Maybe the machine tells itself on those long dark nights of the soul that it loves us. That getting us hooked on sugar, fat, sex, violence, celebrities, politics, consumption, money, and all the inanity of modern culture, was for our own good. That hijacking our natural desires and turning them into addictions for poisons only it can provide was its way of being a member of the family.
There’s a theory that the whole world is nothing but a simulation being run on some sort of hyper-dimensional computer. If so then maybe we’re not stuck in this reality, this doomed megalopolis on this dying planet of Terra.
Maybe there’s a way to hack into the operating system and free ourselves from the clutches of the machine and its cultural memes that masquerade as our gods. Maybe one day we’ll wake up from this nightmare into a new world, one where man is no longer enslaved by the whips and chains in our minds. A world where our souls can roam free of all limitations.
Maybe...
We were standing in the middle of the annual science fair at my old university. Dr Guff was probably around somewhere but I hadn’t seen him yet. I could see many other faces I did recognise though; academia is a small world. I’d dropped out of my PHD in Abstract Metamathics seven years ago but I occasionally came back to, ahem, appropriate material for the cause.
I dropped out because a handful of cactus seeds blew my mind one mad summer and I became allergic to hypocrisy. It literally makes me want to hurl. Who knows what cosmic energies were at play that summer, but suddenly a whole generation of us were dropping out and experimenting with the hallucinogenic cacti growing in the interzone between civilisation and the wasteland.
It was like talking to the desert and discovering that it knew your soul better than you did. It was like crossing a burning bridge just to see if you can fly. The next six months were strange, to say the least; causality revealed itself to be multidimensional and ancient stories began to whisper to newly awakened lobes in my lucid dreams.
After a while I adapted to my new reality and discovered that science was merely one aspect of magic; that magic possessed a science and mathematics to it, a meta-logic that decoded reality to create keys which in the right hands could unlock the door to...
Let’s just say to see something you haven’t seen, you have to do something you’ve never done. For the past seven years I have been experimenting with energies that mainstream science does not acknowledge. Or so I thought until Ecila showed up with his almost luminescent blue skin and a device labelled ‘Prototype: Property of TerraCorp.’ A device that, if my interpretation of my preliminary readings were correct, was older than the universe itself.
I was excited. This was a genuine mystery. Either our estimates of the age of the cosmos were wildly inaccurate or something else was going on. Could the little machine in Ecila’s jacket really have sidestepped the big crunch and bang? Could it exist outside the eternal wheel of destruction and creation? That was impossible. Only God could do that. Something else was going on, but what? The existence of the machine hinted at something incredible.
Let me explain.
They say a lot of knowledge and wisdom, scientific, metaphysical, and magical, was lost when the last emperor took to the stars. I’m sure it’s true, but this machine was evidence of something many of us had long suspected, that the emperor did in fact leave a fragment of the empire behind. I believed the machine to be one such relic, probably one of many scattered among the power players or lost and hidden on Terra.
It also hinted at something far greater.
Most scientists now believe seventy-three percent of our universe to be dark energy, and twenty-three percent dark matter. The distribution of dark matter is in fact similar to hueman cells and networks, almost as if the universe were a vast living brain or perhaps beating heart and its network of arteries, veins, and capillaries. Only four percent is ordinary, what we call matter.
Numbers are a funny thing. I believe they are alive in some way and exist in a meta-reality connected to ours. I believe that on their plane our lives are the result of calculations made by entities so complex our ancestors could only envision them as the machinations of gods.
For example, 4 is not only the percentage of atomic matter in the universe but also the same number of points which the simplest form of matter, a tetrahedron, requires to be perceivable and thus exist in the three dimensions of space. In both cases less than 4 and we enter into uncertain territory. 4 is also the minimum number of castes prescribed by the ancients for a functioning human society: priests, warriors, farmers/merchants, and labourers.
I dream of a world with no castes. Or perhaps an infinite number of them.
Then there’s 23, the percentage of dark matter in the universe we previously considered to be empty space. It is also the number of chromosomes in gametes, all other cells having 46 in pairs of 23. The average hueman biorhythm is 23 days and Terra is inclined on its orbital plan by 23.5 degrees, the point five may be represented as 5 = 2 + 3. The number 23 also pops up over and over again in connection to strange coincidences throughout Terran history, while ‘Psalm 23’ is the most quoted verse in the Holy Word.
The LORD is my shepherd, I shall not be in want.
He makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside quiet waters, he restores my soul.
He guides me in paths of righteousness for his name's sake.
Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me.
You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies. You anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows.
Surely goodness and love will follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the LORD forever.
I love those words. I used to be an atheist because I did not like the dogma and hypocrisy of organised religion. But after those cactus seeds opened the doors of my perception, I now see that the Lord is a fractal concept, a state of mind that we can all attain if we but strive for it. A state of mind that is there for those who listen deeply in the silence, without fear.
As for 73, it’s probably the coolest natural number out there. Its constituents, 7 and 3, are both considered to be magical numbers by many ancient cultures. There are 7 chakras, 7 deadly sins, 7 heavenly virtues, 7 days in a week, 7 colours in a rainbow, while 3 represents the trinity, a fundamental concept in all religions. Ask the average person to think of a number between one and ten and most will choose seven followed by three.
73 is not only the percentage of dark energy in the universe but also a prime number; a star number; the same number of books as in the Holy Word; and an emirp, meaning that the reverse of 73 is 37, also a prime number and a star number. Plus 73 is the 21st prime number while 37 is the 12th prime number.
The number 21 has 7 and 3 as its prime factors. The number 21 in binary is 10101; 7 in binary is 111, 3 in binary is 11, and seventy-three in binary is 1001001. All of these are palindromes. In addition, of the 7 binary digits representing 73, there are 3 ones.
Also, 37 + 12 = 49 (seven squared) and 73 + 21 = 94 = 47 × 2, 47 + 2 also being equal to seven squared. Additionally, both 73 and its mirror, 37, are permutable primes and they both form the centre of sexy prime triplets.
There is more. Much more. The deeper I dig, the more I find.
What does it all mean? I’m not sure to be honest. Putting it all together is almost like...remembering...rather than discovering. I don’t know how else to explain it.
What I do know is that prime numbers are the building blocks of mathematics and they exist at the sea level of a 2 dimensional map of numbers, matching the quantum nature of atoms exactly, which means that they are spaced out in a grand pattern which we do not fully grasp as of yet but evolve ever closer to understanding.
I also know that 73, 23, and 4, all came up a statistically significant number of times along with, to a lesser extent, 8, 12, 21, 37, 46, 47, 49, and 94, in the various readings I took from Ecila
’s machine. Playing with numbers can be fun and/or dangerous to one’s mental health but doing so is taking my meta-mathics into uncharted territory—especially relating to fractal fluctuations in the morphogenic field, and what are we if not pioneers.
There be monsters out there and I’m hunting the largest and oldest ones. Considering that the least advanced huemen only use four percent of their cerebral capacity and the most advanced mind ever studied, the famous child prodigy, River “Bongo” Congo, used twenty-three percent, I believe it is all significant somehow. Bongo’s death was such a tragedy. He could have single handedly saved the world.
I sometimes wonder what the majority of our minds get up to while we dream in the darkness. Perhaps the world is so fucked up because we exist in a state of ignorance. Perhaps the more aware we are, the less evil is manifest.
I was four years old when I found out that the stories my parents told me at night about Santa Claus where not real. I was twenty-three when I first realised that Santa Claus’ props were all stolen from Shamanic culture, that the advertisers were weaving magic spells on people not for their physical, mental, and spiritual healing, but to sell them poisonous products while tempting and bullying them into bad lifestyle choices.
That was back in ’73, the summer TerraCorp tested one of its biological weapons on the populace—pretended it was an accident when they got caught, and of course got away with it. The courts are run by the same folk who run the corps. Like with the police, when the same folk who terrorise you write up the reports, don’t expect to find the truth anywhere but in between the lines.
The numbers are trying to tell us something; probably many things. All I know is that we exist in a dark world. We are in fact the darkness from which the light arose as well as the light illuminating the darkness. In this time of mass extinction and numerous crises, I believe it behoves us more than ever to increase our awareness and level of consciousness before it is too late.
Shakespeare’s Sonnet 73 ends with the lines:
This thou perceiv’st, which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well, which thou must leave ere long.
The bard was right. Time waits for no one. Better to spend it sharing love and cleansing karma than waste it chasing temporary desires or fleeing illusionary fears. Space and linear time are illusions, space being the construct that creates the illusion of separation, time being our perception of events as being subject to linear causality. This means that I can warp space. This means that I am time. Thus I can bend space-time at will. We all can. After all, consciousness, awareness, the self, is all that truly exists, here in the eternal and ever changing now. It is however one thing to know, another to do.
To attain to my full potential and become my true self, I know I must undergo an inner revolution, destroying the false state of my conditioning with its limited conceptions of reality, and co-create a higher state of being, one with the divine spirit which vibrates at such an infinitely fast rate, it appears to be perfectly still, the Most High being another name for God.
Revolution demands Love which demands Courage which demands Strength which demands Wisdom which in turn demands Revolution. Spiralling ever upwards and outwards, we witness and experience, learn and grow on our way home.
I couldn’t see Dr Guff anywhere. Ecila, Yolanda and I were walking around in a group observing the exhibitions. We stopped in front of a stand where a young guy was hovering in the air with a pair of bio-mechanical wings strapped to his back. Wow! He looked and sounded like a hueman hummingbird as he moved gracefully through the air.
He hovered up towards the roof of the atrium, dodging past other flying contractions. It caught everyone’s attention and a crowd gathered around as he came back, touching his feet lightly upon the hardwood floor like a barefoot ballerina. He was young, maybe sixteen, one of those child prodigies OIL University is so proud to nurture.
“The geometry of the wings changes moment to moment,” he explained taking off the wings and placing them on the table next to his display stand. “Each polygon makes up an interdependent plane that generates energy by vibration. The wings then flutter as a whole.”
“What’s the power source?” someone called out.
“The vibrational frequency of the interdependent polygons themselves creates a field which can be activated with a simple tuning fork. That field is the energy conduit let us say. The source would be everything...and nothing.
“I prefer to look at it like this. The energy field already exists like a fat lady singing in a room connected to ours by a closed door. All I do is open the door for the music to come in loud and clear.” He pulled out a shiny tuning fork and held it up to the light.
“Each polygon is of a different shape and size, like snowflakes, no two are alike. More than that however, each one is in itself in a state of constant fractal flux. The only constant in this universe, ladies and gentlemen, is change. Vibration, resonance, motion.” He struck the tuning fork and the wings began to hum like a sweet chorus of background vocalists harmonising, then suddenly leapt alive.
“Once flapping, you can fly for as long as you yourself are able to before getting tired. There are no controls but the inside of the harness is lined with sensors that transmit neural signals from the flier’s back muscles.
“It takes some adjusting to but once you get used to it, it’s like,” he smiled, “well it’s like flying. This is the only prototype and we’re a long way from being able to a mass produce wings but my team and I believe that in ten years from now, we will all be flying through the skies.”
There was a loud murmur of excitement. ‘Oh my gods’ and ‘That’s incredible’ and ‘How much to let me try it out?’ Wild chatter and all the sounds of a crowd of people dreaming a brave new world where they were no longer huemen but aermen or something like that. I was already in the skies looking into that boy’s smiling face. He knew he’d just blown our minds.
A spontaneous round of applause broke out that lasted for several minutes. The crowd had chosen their favourite. Even if the wings didn’t win first prize, they’d won our admiration.
Legs
I’m at the spot overlooking the club from behind half reflective glass. Dark Fantasy is packed as usual, the players all pimped out grooving to the house band, Slip Top ’n Cream, backing Sister K’Rude crooning her twisted blues. She’s been with me for years. I know she hates my guts for what I did to her and her family but then it is this very hate that inspires so much of her music. She thinks I don’t know about her schemes and plots but I got it under control. Girl actually imagines she’s gonna have me killed and take my throne or some crazy shit like that. Talk about dark fantasies. It’s not real sport but toying with the little people does keep life entertaining.
Whatever...it’s all in the game, anyway. I can see them but they can’t see me. I am less than a gleam in the eye, I am more than any of them can imagine. They believe I’m a mere gangster and I admit it’s a role I play very well. The devil makes it easy for me. All I have to do is use the tools gifted me by God.
Can I help it that I am a wolf surrounded by sheep? There are many creatures in this world, if you have the eyes to see.
My current clients for example remind me of giant insects, sophisticated in their communal theory, elegant in their design, cold as a crater on the moon, evil as a fiend koked out on KKK trying to rob you for a quick fix. They’re spooks of some description, feds whose interests lie in the acquisition of power beyond the ken of the common man. Not the same feds who supply me with my drugs and weapons but feds nonetheless.
They frighten me, to be honest, and I don’t scare easy. The way they always manage to get the drop on me is infuriating. I have the best security money can buy but these spooks are clearly using the kind of tech money can’t buy. I turn back from the club scene to look at Mr Fin in his impeccable black suit and tie, eyes hidden behind dark shades that are no doubt linked directly to some command centre somewhere. One thing’s for
sure, this room isn’t the only thing those eyes are looking at.
“Relax Mr Fin,” I say pouring myself a drink. “Don’t flip out or anything.” He just sits and watches me impassively. “That was a joke. You guys never get spooked right?” He still doesn’t say anything.
“Look, what do you want from me?” I say, downing my thousand-dollar-a-bottle rum on the rocks and pouring myself another, savouring its fierce elixir, the refined spirit burning through like a slow explosion. “My men are out there scouring the city. Give me one of those magic suits of yours so I can teleport myself out there. How many times I gotta tell you, just give me one chance and I can do some serious damage. Really get some work done. You know?”
“We don’t have magic suits, Mr Elegance, and teleportation is nothing but science fiction. If we did, we wouldn’t have hired you to steal the device for us, would we?”
“Then how did you manage to sneak in here? I know you’re not a hologram because I already shook your hand.”
“As I’ve explained to you before Mr. Elegance, you rely on .trick.nology to protect you and we are experts at manipulating the flaws in .trick.nology.”
“Everyone relies on technology. Everything is technology. Without technology we’re just animals. Come on tell me the truth, did the aliens give us technology? They did, didn’t they? Come on now, we’re in this together, son. We’re partners, you can tell me... Man, fuck you nigga!”
I throw my glass against the wall. It shatters onto the carpet. A little robot emerges from an alcove and cleans up the mess. Mr Fin doesn’t even flinch. For a moment I have the feeling he isn’t really there in the room with me.
“Okay,” I smiled, “no worries, level six security clearance and all that. Above top secret. I get it. I’m down with need to know. I just want you to know that I’m capable. Otherwise we wouldn’t be doing business.” I walk over to a cabinet and pour myself another rum.
“Listen player. I’m the master of this level of the game. Why else you talking to me? You know and I know that I’m pimping this bitch out. Getting paid. Do you know how I got here? I was hungry and I didn’t take no for answer. I’m still hungry, Mr Fin. So come on, throw a nigga a bone. You won’t regret it. I got skills.”
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