I write;I think;I know.

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.";