BREADCRUMBS: /home/zuihitsu/angularity/ihilo00
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."