*TERRIBLE DISCIPLINE*
Sorry. Sometimes I think that. For some reason. I consciously think it. I interrupt my thoughts with it. It’s just a hangover from the previous problem. It’s become ingrained. But it will fade. If I am sensible and calm and turn away without any trace of rancour or resentment.
When I explain things I violate codes.
Not because I am evil. But because of the need to make things clear.
Transparent.
Honest.
The narrative is a sticky web. The more I squirm to get free, the tighter it envelops me.
Such a confusing tangle.
So . . .
No more explanations.
I must just . . . just be.
In This Moment.
I must find my clarity here.
In This Moment.
Although . . .
Although I am worried now that I have misrepresented the . . . how do I describe them without implicating them in my pinkenings? The . . . the TB.
Kora Group
(I stared into the light as I thought this. I have come up with two random and variable initials to protect them, to confuse the linguistic processing. Please forgive the tedious obfuscation).
And that is why I am narrating. Because I hate . . . no, no, too strong, Mira A, too harsh . . . because I don’t like to think of an injustice being done them (how can I explain this idea – injustice – without using the particular word? Trying to curtail my . . . constantly attempting to . . . it’s completely beyond my powers). Because when I described them previously (the MZ), it was quite coldly. It wasn’t sympathetically. And – contrary to what may appear – I have not declared war on The Young. I would never declare . . . you know . . . on The Young. Because I love . . . I support and admire The Young. This idea of . . . of war did not exist in my mind until you-know-who placed it there. And the neural pathway was established.
Anyway. I turn away from this thought. Because I am of The Young. And I turn away, calmly, cheerfully. I am not full of resentment. I will not let things rankle and fester.
I am Young and I am happy with what and who and why I am.
I am complete.
I am Pure.
Yes.
And I have started up the narrative again only because I wish to defend The Young, and, more specifically, the . . . the CR. In case of further ramifications. I must establish a record. I must be meticulously fair.
After I walked away from the JA several things happened that I had not anticipated. Good things. Affirmative things. And I should have expected them to happen, because we are The Young and we are perfected. We are Clean and Pure.
There is no pain. No pain. But in moments of weakness there is sometimes the idea of pain. There is a suspicion of pain. But there is actually none.
What makes me doubt?
The clamps behind my eyes are larger and stronger now, but they will, inevitably, place a measure of pressure (as I slowly adapt, which I shall, I must) on to the casings of the brain. But there is not pain. Just a . . . a gap where I might imagine the pain would be if only I could feel it.
I must turn away from this thought.
No. No. Not ‘must’. That is far too emphatic. I will turn away from this thought.
There. It is done.
I am Free.
I am Pure and Unencumbered.
And I wish I could escape this narrative, which seems determined to haunt me, but I cannot accept the idea of any form of injustice. There are too many loose strands. Because of you-know-who and the neural pathways he unwittingly established to the you-know-what.
I will not think about the door, and the figure standing near it.
Or the person kneeling in the pews.
Or the organ music.
Or the distant scent of frangipani flowers.
Frangipani flowers?
?
No. No. No more details, Mira A! Don’t allow this strand to expand, to become ever more complicated, to divide and fork out and spread and . . . and pollute . . .
Frangipani?
Like sweet almond? Like marzipan?
I should just turn away from the narrative, shouldn’t I? By re-engaging, by seeking to perfect something that is intrinsically flawed . . . Aren’t I simply digging myself into a still deeper hole? Risking ever further damage?
But what about the stain? The bruise?
The lie in the Kora Group?
(I stared into the light as I thought that.)
How can I rectify the damage I have unleashed on The Information Stream? I can’t. But I must. So I will simply outline what has happened, with regard to the PH, and I will not mention anything else. Although there is nothing else (truly) since my recent medical procedure means that I am being fed chemicals intensively which work to create interludes of deep blackness (to help my brain to fully adjust). This deep blackness is so deep and so black. I am gone from everywhere. There are no dreams.
Although before . . .
I can’t mention it, but I must. But this is so strange and so unexpected that it can only be discussed while I am staring into bright light. I must prepare myself, because, following my surgery, to stare into light like this is exhausting and disorientating.
Here goes. I will keep it mercifully brief.
At least, I will try to.
In short:
I left the Kora Group and it seemed as if The Young (represented by individuals in the Group who are representative of all The Young – because we are One) had turned away from me. In horror. In disgust. I was an outcast – a pariah. That was how I felt. And I did not blame them. I felt this same disgust myself. I was ashamed.
But it was not true. They had not turned away. Because over the next day or so my Sensor brought me a series of warm messages from those individuals, who thought of me, very often, it turned out, with such fondness, such hope, such kindness and sincere concern.
It was beautiful. A great balm.
Like a soft shower of apple blossom.
In fact I had no inkling – none – before I betrayed The Young of how . . . how greatly valued I am by my various Communities. I had no inkling. Only now – in my violations of the code – have I been made aware of this new reality.
Is it a new reality?
And so a neural pathway has been established – which I have yet to figure out or to understand, or even to accept, entirely – about how my having done wrong has made me more . . . I should not use the word but I can, I must . . . loved by my peers.
Isn’t that odd?
I felt like the very opposite must be the case.
But it seems as if the ability – the requirement – to forgive, renders The Young still more Perfect, still more Pure, still more strong and free and generous.
I can’t entirely understand it.
I’m not sure if The System has provided for this tendency.
Although The System is Perfected.
I should not question The System.
I should never question The System.
No.
I won’t.
I can’t.
My eyes are burning.
It is not pain, but it is the idea of pain.
I have turned away from the light for a brief second . . .
Please bear with me.
*TERRIBLE DISCIPLINE*
Oh, there was such affection, such tenderness, such Community in the Group that I was startled. I was unsettled. I almost began to doubt the rights and wrongs of things.
I am staring into the light again.
It was around this time that I received my first visit from Tuesday. She arrived at my room unannounced. I was surprised to see her. Of all the members of the Kora Group I would presume to say that Tuesday is the most tentative, the most Clean, the most Pure, the most fearful. And yet here she was. With me. Mira A. Who had behaved so miserably and indiscreetly. She had brought me a special harness for Tuck which she’d printed using her own, small personal allotment of re
sources and energy slightly earlier that day. It could be strapped around his nose and would, she claimed, make him easier to control as we walked together. There was a special technique that needed to be employed. A sharp but not aggressive sideways movement. And it worked a treat on Tuck. In retrospect I can’t help thinking it’s possible that a positive reaction to this device has been pre-programmed into Tuck’s behavioural map (to render him more real, more legitimate) and that another person will traditionally assist the new owner of a Neuro-Mechanical canine by gifting it to them. That would make sense. A Community of Canine Care. A new Community. A new Graph.
I forgot to ask Tuesday if she owned or had once owned a Neuro-Mechanical canine herself. It is sometimes difficult to talk with Tuesday in a relaxed and open manner because of her immense stillness, her carefulness. I am always very aware of the fact that if I inadvertently say something to pinken my Graph while we are conversing together, this will instantly reflect badly on her. The maintenance of a pristine Graph is, quite naturally, of immense importance to Tuesday.
We are very different.
But we are One.
We are The Young.
I know little about Tuesday in general, except that she plays the kora and the harp very well and that she has a lively interest in The Simulation of The Real. She is strongly committed to this valuable programme and its wider Community.
On my second meeting with Tuesday she asked if she might help me by exercising my Neuro-Mechanical canine in the aftermath of my Oral Adjustment.
*TERRIBLE DISCIPLINE*
Of course I had been very careful not to use Tuck’s name in front of her (and perhaps this was also a reason for the lack of conversational flow – of strange unease, of tension – between us). I couldn’t take the risk that she might remember the way Kipp had incorrectly used ****’s name on that previous occasion. I couldn’t risk her becoming consciously aware of (and therefore implicated in) the lie of my omission. That she would judge me. Or that a neural pathway would form and corrupt her involuntarily.
It eventually transpired that I had been worrying over nothing. Because when Tuesday asked if she might exercise Tuck for me, she used his name: Tuck. Then she removed a tiny, organic solar-simulator and a pocket puzzle from her bag and suggested that we might sit at a table together to play with it, briefly. These puzzles are very popular among The Young because they train the brain to perform at even higher levels (although we take no pride in solving these puzzles and other, comparable achievements – why should we? – since all The Young have equivalently high IQ levels).
My heart was beating fast, but I did as she asked. She was very particular about how we should sit. She moved the chairs into a new position. Then, after we were seated, she positioned the organic solar-simulator as if to shed light on the puzzle (which was a non-integrated diamond-shaped puzzle based on partially configured algebraic formulations) and shone it directly into our eyes.
‘You know about staring into the light,’ she murmured.
I didn’t answer.
The tuning fork is in your heart!
‘I saw his logo on your Stream,’ she continued, all the while blindly moving around the puzzle on the table, her voice completely calm and even, ‘when Kipp inadvertently used the name Kite at the Kora Group meeting. If Kite has visited you it means that the Design Team are watching. When they interfere with your Oracular Devices it’s a sure sign. And the dog. The canine. They gave Powys a canine. It generated jealousy among his Communities. It made him very fearful of judgement.’
She paused for a second. ‘Stop blinking,’ she said.
I tried to stop blinking.
‘Kite has a duty to eliminate all kinks in The System. His is a laudable and entirely necessary occupation. I would never suggest otherwise. Although it’s distinctly possible that he developed the kink in you and then sent you along to the Kora Group as a stooge – perhaps with the intention of trying to reel in a bigger fish.’
‘Stooge . . . ?’ I stuttered, confused.
*TERRIBLE DISCIPLINE*
‘Say nothing,’ Tuesday interrupted me. ‘Time is short. It may interest you to know that – aside from the other day at the Kora Group – I have been unable to map your journey because the signals on your Stream are strangely incoherent – they bounce and vibrate at an immense speed. This is unusual – disconcerting. But the plain truth is that I don’t honestly care to find out what your journey is. What business is it of mine, after all? And I have no desire to get caught up in your narrative. All narratives, to my mind, are inherently bad and dangerous and only ever really exist as vehicles for a confused and over-inflated Ego. I utterly refuse – on a matter of principle – to risk creating any new neural pathways in my mind. Because I am Pure. I celebrate simplicity. If anything, I am an advocate of reducing neural pathways. But even so, your “incoherence” may be of use to me – to us. And that is why I have come here today, uninvited, to offer you a way out of your confusion. To offer you a New Certainty. This path – a cure for all your ills – is called The Banal.’
‘Sorry . . . the . . . ?’ I stuttered.
‘The Banal. We are a movement among The Young. And we are very powerful.’
‘The Banal,’ I echoed, somewhat warily.
*TERRIBLE DISCIPLINE*
Was this a trap?
‘Yes. The word is generally perceived as having somewhat negative connotations, but the followers of The Banal understand that when something is banal it has a special, quiet power. A deep power. A profound and deadening power. This is the power that we celebrate.’
‘Are you at war with The Young?’ I whispered.
THE TUNING FORK IS IN YOUR HEART!
‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ Tuesday snapped. ‘The System is perfect. We just aim to preserve it and to consolidate it. By celebrating The Banal we hope to make it even stronger and still more Pure. But this isn’t something you need to worry yourself about, Mira A. I just wanted to let you know that there is a way out of your confusion. There is a path you can take. The Banal offers you a new direction and a new kind of freedom. The Banal is a warm blanket. An end to all questions and doubt . . . ’
She paused, concentrating on the puzzle for a second, then lifted her eyes to the light again. ‘I also think it only fair to warn you about Kite – as a concerned member of your Community. He may mean you ill. I think you probably suspect this already. It’s possible that the Technicians have detected a flaw way back in your genetic make-up – something ancient and unresolved – and they’re doubtful that they can fully control it. They will have been watching you for years, even decades, waiting for it to develop. It will be something tiny but irresistible. An oscillation. An urge. And if your behaviour remains erratic, if you persist with your narrative, if you don’t fully conform, they will have no other choice than to release you into . . . into . . . well, you know.’
She turned from the light again and looked deep into my eyes. There was something so immense and so terrifying in her stare that I felt completely stilled by it. Silenced by it. Tuesday’s dark gaze was an end to all questions.
Tuesday returned her haunting eyes to the light again. ‘Embracing The Banal may be your only way out,’ she continued. ‘I will allow you access to our movement if you follow the clues. If you betray us, however, I will solidify the lie about **** on to The Information Stream. You will be ruined. You will be lost . . . ’ She paused, then shuddered. ‘Of course it must go without saying that there is no pressure or obligation – none whatsoever – for you to follow The Banal. You are perfectly free. You are Pure. It is your choice entirely.’
Then, before I could gather my thoughts together and muster a suitable response, Tuesday had turned off the solar-simulator and slipped it into her pocket. I glanced down, blinking, at the puzzle on the table. It was completed. Often puzzles at this level of complexity took many days, even weeks, to resolve. Tuesday had completed hers, automatically, while talking, in a minute or two, at most.
> She quickly took her leave of me, but in the brief interlude prior to her doing so, I received four, separate notifications on my Stream volunteering to help me with Tuck during my recovery from surgery.
I didn’t know what to make of it.
Was it a message?
Was it a clue?
Was it a trap?
I am so happy that Tuesday cares so much about me that she has decided to try and include me in her movement. To save me. What have I done to render myself a desirable recruit, after all? I am flawed. My Stream is bumpy. I am worthless.
And the others? The other members of the Kora Group? Are they also included in this secret about The Banal? I have no way of knowing.
All I do know is that I failed and my failure has been embraced by others with an immense generosity. With . . . with love.
I do not use that word lightly.
Even while staring into the light.
Oh, but is it love, though?
Isn’t love always disinterested?
Is this love disinterested?
Didn’t Tuesday say that I might prove ‘of use’ to her in some way?
‘Of use?’
I wish I had never joined the Kora Group! I wish that I had never seen the photo of the girl or read the article about the precious guitar! I wish that Kite had never reached out to help me and opened the door of The Cathedral!
And inside The Cathedral . . . ?
Inside The Cathedral . . . ?
Who is that?
Who might that be?
Kneeling, semi-obscured, in the half-shadow?
Who are they waiting for?
What are they doing there?
Because The Young are Perfect and The System is Perfect and everything is Known . . .
But how can Perfection be ‘consolidated’?
Wasn’t that the word she used?
How can Perfection be improved upon?
Wouldn’t that be simply a contradiction in terms?
TERRIBLE DISCIPLINE
I have lost my asterisks. But I try not to think about this (even positively) because I don’t want to give them the incentive to return.
I am keeping a sharp eye out for clues from Tuesday (I am staring into the light as I say this). But my dreams still remain dark. Although now, lost in the darkness, I can sometimes intuit that the blackness is not solid or airy, but wet. A giant, black pool. Occasionally a drop of water disturbs the blackness, and the blackness ripples. But there is no sound, only silence – as if I am staring into an infinitely deep, black well.
H(A)PPY Page 7
