

"Only to later find," continued my other cat, "you've achieved it without once consciously seeking to achieve it."

"It makes me wonder," I admitted, "what other threads are being resolved outside the realm of conscious thought."

"I wouldn't worry about it," said my cat, "in the end you always get what you want."

Perceptions of the Beyond

"You're bending your mind", warned my cat, "around the room."

"Of course I am," I agreed. "When diving into the minds of others," I admitted, "it's much easier to dive into what's there than what's their."

"My point is," sighed my cat, "is that you need to be careful."

"I agree," I replied, "last year it took me unaware." For a moment I closed my eyes and looked around the room.

"He could run away from it," said my other cat, "live his life according to the parameters of what others tell him can be proved, pretend it's not there and deal with the concequences."

"Or he can embrace it," I said as I opened my eyes, "take what he needs and deal with another set of concequences. What's there shows the way. We've got years to play with what's their."

"Good," said my cat, "and with that you begin to see how you have already begun to affect change here."

"So now," I grinned as the room cleared, "just how should we begin speaking to these other cats."

"Begin," said my cat, "with the unseen university."

"Clever," I replied.

A Fresher Perspective

"Oh good," said my cat one evening, "fresh meat."

"There's tides of them," said my other cat.

"Wait here a sec," I said, "let's see if any of them purr."

"About three years," smiled the big blue cat as she strolled by.

"Grey goo," said the alien in my mind.

A Painter Of Colour

"Things," I admitted to my cat over lunch, "appear to be getting more than a little strained."

"If by 'strained'," said my cat, "you mean reality is getting completely bent out of shape, then I would have to agree with you."

"Then you've noticed," I asked.

"Of course I have," replied my cat. "But it seemed best to wait for you to mention it than try to get you to recognize something you weren't ready to accept. Tell me, what do you write in that little black book of yours."

"It's a dark mirror" I admitted after pausing to consider the matter. "a thing allows me to capture the reflections of the vampires which pass through my mind." I paused to consider the matter some more. "State data," I added, "if you'd rather a more informatics metaphor."

"On the whole," said my cat, "I prefer the first metaphor. But I can see how in this world of yours the language of the second is more acceptable." For a moment she sat next to me an purred quietly to herself. "So what sort of things," she asked eventually, "do these vampires say."

"There's one that's been jumping in and out for a while now," I admitted. "As with most of them it takes time to resolve the meaning behind the meaning but the words it speaks are 'you switched sides and in the process learned more than was intended.'"

"What do you think," said my cat, "it means."

"I'm uncertain," I grinned, "I get the impression there's a truth I need to expose before the speaker will say more."

"I can sense the mind," said my cat, "behind the words, and the minds bound in the words. I think it's probably best if I tell you."

"There's more," I sighed, "isn't there."

"Certainly," said my cat. "But for now let us be silent."

"I'll not run away," I said to my cat, "not from this."

"What you plan to say next," replied my cat, "is causing a lot of very important people to have nightmares."

"Immaterial," said my other cat. "They had their chance. The wall, and the manner of his hitting it are his to choose. If they wanted a different outcome they should have put their minds to that. Silence was never an option."

Tidy the Room

"So what about 'anti-foo'," I asked my cat late one morning.

"Their ain't, said my cat, "no such such beast."

"Unless, of course," said my other cat, "you wish to enter the realm where a particle can be it's own anti-particle."

"Oh I think," I smiled, "that's exactly the sort of realm where I would feel right at home."

"Wonderful," said my other voice, "there's infinite amounts of fun to be had with this."