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.";
Memetic Elements 101
'**lithium-6 class IV 'mind' >>a family of five tigers <<replicating pattern-III --The Empress ++The Emperor.[Link]
++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
∞ 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."
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.
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."
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."
Tricks of Mind
"This connects," said my cat, "it's simply that you've yet to define the linkages sufficiently for it to move out of the realms of word salad."
"Really," I replied sounding unconvinced. "It's one thing discussing this here with you, it's another thing trying to explain it when I'm sat in conversation with others."
"It's an interface issue," said my cat. "Tell me," asked my cat as she jumped up beside me, "is one prime."
"There are those," I replied, "who claim it is not so."
"And their reason," prompted my cat.
"It is not so," I continued, "by definition."
"And what," she purred my cat, "do you believe."
"I believe," I admitted, "one is prime."
"And your reason," prompted my cat.
"The definition I use," I replied, "is different. Although to be fair there are other definitions which allow a zero to become prime."
"And with that," said my cat, "you've just opened a wormhole to the greater unknown."
"I know," I nodded, "I could feel it forming in my mind as we were discussing the subject. Yet talking about it, even those who read this, will result in those others reaching for their list of facts which they'll use to prove me wrong."
"You and I both know," said my cat, "that you're not wrong."
"In which case," grinned my other cat, "who let all these cats into the room."
Paint it Mauve
"Namespace overun complex," suggested my cat one morning.
"Seems like that," I agreed.
"More a delayed namespace response," suggested my other cat.
"Not enough cats," I replied.
"Pourquoi," grinned my cat.
"Get's too dark," I admitted, "loose focus."
"It's a bit tough," said my cat, "when the dischordians get in the room."
"No," I asserted, "makes more sense. Well, less of it, but is complexity not the issue. So how many, conceptually speaking, are in the room now."
"Well, there's one Omega. If I," said my cat, "does nothing for a moment then it'll probably find you."
"And how long before I patterns into a Sigma," said my other cat.
"Right about now," I replied eventually. "And the tech will follow."
"Words too," said my cat, "just not many needed right now."
"So who," asked my cat, "is asking him to stop."
"The ghosts perhaps," said my other cat, "of the Guardians who tried to make him to stop last time he was in here alone."
"I sense there is," admitted my cat, "an inversion in play."
"You're not wrong," agreed my other cat, "now if we could just remove the red."
"Yep," said my cat, "that'll do it."
"And now," asked my other cat.
"I think those two," suggested my cat, "are destined to enjoy the fruits of this little endeavour."
"I wish I could be a fly on the wall," muttered my other cat.
Meta Syntax
"The ultimate fundamental particle of magic," announced my cat late one afternoon, "is the 'foo', by definition there can be nothing smaller."
"Or bigger," grinned my other cat.
"You can't both be right," I replied.
"Of course we're not," said my cat, "one of us is always wrong, but it provides you with a starting point and a choice of two directions.
For a moment I thought about the numbers. "True," I accepted, "but that only holds until you consider the count zero effect. Which allows for a third choice."
"No," asserted my cat, "it doesn't."
"Yes," I asserted, "it does. It's a field effect. The nature of the not foo. The substrate so to speak."
"That's anti-magic," said my cat.
"Nope," I replied, "it's null-space. Or void-space. You choose."
"Bugger," said my other cat, "he's trapped in the box with us."
"In which case," asked my cat, "is there an outside observer, and are they alive or dead."
"You're ready," said the other voice in my mind.
"We choose nothing smaller," said my cat.
"And the void," said my other cat.
"Then we are agreed," said I.
"Magic," said my other voice.
Corporate Spirit
"The Catholics," said my cat, "are not your enemy."
"Then who is," I asked.
"Catholicism," said my cat.
"In which case," I admitted, "the Catholics become my enemy."
"Why's that," queried my other cat.
"Whereas we would choose not to," I replied, "they would make it so to defend their misperceptions."
"Most," said my cat, "prefer ignorance, which is probably why they'll want to attack him before accepting a word he has to say."
"Not all of them," said my other cat.
"And there are those" I added, "who would choose to die."
"Then perhaps," said my other voice, "doing nothing would be for the best."
"I don't think so," said my cat.
"Indeed," agreed my other cat.
"In which case," I said, "an open declaration of war is required."
"I suspect," said my cat, "pulling rank on the Pope had the required effect."
"I always wondered about the Swans breaking your arm thing," admitted my other cat, "nice to know it's a myth that's translatable to the realms of chaos magic."
"Indeed," I grinned.
"You'll get feedback on this," said my other voice.
"In which case," hissed my other cat, "do it sensibly."
ii: minesweeping with fish
"Indeed," I nodded. "There's a degree of pressure building." For a moment I paused to consider my mood. "It's an emotional thing, something caused that by that which goes beyond self." I sighed. "Yet the only place I may address what underpins this frustration is a place where we are apparently precluded from having emotions."
"The mistake one usually makes about individuals who suppress their emotions," my cat asserted, "is that the individual in question has no emotions. Whereas to be brutally honest the emotional depths of such individuals is far in excess of those who are capable of expressing their emotions. Hence the need for suppression."
"That sounds ridiculous," I admitted, "but there's a certain logic to it."
"Of course there is," said my cat, "my intellect is vastly superior to yours so I'm always right."
"Arrogance becomes you," I smiled.
"Of course," smiled my cat, "there is also the related issue of the difficulty in differentiating an individual suppressing emotion from an individual with little emotion."
"And what of emotional repression," I queried.
"A way the latter may choose to temper the same forces," replied my cat, "top-down, as it were, as opposed to bottom-up. Easier to achieve yet poorly handled repression does tend to sublimate into rage."
"Probably explains," I postulated, "why people slam the door in your face the moment a situation gets emotive."
"Indeed," said my cat. "The difficulty here is telling the difference between a suppressor who's just plain furious and a repressor who's about to allow all they've been repressing to sublimate into an over the top outburst of physical fury."
"Perverse isn't it."
"Oh certainly," purred my cat, "there's enough fuzziness in the mix to keep a whole committee of cats busy for months attempting to resolve the truth of it."
i: hostile down
"It's something," I replied, "which happened last night."
"Wonderful," agreed my other cat, "it seems you're finally beginning to apply the lessons you have learned."
"Y'think," I said sarcastically. "From where I was sitting I felt very much like a fish out of water."
"It happened in another's space," explained my cat. "Politeness dictated you deferred to his view of external reality."
"That seemes to be my curse," I admitted. "The others have more to loose than me so I have a tendancy to defer to them."
"It's okay," my cat assured me. "You play a long game, victory is assured so there's little to be gained from momentary satisfaction."
"Care to explain," I asked, "how I come to be like this."
"You can see further beyond," admitted my cat, "placing you in a place where you can have more of an affect applying a small force earlier than larger force later."
"You'll be suprised," said my other cat, "the degree to which this improves things."
"I begin to wonder," I volunteered, "if I'm just coasting."
"Others may think that," said my cat, "but they lack the insight to see the impulses in you which you can see all too clearly in them."
"So I how does that," I asked, "translate into my appearance."
"You step into the realm," admitted my cat, "of the fourth."
"Great power," I muttered with cynical irony.
"Behave," said my other cat, "even when you're sensless you handle matters responsibly."
"Can't say it feels like that."
"Of course it doesn't," admitted my cat, "by definition objectivity is denied you."
"Is that," I asked my cat, "what you're here for."
"You could just," purred my cat, "be right."
RE: Solve
"Quite clearly," I commented later, "a pervasive unitary paradigm can conflict with an inherent trinity paradigm causing any inner dissonance to be consciously displaced outwards."
"Clearly," grinned my cat, "I'm glad you brought it up."
"So," I asked with bemusement, "do you care to say more on the matter."
"No," said my cat, a look of disinterest clearly failing to mask her bemusement. "Although if you ask me," she informed me, "it explains why some individuals begin claiming it's all to do with lizards and aliens, or indeed both, when an exception triggers a change in their inner equilibrium."
"Careful," I warned with wry humour, "I think it's safe to say if lizards are involved I'm one of them."
"Certainly not," exclaimed my cat.
"You mean," I asked reflecting her concern, "I'm not a lizard."
"No," said my cat. "I mean it's not safe to say that."
"Funny," said my other cat, "but if you look deep enough there's another answer here."
"You may just," said my cat, "be right."
"Shhhh," said my other cat, "lets see if he can work it out for himself."
"I've certainly worked it out," I admitted, "it may however take a while to factor it into words."
"Word salad," said my cat.
"It's not until you move beyond dualism," I began, "that you begin to see the shape of it."
"Nature," grinned my cat, "likes her repeating patterns."
"True," I smiled, "so when you factor into third-space the equations you discover expose a whole new realm to which your mind has access to. A realm between the internal and the external."
"And once you've discovered it," said my other cat, "it casts history is a completely new light."
"Indeed," I agreed, "and it's not very nice."
"In mitigation," said my cat, "they would claim they were completely unaware of what it was they were doing."
"Justice would still say," said my other cat, "ignorance is no defence."
Enchantments, Mirrors and Owls
"... so it's what is believed to be true," concluded my cat, "that holds more relevance than what is actually true."
"I begin to see your point," I said smiling at fuzzy form sitting on my lap. "Although I suspect I'm an exception to the rule."
"What makes you think that," said my cat.
"Only that my operating paradigms leverage belief," I sighed, "my way to pattern into available constructs to explore the operational encoding within."
"You," announced my cat, "operate at a higher level of abstraction than most will ever be capable of."
"Do I," I grinned, "that's nice."
"No," said my cat, "it's not. It gives rise to a condition where you become so acutely aware of environmental modifiers that you are effectively denied from the society of others. Psychologically speaking it makes you more than a little slippery, making it very hard for anyone to help you."
"Okay," I said cautiously.
"Although it is partly," grinned my cat, "what makes you so good at uncovering that which is occluded."
"So what's this got to do," I queried, "with the original subject."
"Well," announced my cat with authority, "humans entrain their children to the concept of ultimate oneness, a reinforcement of a rather childish notion, which makes them passive, pliable, easy to dominate. This suits the hierarchical command structures of society so historically it's not something the adult world cared to challenge. To this extent most adults would now accept it as a self-evident ultimate truth."
"I see," I said. "Well no," I admitted, "I don't." I smiled weakly. When my cat got like this is was easier to grab hold of her tail, metaphorically speaking, and follow.
"Operationally it's an unworkable paradigm owing to the problems it presents in resolving the dissonance of inner conflict," my cat continued, "so most children will unconsciously evolve to a three-state model. You can see reflections of this in the classic archetypal pattern of three-in-one which is why it resonates so strongly. Yet the expressed truth, the inherent belief if you like, remains the singular."
"But you say," I ventured, "that the operational belief is a trinity. And," I cast my mind back for a moment, "I'm still not sure I see the connects to your relevance of truth comment."
"Think about it," said my cat.
I thought. It took a moment for the point to resolve. "Ah, I see what you mean," I responded eventually, "in a way it explains the inflexibility of thought that appears so prevalent in modern society." My cat turned her head to give me a look of satisfaction. "It's also," I chortled, "highlights how righteousness tends to infect both sides in any conflict."
"Certainly," said my cat, "and now perhaps you see how your flexibility and inability to accept the mantle of righteousness leads to a condition where in any conflict you're at a tactical disadvantage."
On the way up.
"What," asked my cat, "was that all about."
"It's not pretty," said my other cat.
"No, it's not," agreed my cat, "but there's something not right."
"There are forces at play," said my other cat, "that are going to take a while to pattern."
"I think he's patterning them himself," said my cat.
"And the answers he's getting are," said my other cat, "exactly the right ones."
"Oh boy," said my cat, "this spells trouble."
"So what can we see," said my other cat, "and what may we speak of."
"Right," said my cat. "We have a problem."
"Fuck," said my other cat, "he's about to hit the entire station."
"No," I asserted, "I already did that."
"Change the subject," said my other cat, "we'll speak of this later."
"What we should like you explore," began my cat, "is your state of mind before the accident."
"It has," I admitted, "been concerning me too."
"Care to discuss it," asked my cat.
"Certainly," I replied, "I've been expecting you to raise the subject ever since I outlined its connection to the causal theory of my schizophrenia."
"The phrase that immediately concerns us," said my cat,"is 'multiple concurrent loci of control'."
"I can't say I'm currently aware of what I meant by that," I conceded. "I'll need to think about it for a moment."
"Okay," said my cat brightly as she curled up onto my lap and began to purr.
"I suspect," I smiled down at my cat, "you've just highlighted the point for me." For a moment I ruffled the fur on the back of her neck. "Now if you'd be so kind as to shift I need to attend to a call of nature."
I returned to discover my cat sitting sphinx like, eyes closed, where I had previously been sitting. She was purring to herself. The sound of my movement had her ears tracking me across the room. As I sat myself back down next to her she opened her eyes and gave me a look which brought a wry smile to my face.
"Point taken," said my cat eventually.
"Good," I replied. "Now," I asked, "where were we."
"States of mind," said my cat, "before the accident."
"I find myself more than a little reticent to discuss the matter," I admitted. "Various factors relate to my perceptions of the mechanisms and motives of others and I find discussing such things does tend to put me at odds with consensus."
"The truth of it," said my cat, "is no where near as important as how you perceived it. In a sense if you were operating under an assumption then it may be considered true in so far as it had a direct effect on you."
"So my belief that I was working for a racist," I suggested, "who had my house burgled to frighten me into silence with regards to my witnessing his assault of an Asian gentleman may be regarded as a true regardless of the lack of direct evidence to support such a supposition."
"Indeed," said my cat, "it is true in so much as you believed it and you allowed it to effect you."
"Similarly," I continued, "my belief that my wife had lost faith in my ability to fulfil my roles of husband and father, and that my ongoing value to her was simply my ability to earn a wage, is also true."
"Again," agreed my cat, "all true."
"Right," I nodded. "There's also," I admitted, "a suggestion a consultant psychologist had recently made that I was suffering from a Schizotypal Personality Disorder prior to the crash."
"Is that something," asked my cat, "which you regarded as being true."
"I'm uncertain," I admitted. "In a way it was an unresolved question which was on my mind. I'd certainly been suffering from bouts of depression since I was sixteen, and it had reached a stage where I was willing to engage with psychiatric services to do whatever I could to address the problem."
"Which is how," queried my cat, "the Schizotypal diagnosis arose."
"Indeed," I agreed. "Although the Psychologist who gave me that diagnosis was somewhat surprised when I elected to accept treatment via group therapy rather than one-to-one psychodynamic therapy."
"So you think," asked my cat, "it was a misdiagnosis."
"I don't even consider it a diagnosis," I admitted, "simply an opinion the truth of which would be explored through ongoing treatment."
"So what do you think," said my cat.
"I think," I admitted, "my dysfunction stemmed from metaphysical issues I had been unable to resolve given the restrictions of a Catholic education along with an strong suspicion that this and various other childhood traumas combined with the stated issues of my ongoing living environment had pushed me to the more problematical end of the Autistic Spectrum."
"You did, accepted my cat, "work in an industry where Autistic Spectrum Disorders did form part of the classic stereotype."
"True," I nodded, "looking back I think it would be true to say that whatever it was which had prompted me to seek the assistance of psychological services, the dysfunction I had identified in my self, I was slowly beginning to improve."
"You may just," purred my cat, "be right."
"However," I grinned, "given your earlier comments I'd need an outside observer to give this assertion the validity of an objective truth."
Hail Eris?
"What's the deal with the Starbucks Pebbles post," queried my other cat late one morning.
"It's a dischordian thing," replied my cat, "something to do with the apparent order to be found in chaos."
"A religion disguised as a joke," smiled my other cat, "disguised as a religion."
"How can it not know," asked my cat, "what it is,"
"I think you'll find," I volunteered eventually, "the following passage triggered it's presence here."
"The remarkable structure of the Bible should also be stressed. Although it is a collection of 66 books, written by 40 or more different men over a period of 2,000 years, it is clearly one Book, with perfect unity and consistency throughout. The individual writers, at the time of writing, had no idea that their message was eventually to be incorporated into such a Book, but each nevertheless fits perfectly into place and serves its own unique purpose as a component of the whole. Anyone who diligently studies the Bible will continually find remarkable structural and mathematical patterns woven throughout its fabric, with an intricacy and symmetry incapable of explanation by chance or collusion."
"Oh," said my other cat, "I see your point."
"Although to be fair," said my cat, "what interests me is 'fourty men' comment. You may be forgiven for thinking the whole book is nothing more than 'The Mysoginists Guide to World Domination'."
"Behave," said my other cat, "the Gospel of St John was written by a woman. Although you have to wonder about the motives of those who compiled the thing."
"They would probably claim," I interjected, "that they were inspired by God."
"Yes," said my other cat, "but which God."
"There can be," grinned my cat, "only one."
"Trinity," hissed my other cat, "singularity is a locked box."
"In which case," I grinned, "we're talking aspects of the one; and the psychologist within is considering a diagnosis of a Schizophrenic Personality Disorder."
"That's the spirit," grinned my other cat.
Naturally Yeaned Xeno-morph
It was Late one night. I was mostly drunk. I was standing looking out of my kitchen window when my cat padded over to me and stretched-up to placed her forepaws on my thigh. She began to stroke my hand with her head. "Stroke me," she demanded, "human!"
"I thought you didn't believe I was human any more," I replied with obvious bemusement as I responded to her demands.
"You're not," she admitted, "but it's a useful term for moments where casual rudeness is required."
"Really?"
"Really," she dropped her paws to the floor, "you shouldn't imagine I mean anything by it."
I picked up my cup. "Come on," I said, "let's get comfortable." I wandered out of the kitchen and found my way to our sofa. My cat followed, jumping up next to me and doing her best to spill my drink down the front of my t-shirt with a well placed head-butt.
"If you want me to purr," said my cat, "you're going to have to stroke me."
I stroked, she purred, I smiled. And finally we both began to relax.
"So why," I asked, "am I not human, given that all the available evidence seems to suggest I am."
"It's your mind," announced my cat, "it evolved beyond the boundaries of of what a human mind is considered to be, making you radically different to your most recent ancestors. In the process you've managed to ascend to a higher state of being."
"Evolved," I muttered. "Higher state of being. Quite frankly," I admitted, "it sounds like you've been reading way too much sci-fi."
"You have to admit," said my cat, "you've been pushing the envelope for a while now. Schizophrenia may provide a workable cover while you come to terms with it, but you have to admit things are far more serious than most care to admit."
"You may possibly," I conceded, "be right. Symptoms are one thing, but when I'm able to connect the dots and provide myself with a logical explanation of what underpins those symptoms I do find myself wondering about the implications."
"Of course I'm right," said my cat, "I'm a cat."
"To be honest," I continued, "when I consider some of what I've uncovered I'm beginning to suspect some of the fundamentals which have previously underpinned consensus reality are way off the mark."
"Indeed," purred my cat, "although to say much more We really need to begin discussing the fallacies of the scientific method and the implications of multi-dimensional geometry."
"It's never simple," I muttered.
"And just where," grinned my cat, "is the fun if it's all simple"
lex talionis
"It's a rights issue," grinned my other cat, "linked to temporal matters."
"You're not wrong," admitted my cat. "It operates in a realm unsupported by objective reality so there's nothing he can do about it."
"Not in that realm," agreed my other cat, "but in the subjective realms in which it originated there's a whole lot he can do."
"And he is," said my cat, "and a lot of people are very upset by it."
"It's beginning to effect objective reality."
"What would you have me do," I asked. "They tell me I'm guilty of a crime, apply their judgements and claim right. Yet they have committed that same crime against me, so I apply their judgements to them and claim nothing. Truly the power to stop this is in their own hands. Yet I am the one considered to be in the wrong, I am the one being asked to stop."
"They would say," said my other cat, "that the world does not work like that."
"And I would say," I asserted, "that the world is how I perceive it, not how they tell me I should perceive it. Their actions cause me harm. Even by their Law I have the right to defend myself."
"Only you're not," said my cat, "you've merely built a dark mirror and now you watch as they destroy themselves."
"The principal of least harm," grinned my other cat, "building the mirror was his defence."
"The more they fight it," I admitted, "the stronger I get."
"we will speak of this some more," agreed my cats, "the deep lore is waking, a new link will be forged, resolution is at hand."
By the light of the new moon.
"I should think," replied my cat, "that handing out condoms during mass would be going a little too far."
"But on the whole," I asked, "as a concept."
"Certainly," agreed my cat, "such a change would be for the best."
"You two," said my other cat, "really do have the craziest conversations."
"Well thank-you," said my cat with as much sarcasm as she could muster, "I can't tell if he's listening now."
"So how do you think," said my other cat, "he's managed to stay hidden for so long."
"Honestly," said my cat, "I think he's been cheating."
"Cheating," said my other cat, "I seriously doubt it."
"He hides his true self in the unconscious," suggested my cat, "then causes his conscious mind to mirror the preconscious expectations of others."
"I wouldn't call that cheating," said my other cat, "I would call it a highly evolved sense of self-preservation."
"Perhaps," said my cat, "it's not as if he's ever tried to derive maximum benefit from it."
"It can't be easy," said my other cat, "when he's able to truly perceive the fear his true nature elicits within the mass consciousness."
"I'd like to hear," said my cat, "what those idiots who claimed we've nothing to fear from a surveillance society have to say when they discover there are those who are consciously aware of their ability to see into the darkest recesses of the minds of others."
"Given the surveillance society contributed," said my other cat, "to his waking up to the realities of his true nature, then 'oh fuck,' would probably be a good guess."
"It can't be easy," said my cat.
"It's not," I said finally, "there is, shall we say, a certain degree of feedback on the physiological level involved when realities force me to repress it."
"Oh Jesus," muttered my other cat as she saw the picture I was beginning to paint, "I suspect we've only just begun seen what's really been going on."
"Indeed," said my cat, "the guilty have a lot to fear right about now. "