memes resolving around a moving point

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.

A chair, a tree, and a skull.

"Do you trust me," asked my cat late one night.

"Yes," I nodded after considering my cat's motives for a moment.

"Truly and honestly," she asked again.

"Yes," I replied after a moments pause to consider the question.

"Really," she asked yet again.

"Yes," I replied after considering all the things she wasn't.

"Good," she purred. "And before you ask, I trust you implicitly."

"I wouldn't," I grinned, "I can be a bit slippery on the personality front."

"I've seen it all," said my cat, "I really wouldn't let that bother you."

"In that case," I replied, "I suspect I've seen it all too."

"You have," said my cat, "it's just not something you can hold in this part of your mind for very long."

"I'm beginning," I admitted, "to get the feeling there's an awful lot neither of us has seen."

"And that," said my other cat, "is what you'll get to explore together."

± fragment of displaced past.

"It's obscene!"

"What's obscene," I said with a sideways glance at the little shadow that had just appeared beside me.

"Nothing," grinned my cat.

I looked down at the immaculately presented ball of fuzziness beside me, "how did you know I'd be here?" I'd been lost wandering familiar streets for hours after an old ghost had jumped me. The worst of it had subsided, so I'd paused at a bus-stop, sitting on the bench whilst I waited for the mental fallout to subside. Various thoughts needed to resolve themselves into post-expression before I was prepared to head home.

"I've always been here," said my cat, "you just happened to appear at the right time."

"Just happened," I asked in a rhetorical tone, "to appear". I considered querying her further. But somehow I just knew doing such would only serve increased confusion, not increased understanding.

"Certainly," she said, yawning. "I'm a cat," she commented as she stepped down lightly, "my intellect is vastly superior to yours," she continued matter of factly. She trotted off, tail held high, a subtle self-assured arrogance evident in her gait. "I wouldn't worry, understanding is not as important as you imagine." She paused, "coming?"

I considered my options for a moment. Leaving the ghost behind me I followed. Within three steps I found I was the one being followed. Together we shared the silence as we walked home.

"Neurosis," muttered my cat some hours later as she sat on my lap purring, "is not a function of intelligence."

"I think perhaps you've let a cat out of your bag," I responded thoughtfully after a medium pause.

For a moment she went completely silent. "You could be right," she said finally.

Consideration of Unacceptable Namespace Threshold

“Oh dear,” I muttered to myself one afternoon.

“Problem,” queried my cat.

“I’ve found another cross-linked namespace,” I admitted, “and now the shape of the universe is changing somewhat.”

“Really,” said my cat, “you do find yourself in some absurdly weird positions.”

“It’s not my fault,” I exclaimed with mock outrage. “It’s become a fact of my existence,” I admitted, “ever since another car smashed into me. It’s as if the master index to my mind got corrupted, and what I thought was a valid shadow copy was if fact something else.”

“I see,” said my cat.

“I hope so,” I nodded, “it’s effecting my ability to communicate.”

“Translation issues,” said my cat, “your inner and outer languages are somewhat in conflict.”

“Are you inside my mind again.”

“Uncertain,” grinned my cat. “But I can tell what you’re thinking.”

“It’s a neat trick,” I admitted, “although you appear to be quicker at it than I.”

“I’ve got speed,” said my cat, “you’ve got depth.”

“Okay,” I conceded.

“The problem you’ve got now,” said my cat, “is that having worked out a scientific basis for explaining why you are the how you are, one that I might add would be supported by physicists, you mostly lack the language to express it beyond your inner mind.”

“Whatever,” I grinned. “But it does explain why I’m getting Physics and English entangled.”

“It probably explains,” explained my cat, “why you’re now considering how some words have a scalar quantity, some have a vector quantity, and some appear to have both.”

“Light,” I nodded.

“I can think of a better word to describe the the concept,” purred my cat.

“‘Fuck.’”

“Indeed, look it up in the dictionary and you get a definition which would lead most to object to it’s usage publicly.”

“Indeed,” I agreed, “a scalar quantity.”

“But hit your thumb with a hammer,” said my cat, “and then utter it, it would become a vector quantity, and gain the ability to convey a direct emotion.”

“In which case,” I argued, “it would likely cease to have the scalar association.”

“Certainly,” purred my cat, “unless there was a small minded language fascist in the room, in which case they’d probably launch a complaint.”

“I find people who complain about such thing merely highlight their own ignorance.”

“What do you mean,” asked my cat with an innocent expression.

“Well not having thumbs,” I announced, “you’ve never experienced what it’s like to hit your thumb with a hammer.”

“I would imagine vectors,” smiled my cat, “spew forth unconsciously.”

“Indeed,” I nodded, “it fuckin’ hurts.”

later today

"The point is," said my cat later, "that you work on the assumption that people are being truthful until proved otherwise."

"I have to try really hard," I admitted, "to see how it could be done different."

My cat turned her head and gave me a long look which, if I hadn't know differerent, I may have attempted to describe as exasperation. "Psychosis," she said finally.

"Psychosis," I agreed out of politeness. I blinked. "What are you trying to tell me," I asked. My confusion was self evident.

"You find yourself in hospital," began my cat, "and you're babbling all sorts of crazy shit. The professionals come along and begin telling you it's psychosis. Only after having asserted that you're incapable of differentiating reality from unreality they don't begin to help you determine unreality from reality."

"No," I nodded, "they just bully me into taking tablets which interfere with my ability to perceive anything."

"But," said my cat, "you accept their assertions that it's psychosis. You're perfectly aware how odd you sound, but you're also aware that the language of your inner thought is not the language you speak and that the problem is an issue with your inner translation matrix."

"Okay," I said cautiously. "The point being," I asked.

"The point being," said my cat, "it that you're still believing that you're psychotic to the extent that become so unsure of yourself that your personality matrix shuts down."

"Matrix issues aside," I grinned, "I'm beginning to see what you mean. They say 'psychosis', I assume they'd not say that unless it was true, and begin to work on the assumption that all my perception is suspect and, metaphorically speaking, keep still."

"Indeed," said my cat, "even though you're perfectly aware that you're not and that the problem is elsewhere. Only they refuse to talk to you and stand by their opinion that medication is required."