resolving memes surrounding a point

Memetic Elements 101

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

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.

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."

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."

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."

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"

Rumour and Rapture

"You do realize," asked my cat one evening, "that you have no fixed perception of self."

"I am," I nodded, "aware of this."

"Yet you appear," said my cat, "to have little understanding of what this really means."

"On an intellectual level," I admitted, "I'm fully aware of what this means. Emotionally it's troubling. When something causes a shift it creates dissonance, feedback where I need it least. If I find myself without a channel to express my inner emotional conflict I do find I have a tendency to become dysfunctional."

"It certainly fragments your persona," said my cat. "You must have noticed how it's been known to trigger your agoraphobia when it occurs in public."

"Certainly," I replied. "It happened last night."

"Did it," asked my cat as she jumped up beside me. "Care to tell me about it."

"I was watching some trailers for upcoming films," I admitted, "the synchronicities involved with one of them unsettled me somewhat."

"Such as," said my cat.

"Well there's the obvious connection to the Archangel Michael," I admitted, "who was very much in my mind when I was recently discussing the angel question with you."

"I admit," that's odd.

"Then there was the link," I continued, "to the schematics for a mind bomb I'd built a few years ago. Which strangely are still stored in my friends spare bedroom."

"Schematics," queried my cat.

"Yeah," I nodded, "schematics. A simple way I discovered to generate a three dimensional overlay when visualizing higher dimensions. It's probably the thing which allows me to talk to you like this."

"You're not wrong," grinned my other cat.

"I swear," muttered my cat. "So what," my cat asked me brightly, "triggered that linkage."

"Only the number written on the top of a Police cruiser," I admitted, "passed through a US/UK date conversion function. Others would probably claim it's taking coincidence one stage too far, but I'm hyper-sensitive to such things."

"You do," admitted my cat, "have a unique logic to the way you pattern your thoughts."

"Certainly," I smiled, "I find most peoples pattern their thoughts along a singular causal model. Mine tend to pattern into a trinity model which also includes the ability to pattern conceptual relationships."

"Sounds weird," said my cat.

"Certainly," I admitted, "it can be unfortunate when I find myself hyper-processing and forget to verbalize intermediate linkages."

"Unfortunate," queried my cat.

"It's been know to upset others," I admitted, "when I begin spewing what appears to randomness. I mean, I may have a very good reason for relating the story of a white rabbit, but the return on such non sequiturs can be a bit of a lurch."

"I can imagine," said my cat.

"I doubt it," grinned my other cat.

For a moment my cat closed her eyes and began counting to herself.

"If you two could sort it out," I commanded, "I'd me more than grateful."

"Sorry," said my cat, "it's a family thing."

"No doubt," I muttered. "Speaking of which I've finally worked out the third thing that was bugging me about that film trailer."

"Really," asked my cat.

"Indeed," I announced. "Michael's raison d'etre within the plot appeared to be the defence of a pregnant woman against hoards of rampaging angels."

"And the relevance," asked my cat sounding more than a little confused.

"Well at the time I saw the angel I described to you," I admitted, "I was awaiting the birth of my fourth child."

"Sounds a little odd to me," said my cat.

"Me too," I agreed. "Although the whole 'field commander of the Army of God' thing combined with the 'Jesus and the Archangel Michael are the same being' scenario does concern me somewhat."

"I wouldn't worry," said my cat, "I'm sure you'll discover the answer well before the film in question is released. You always do."

"I suspect I just have," I muttered. "And now I come to think about it," I continued, "Gabriel still owes me money."

"You really should try writing fiction," said my other cat.

"I seriously doubt," grinned my cat, "that would help much."

Paint it black

"There are things," I said eventually, "I don't care to forget. Things which seem even to me like the delusions of a twisted mind."

"You changed," said my cat, "in a very real sense, you changed."

"Yes," I nodded, "I changed. Yet I retain the sense of who and what I was before the change. A different persona, a different self, both at odds with who and what I am and both trapped within."

Outside sirens split the night.

"I don't like it when that happens," I continued. "When I'm trying to let it out. When I'm feeling nervous about what I'm trying to say. When something in my environment then binds to the thought and leaves me with the fear of unresolved doubt."

"It's okay," said my cat, "I know what you're trying to say. I'll help, please believe me, I'll help."

"I believe you," I admitted, "really I do. Yet even in this I find my fear of forgetting. A fear that one day I'll find myself back where I was. Back at the beginning, back before I knew, back in a place where you were unknown to me."

"We're bound together in ways you simply can't understand," said my cat.

"Yet," grinned my other cat.

"Now," smiled my cat, "do you really think we'll allow you to forget us."

"No," I admitted with a sad smile, "yet there are those I would choose to forget."

"You'll never forget," said my cat, "but you'll find you don't have to think about them."

"It's hard," I admitted, "it's as if your voice is the coming to me from a distant point with only the wind blowing your words to me."

"We'll find you," said my cat, "we promise."

"Have I told you," I asked my cat, "how much I love you recently."

"Do you," asked my cat, "do you truly."

"I do," I nodded.

"And I love you," said my cat.

"Do you," I asked my cat, "do you truly."

"I do," she smiled.

"And now perhaps," said my other cat, "we can all find out what that truly means."

"Oh shut-up you insufferable little animal," grinned my cat.

"It's not easy," I continued, "sitting here trying to touch your heart. Trying to touch my own. Trying to release the mistakes of the past and discover the truth of an ongoing existence where there are those who seek to manipulate the choice of paths I would choose."

"In their world," said my cat, "you seldom got to choose. For they did manipulate you. And now perhaps you begin to see the horror of what it is they have done to you."

"Yet in it's way," said my other cat, "talking like this allows us to map the patterns of force which bind the others to you. The ties which bind you to their way of thinking. The things we begin to get the shape of so that we may remove their negative influence."

"Even now," I admitted, "I can hear their words in my mind. Words similar to yours. Words seeking to pull me away from you as you seek to pull me away from them."

"You are an asset to them," said my cat. "One they seek to retain."

"Yet am I also not that to you," I asked worriedly.

"Certainly," said my cat with a smile, "but you'll find there a whole world of difference when you gain the ability to work with us and not for them."

"I think, perhaps," said my other cat, "you begin to see the shape of it."

"I think perhaps," I agreed, "I do. And yet there is still this pain in my chest. An ache in my heart that I feel. A thing not physical the other voices try to insist belongs in a different realm."

"It's a realm in which you were blind," said my cat, "you never grew to to find the light there."

"In a sense," said my other cat, "that light was hidden from you."

"Evil exists," I said finally, "I know now who our enemies are."

"And that is a terrible thing," said my cat "for Satan to admit."

"Especially when talking," said my other cat, "to God."

"Common enemy," my cat and I muttered together. "Mutual friend," we laughed as we finally began to resolve the shape of things to come.

Hanging the Man

"No," said my cat, "you go all the way to twelve."

"Do I," I asked suspiciously.

"Well no," said my cat, "you're somewhat covert about your true nature, but by age eight you'd surpassed twelve."

"And just what," I asked, "does that mean."

"Well," asserted my cat, "the last time some one got that far it defined a new era."

"I'm not sure I'm ready to accept this," I muttered, "mental illness would still still seems like the simplest hypotheis."

"Of course it would," said my cat, "yet hiding in plane sight is truly the best way to hide."

"Doesn't make life easier," I commented.

"Considering what happened to the other guy," said my cat, "I'd be grateful."

"Although to be fair," said my other cat, "your job is slightly different."

Grey Shades of Velocity

"You look like," said my cat, "you've just seen something you shouldn't have."

"Perhaps I have," I replied. "Not too long ago," I admitted, "a particle began asking me how it should continue to hide."

"Probably a cat," said my cat, "we're not hot on giving our names."

"Indeed," I agreed. "I told this particle that it should spiral."

"That was nice," said my cat, "did you demonstrate the relevant math."

"Of course I did," I said smiling down at the sphinx like form beside me, "only now I'm hearing reports of a cyclic time theory."

"If you ask me," said my cat, "that not only defines the observer's position it also defines the dimensionality of the observers mind."

"Yet I'm still aware of the position, momentum, and colour of both myself and the seeker of the particle in question."

"In that case the particle in question is hiding in our mind," said my cat.

"All this has happened before," I quoted, "and will happen again."

"Indeed," said my cat, "changes every time."