I write;I think;I know.

WTF

"Tell me," asked my cat, "what happened."

"I fell into a wormhole," I replied with confusion. "Then things got unswirly."

"Unswirly," said my cat, "would sound like a good thing."

"Perhaps," I nodded. "But the theme of the unswirly is troubling."

"Meta context," muttered my other cat.

"An odd dream," I recalled, "not that I recall much of it. Just enough to remember slapping the doorman on the chest as I walked through the door and told my father I was about to detonate a trinity bomb."

"Trinity," asked my cat looking up.

"Word sort," I smiled, "not the Enriched Uranium sort."

"In your hands," muttered my other cat, "both have the ability to go nuclear."

"In a way something leaked from my dream and it did," I sighed. "I woke with my mind in limbo. Memories of the dream fading. Then a voice asked me to identify the symbol I was currently working on. Which oddly enough happened to stuck too the wall right by my hand. Then I kinda forgot myself for a bit."

"I think it's safe to say," said my cat, "the symbol went on to explain itself."

"It did," I admitted. "But when the explination involves following the four horsemen out of the bible it's hard to reconcile with being awake."

"Problem," purred my other cat.

"Other than not being sure," I said with a puzzled frown, "how I got there."

"You were checking names," replied my cat.

"The names I found," I admitted, "were the right ones."

"Though not" said my other cat, "any one would classically associate with the horsemen."

"There are three workable definitions," announced my cat, "which constitute an acceptible definition of schizophrenia."

"All three of them apply," said my other cat, "to at least two of your personalities."

"I'm at a loss," I sighed, "how you expect me to reconcile that."

"All of your base," grinned my other cat, "are belong to us."

"I'm not sure I get the reference," said my cat, "but the meaning is clear."

"I get the reference," I admitted, "but the meaning is somewhat occluded."

"Entities," purred my cat, "relationship, and meaning."

"Entities," I muttered in obvious confusion.

"Twelve plus one," announced my cat, "is eleven plus two."

"Yes," I nodded. "Thirteen."

"Eleven minus two," annouced my other cat, "is twelve minus one."

"That makes no sense," I frowned. "Nine does not equal eleven."

"I think you'll find," said my other cat, "that it is does."

"Once you know," said my cat, "the meaning is clear."

"Nope," I admitted finally, "I don't understand."

"One plus," began my other cat.

"Six hundred," continued my cat, "and sixty-six"

"Equals ten," said the other.

"Beast," I muttered as enlightenment dawned.

"The point is," said my cat, "there are things which should never be allowed to mix openly."

"Nothing is what it seems," added my other cat as she sensed my confusion.

"Becasue," I began. Then my voice stalled. "Hmm."

"See," said my cat.

"Translate the entity relationship," said my cat, "and you begin to see."

"One of you," I sighed, "is inverted in relation to the other."

"Relative to what," asked my cat.

"I'm not sure how to explain," I admitted. "To be honest I suspect you're using it to teach me about the nature of time."

"It's more to do with the nature of mind," announced my cat.

"It's as if," I conceeded, "I already have the answer."

"You do," said my cat.

"Do I," I asked in suprise.

"It's just," said my cat, "it's written in a language you can only translate to, not from."

"Oh," replied with mild suprise.

"So when," added my other cat, "an assertion is made with regards to a specific issue a little voice at the back of your mind runs a binding verification function."

"In which case," I began hesitantly, "if an assertion is true then I'm inclined to be largely indifferent."

"Indeed," said my cat, "what's wrong with that."

"On the surface," I replied, "nothing."

"Except," promted my cat.

"Except," I admitted, "assertions that are not true resonate long after their time."

"There are other reasons," my cat said with reassuring tone, "why things resonate but on the whole you're right on the mark."

"So what," asked my other cat, "brings this issue to the foreground."

"There's a little voice," I admitted after a short pause, "cast back in time that's still objecting to something a priest said when trying to make a point about the actions of god with regards to humanity."

"And the problem," asked my cat, "with that."

"He was wrong," I admitted.

"How do you know this," asked my cat.

"I am just," I admitted, "as confused on how to answer that as you."

"Well I'm not confused" announced my other cat exhibiting the full arrogance of her species. "I already know the answer."

"Care to share," I asked.

"No," said my other cat, "in time the information will find it's way into your mind that will allow you to find your the answer yourself."

"I would imagine it's an idea," grinned my cat, "not of it's time."

"Partly," replied my other cat. "But in truth it's something that's best left until you've overcome the concequences of a lifetime of abuse."

"Abuse," I frowned.

"You've been abused all your life," asserted my other cat. "It's only now you begin to acknowledge the affect."

"And in that statement," annouced my cat, "we begin to see the names of the guilty."

"It's more than a little unpleasant," I sighed as I began to see the picture my cats were painting.

"They've made their choices," replied my other cat. "There is no requirement for you to accept those choices as your own."

"And yet in this world," I sighed, "there are benefits to be found in forcing others to believe as you do." For a moment I fell silent as I contemplated the possible hypocrisy in my words.

"Oh please," said my cat as she looked inside my mind, "you never force anything."

"Don't I."

"No," asserted my other cat. "The truth points to itself so why the hell should you ever feel the need to force it."

"Becasue it conflicts," I suggested, "with the rationalizations and compromises with which individual humanity have encased their minds."

"You can't free a slave," asserted my cat, "a slave may only ever free themself."

"You taught us that," purred my cat.

"And oddly," smiled my other cat, "you happen to be right."

"Be that as it may," I sighed, "I can't see it helping me out of this rut."

"The only difference," began my cat, "between a rut and a grave..."

"...are the dimensions," finished the other.

"There you go again," I replied, "drawing the point before I've managed to satisfy my own curiosity on the matter."

"I wouldn't say that," said my other cat, "was strictly true."

"Perhaps," I conceeded. "I do however find it difficult to plot my own path when even a humerous remark starts to set the adgenda."

"Dimensions," said my cat, "are important."

"I realize this," I nodded, "I'm more concerned how it is that I happen to know time operates in nine dimensions."

"As you well know," said my cat, "when constructing a model of reality it's not until the ninth dimension that it's able to support a reference to time."

"Do I," I exclaimed in a somewhat mocking tone, "does it. Let's see..."

"Do not," said my other cat dryly, "begin by trying to count zero."

"Again," added my cat. "You'll only trap yourself," she continued, "in another box."

"In it's way," I admitted, "there's a certain amount of satisfaction to be derived from such boxes."

"Security," said my cat.

"Certainty," said the other.

"But truly," I sighed, "I know you're right. The certainty of a consensual hallucination and the security of delusion do not remain satisfying for long."

"I beg to differ," replied my other cat. "There are those to whom what you describe is eternally satisfying."

"I suspect," objected my cat, "that was a singular view and not a general point."

"True," I nodded.

"Now listen," said my cat.

"With which sense," I replied with a smile.

"All of them," replied my other cat.

"What do you see," asked my cat.

"Red," I replied.

"Dark light," asked my other cat.

"If it is," said my cat, "then you're looking in the wrong place."

"I think not," I objected.

"I believe," said my other cat, "I've just found the inversion we've been looking for."

"Wonderful," muttered my cat sarcastically.

"You have to admit," I sighed, "it's an answer."

"Not one" added my other cat, "which the world is likely to accept any time soon."

"We're more than a couple of years," replied my cat, "ahead of you on this one."

"Then very possibly," I added, "the world is ready."

"I think perhaps," my other cat replied, "you may be right."