|Xangles > Frangles > Zeroa > Novella Z1|
|Frangles 7: Phylo of Zeroa|
Novella Z1: The End of Time is Worth the Wait
By the end of time, each and every time, the most popularized and cherished tagline is always, always, "The end of time is worth the wait." This is the keystone axiom of the greatest book of that general period: the Final Phylo of Zeroa. This is thought the most important inverse science frwoa in existence by--at the least--a clique of galactic historians somewhere in the latter half of the 166th billenia on a moon called Pluto Nine during their first undergraduate philosophy semester, and at the most, a handful of retired fracologists. It is more important than a plethora of other works: the Christian Bible, which was abandoned when the prophesized apocalypse hadn't occurred by the end of time, the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy--every single copy of which self-vaporized when the study was released that the best way to survive any situation was to panic like hell--the Encyclopedia Galactica (known in its infancy on Earth as Wikipedia), which might have been the most important if it wasn't abandoned so Hari Seldon could play Blizzard's Starcraft 77 with the galaxy--and the player's handbook for the four hundred and fourth edition of AD&D Exotica: a fusion of Advanced Dungeons & Dragons, Attention Deficit Disorder, and a plot-based Maxim magazine (the latter two of which--by some collective brain fart--took seven billenia for someone to integrate into the first usually aimed at teenagers who rarely got any, and even less frequently focused enough to conclude their quests to get their characters laid instead before vanquishing Sauron back into hell).
The FPZ has been translated into four thousand times the mediums and languages than even exist in the only known universe anyone knows about known as Okuaka (leading some to conclude other known universes must exist), mostly by characters and methods in the above alluded frwoas--a term for "fractal works of art"--not listed here on because of increasing threat of unoriginality and plagiarism lawsuits. It has been noted by most who study the FPZ, that the most ideal medium to absorb the philosophical work in, is a short story on a rarely visited unoriginal philosophy-comedy website. Hence it has been the most widely distributed tangible manifestation of the work in all of the mediums in all the known universes to present art, in all those periods of Okuaka in which it couldn't simply be thunk to a her in a few nanits; whether by chipzit, nanon relay, fluton waves, morse code distress signal, or general vague flash epiphany of some random, unfortunate soul.
It begins in the first five minutes of the forgotten leap year between the end of the known universe and the dawn of time, then ends suddenly and abruptly due to the end of time running out just before it could finish (much like the way Douglas Adams was told "Just bring over whatever the hell you have by now, we're publishing it," after missing seven hundred and three deadlines. Which is why the book ends on page 15 with the phrase "Great, the world blew up, now what the hell do we do now?") Physics had long been unified for hundreds of billenia, soon after the epiphany that there were not twenty-six but unlimited dimensions, as more and more physicists re-took basic arithmetic and recalled how to count higher than the legal age to rent a car, something the philosophers said was obvious to begin with. If you can say or think it, it probably exists, the phylors (what philosophers were called by the end of time, when no one had the time to pronounce four syllables of a word spoken every fourth word by then) always said, and commented quite often that the physicists couldn't theorize much about the candy inside a milk duds box without extensive experimentation and numerous proofs thrice verified by other brain-dead physicists.
Said the physicists always in reply (often in college where beginners have the greatest tendency to question things they don't know a damn thing about yet), "Well, we say and think that your ideas are vague, intangible, and just plain ridiculous, therefore they are," which left most of the phylors to shuffle their feet, pretend to kick a rock, and wander away, pre-occupied for days with whether there was really any corporeal point to studying philosophy. Since phylo seemed opposed to science in so many ways, some of them just ended up proving that since phylors think, physicists can't--disproving the physicist's proof of their incompetence, and steeling the pointlessness of switching majors to electronic engineering. "Silly phyts, logic's for books," they would finally conclude, then go and have a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Q.E.D. Other phylors just forgot about the whole thing, but most of them, when faced with the phyt's unarguable argument that their arguments were illogical, simply went straight to the admissions office and filled out a switch of major form from Philosophy to a general Department of Arts & Sciences degree.
By the end of time, between the two, philosophy had won out, since by then, all the disciplines allowing understanding and manipulation of the universe, had completed its evolution from flutons to fracolics to science to to graffology to nanononology to tekica to moka and now finally to pure thought; to the triumph of all those who thought thought was the only absolute concreteness in Being to begin with. Finally, the known universe had turned out not to be an 877 billenium run on a computer, but rather a run on thought. The run on run on thought was ironically like a boring ASCII text fantasy game, whose ultimate boss or output was not a galaxy or the last digit of pi, nor even a single character of an ASCII porno picture of a naked girl, nor a recipe for the Minbari dish Flarn, but rather the mere six lines "Email god 'Ding. Turkey done.' \\ cout << Robert.Frost 'Sorry, the world doesn't end in fire or ice.' \\ End Of Line \\ Rage Against the Dying of the Light \\ That wand is more trouble than it's worth \\ Everyone have a Sam Adams." Yet there was one final seventh line (providential since Zeroa was the seventh and last focus of the known universe) discovered in secret by a rare few, revealed in the next line of most of the frwoa manifestations of this work. The line was
GOTO LINE 1. But this line was never executed. A meddlesome four-year-old who'd fallen through a freak sandbox graffahole hit ctrl-alt-del purely by accident and everything was shut down before the last line could execute, to the infinite relief of Being because it thought it would go schizofranglic if it had to tolerate one more loop. And so, the last line was stored on a single Gateway laptop with a single neon blue button in place of a keyboard that would execute it (in honor of the Staples advertising campaign of the 21st century 155th billenia Okuaka Earth which coined the second favorite tagline at the end of time, "That was easy"). It was Darlene's job to make sure it was never pressed, and to organize the field trip that the same class of flutofons took once a year to see the thing, and to order the free mugs and T-shirts for this occasion that said "I never get to push the blue button at the nucleus of oblivion."
But then, to everyone's surprise, including Being's, Being was rebooted on a Wednesday morning, when the only UPS guy in nonexistence stuck a pink sticky memo onto Darlene's computer screen and blink-teleported away in a magical moka squirrel-gray poof. When the dyxlesic Darlene got to her desk that morning, she misread the memo she was supposed to xmail to the only landscaper in nonexistence which began "Tony, put the blue bush..." as "Push the blue button."
This she did, and the universally detested loopy line "GOTO LINE 1" re-created the universe from nothingness at exactly 0:00:00, February 27, 0 B.B.B.B (Big Blue Button Bang). Line 1 was to write a few headers, initialize pi to 2.2, then rip apart nothingness into infinite life via the single principle that something can be created if it supports a perfect opposite. Every hell planet simultaneously broadcasting the third seasons of Angel and Kyle XY had to be balanced by a haven of pink bunny pokemons. A horrid-tasting oral biovirus for every spoonful of Dimetapp; a skinny attractive nerd for every fat, elderly Maxim covergirl. This is why things exist and why there is suffering. It is also why Othello chips, zebras, and artistic photos of zebras playing Othello, as well as some of the Frangles Zeroa artwork, are half white and half black.
The unwanted genesis was all much like how a fractal is seen for the first time via the simplicity of the equation "z=z2+c" by the well-paid dorks who write the first programs, begrams, or mokalgorithms, perhaps the only ones who would give a damn anyway (most of whom usually get bored after about thirty pages of Julia sets and return to their game of AD&D Exotica). One rule creating an infinitely explorable, symmetric sea of self-similar stuff, and a plethora of life forms swimming aimlessly enjoying it all. Each an individual fish, each shlurshing around through all the goopy quirky realms in a slightly different way, or from a slightly different fractal angle (or "frangle"), than another. Separate, yet intertwined. Sober, yet sharing a universe-wide collective hangover from the last run of existence.
My name's Piq, and this would be the full story of my useless and forgotten role in initializing the Big Blue Bang, if not for its classic Douglas Adams slash Monty Python abrupt ending (not to mention the Christian Bible which cut out long before the final apocalypse), when all its writers--being just near the end of time--really had no motivation to continue it. Although, a few think its abrupt ending is quite intentional. The phylors of oblivion--a place that would exist if time actually did ever end--liken the lack of conclusion of the last existent story of existence, to the lack of finality of existence itself. That is, if the end of time is not just not the end, but simply the dead middle of things, then the last story of the 877 billion year progression our known universe would be galactically hypocritical not to not end abruptly with any end style short of Hitchhiker's, Holy Grail, or the Second Testament. Ironic because the third and fourth favorite end of line taglines were a fusion of the greatest moments of these frwoas. The general consensi about the phrasing of the third is usually "Then God said, 'Of course it's a good idea' ", followed by some people's favorite, "In the beginning, oh no, not again."
The Final Phylo of Zeroa
So, it was the last few hours of the forgotten leap year between the end of the known universe and the dawn of time. It was also what would have been three past seven if time had not been shut down long ago, and the train of thought I was boarding for the last thunken city of Zeroa where all were gathering--was quite late. Had the train been on time (if time was ticking), the course of my life--and indeed that of the only known universe anyone knows about known as Okuaka--may have been quite different. For who should show up at that very moment than Professors Nor, Xor, and Not, three of the leading end of time logician phylors in the Zeroa University of Logic, which was an ongoing rough idea for a subdivision of the long established brainchild of a potential New Harvard university; a project, which, given the fast approaching end of time, would likely never be realized. Not that anyone could know for sure, because there were scant probabiliticians in Zeroa. Because as Isaac Asimov of 155th billenia Earth predicted in his Foundation prophecies, all would fall to utter chaos if those knowledgeable in exactly what's going to happen shared their information with anybody else.
"Ah! Piq! My favorite student I would have had had the university solidified my idea for Phylo 404 into reality. How providentially co-incidental."
"And yet not," said Nor.
"Perhaps you can lend us some clarity for an argument we've been thinking about having."
"I don't see how, Professor Not, since I am a simple abandoned idea for a Kroffonian tekica-moka orb mod, not gifted with any significant intelligence or wisdom."
"Ah, but you are not so lacking in charisma and good manner. If nothing else, we could use a break from our relentless pseudo-cruel Seinfield bickering to the frangle of a friendlier sitcom frwoa."
"I'm afraid it will be a dull re-run, but I shall do my best."
"Professor Nor has presented a very upsetting theory these past days, or at least, he would have if time were still running. He dares to challenge the general consensus that the upcoming end of time is exactly that. He says, in fact, that the end of time is in fact the dead middle."
"I agree that's quite contradictory. Or at least half wrong."
"Indeed. You see, as we all scurry about preparing to wrap up the great Fractal for its final shutdown; as we tie up the last remaining frwoa plot holes and duct tape up the small bits of the sciences that haven't been totally unified with full blank mindless thought, he says he has proved svice and thrice over that it is actually not the end of time at all."
"Well then, what does he say it is?"
"He claims there is one small penultimate task left to do once all that is done, that has dawned on no one except for him and his long-dead pet grolf."
"Yes, Piq, well, he says that once we have thoroughly shut down Okuaka, we must take the final step of designing and hitting one single abysmally important button."
"You try my patience. In any frwoa our dialogue is being conveyed through, it must be quite a dragged-on frwoa indeed. A much ado about nothingness."
"Hence is all existence. Anyway, it is a button akin to an option that appears after every video on any VidTube frwoa medium once the video has ended. He says we must... I can barely speak it." Professor Nor now spoke up as Einstein's great-great grandson announcing that energy now equals mass times the speed of a square blacklight bulb.
"We must hit 'replay.' "
It was here that I expressed the most emotion I had ever expressed in my short life, being only a vague idea for a digital non-player character in a game that would likely never manifest itself in any tangible form giving the upcoming "GAME OVER" of any still running. I frowned, and was confused. Something inside decided to name this feeling: frusing. I frused. I frused long and hard, because I had never frused at all. The end of the known universe seemed a pretty good time to start.
See? You are inventive after all.
This was thought to me after sharing my thoughts of the previous paragraph, since the use of auditory dialogue was simply the habit of poetic nostalgia of the time when it was needed to communicate. Such nostalgia was often comforting in the limbo of intangibility of Zeroa. Indeed by the end of time, life was at the final stages of implosion into massive collective thought of all life. Much like the collective-ish minds presented in the old Earth frwoas such as the Borg or Matrix Agents that usually were trying to destroy humanity. I could never decide whether the cruel and Nazi-like nature of the groups that I most likened my world's verbal medium to, was simply unfortunate co-incidence, or the looming inexorability of providence.
Perhaps it is both.
Or sort of one or the other.
Professor Nor, I prompted, which for me was like hitting the circle or square button in the video game I was thought up for to talk to another NPC.
Yes? No? I mean, yes, Piq?
Professor Not says you say that Zeroa is the middle of eternity, yet you also say it is the time to reboot Okuaka. This seems a contradiction. Do you not only hit 'replay' at the very end of a frwoa? Would that not make this the end, or end and/or beginning, rather than the middle of things? Which is it?
It was here that Professor Xor spoke up.
Yes, Piq, well, Nor says that if time is truly linearly cyclical, then from any angle x, using the ancient term "xangle"--coined by the busier Zeroan phylors and recently re-popularized in light of the scurry surrounding end of the world and everything--that any segment of time can be looked at as both beginning and end, since it is the end of time from any particular person's xangle. He says you must hit 'replay' at the end of every segment of time, so each moment in fact the dead middle of the 877 billion year cycle of Okuaka. And hence, to answer your contradiction, that hitting 'replay' at your perception of what is end, necessitates that all such replays collectively decide that all are the dead middle of everything. Specifically, that Zeroa and pure thought are neither the end nor beginning of Okuaka, but rather, simply some random bay of fracolic water in the great sea of all science and disciplines. This confuses me, however absurd it may be, because ideas such as this often flip between genius and insanity. Having no idea which this was upon first hearing it, I was of course as baffled as when I first heard of the fantasy game that a few Zeroan nerds occasionally play involving the rolling of a 1dinfin. Rather than fathom that, I simply chose the other end, and flipped my 1d2. It came up tails, so I concluded he's incorrect. Professor Not, of course, simply says it is both.
Here I pondered weak and weary. Weak due to the ensuing migraine, and weary from the growing monotony of the minute to minute repetition of the strangeness of the train of thought to Zeroa being what would be continuously later by the minute if time were running. The vague idea of a mind I had was now threatening to implode into what I believed would probably be something like a black hole of wintergreen Lifesavers. Even after the end of oblivion at which point I finally did fall into an endless black Lifesaver wintergreen hole, I could never figure out how I'd known. The only conclusion that ever made any sense to me--that had its roots in this very conversation--was that I never actually left it to begin with, and had known where I was all along.
He goes on to apply the creed of Zeroan opposition that inversions are the fundamental core rule of all Being--
" 'Nivrana per nightmare; a puppy per pit bull' ", one of us quoted.
Yes, Piq, and, he applies this to the nemesis of philosophy of science, claiming it a worthy foe opposed 180 degrees on the other side of cyclic time.
That would be the sciences of roughly the 440th billenia of Okuaka. Around the time of the planet Florbb and its bad Foundation and Star Wars frwoa rip-offs.
Indeed. And indeed, he has us baffled as to whether thought and Zeroa are the ultimate end of everything, or whether in fact time resets to progress to its equal foe. Thought verses science. Vaguely defined ideas for axioms vs concrete math. So which is it? Is this really the end? Or the middle? You see how devastating his proof is. If we are simply in the middle, rather than the end of time, how can we go about shutting down the great Fractal? What's the point?
It was here that my frusion began to fuse and solidify with the vague ponderings that had begun to stir and twist in the dark recesses my thoughts through all this. I felt the foggy thoughts collecting, solidifying into a handful of vaguely concrete thoughts. I was of course many nanits too young to ponder at the time that these vague thoughts sort of solidifying, was a token example of the progression of pure thought back toward the physical sciences we were now discussing. While I knew that time had begun with some sort of general nothingness beginning its path to solidify into the slight corporeality of specs of slightly tagible thought called flutons, then to the vaguely defined religions and sciences of 155th billenia Earth to finally end the full concreteness of the triumph of science at planet Florbb, the stories were so vague of what these flutons were--being the end of history and all--that it simply hadn't occurred to me that 877 billenia after anyone knew what the flying hell a fluton was, was the perfect time to rediscover and re-explore what the hell a fluton was.
If I may.
Yes, of course, Piq.
Not that I claim that I can claim anything profound, but just as a thought as thoughts go, it seems to me that in an existence sustained purely by opposition, of philosophy vs science, and thought vs matter--that the very idea of 'end' and 'beginning'--of 'conclusiveness' and 'genesis'--necessitate the idea of 'dead boring middle.' That swimming in thought is to walking solidity, as the very idea of conclusion, and genesis, and linearity, is to the idea of it all just being another boring day in the course of a monotonous unending eternity. So, instead of arguing whether things are the dead middle or dead end of things, and hence whether we are truly at the end of time, or some sort of middle devastating to all our beliefs, perhaps we might consider the unity.
I think we three are somewhat lost, good Piq, but you say this thoughtfully, and since we asked for your company and charisma rather than your intelligence, I think we'd be delighted if you continue.
Yes, well, that is, that neither Zeroa nor Florbb nor Earth nor Kroffonia nor any other general focus landmark on the time line of Okuaka, can have monopoly on being beginning, or middle, or end, in any total, absolutely true and provable way.
Ah, I begin to see where you're heading!
I must admit I'm becoming increasingly baffled.
In any case, please go on, Piq.
Well, we Zeroans believe that logic begins with the idea of total detachment of judgement from whether some particular proposition p is true or false, and commit to analysis of the internal workings of argument: that if our premises our true, whichever they may be, then so is our conclusion...
...And ends with the symmetric logic of Zeroa. That after eternity, since all claims--all ps and qs and rs--have been supported and refuted to death over the course of the entire known universe, that all are true and/or false together. That all are true.
And/or sort of one or the other.
...Given the p that it is not the case that half the universe exist in an enlightened nirvana and the other half are just plain delusional psychotics.
Of course. That the total detachment from judgement of truth, finally ends in the ultimate judgement that everything is, essentially, half-true. All dependent on the angle x you see things from that can be supported or refuted as heavily as anyone else's claim.
Yes, we all know these things, Piq, it is nice to repeat our comfy established axioms, but because conflict fuels entertainment, I'm thinking you might get to your point so the four of us don't degrade into the nonexistence of full harmonious consensus.
My final point is this. There is a simple paradox here: The absolution of the idea of pure symmetric thought being the most core and end primary being to consciousness--our ultimate symmetric philosophy of absolute mathematical opposition we believe has fueled every gram of being and science and thought and matter around us for 877 billion years--is refuted by its own admission that every proposition p,--
Is half-true, I see.
I'm starting to get hungry.
...Which includes the principle's own claim that it is the ultimate end of all that is. And so, the idea that our ultimate end philosophy is exactly that, is refuted by its own admission.
Or at least half refuted.
And/or both or neither.
"Why, that's pure crenious!" Crenious was an equating of 'crazy' and 'genius,' which are well noted anywhere in existence to be precisely the same principle.
So, so you're saying that the ultimate self-proving conclusion of our group discussion of whether this is really the end of all--whether time goes on or not--is essentially totally freaking pointless? That we're each sort of right and/or sort of not--
Or neither right nand/nor wrong--
--about our ideas about whether Zeroa and our philosophies are the beginning or end of time, and that this argument has essentially been an ambivalent waste of time?
And that whether the cold hard truth of whether time will go on after day, basically just depends on your point of view?
You understand me exactly, good sirs.
If that's true, then what was the point?
Of Okuaka, or of this conversation?
And/or sort of one or the other.
If I may.
If we're to think back to the dawn of our conversation, I believe I was invited to converse with you three not to debate due to my inexperienced intelligence, but rather for my charisma and friendly demeanor. Hence, perhaps it is quite appropriate than I have presented an argument that the logic I was understandably yet cruelly excluded from, did not matter in the slightest anyway.
What a depressing load of half-crap.
Satisfied with my conclusion and putting quite a few freckles of thought to ease, the train of thought--perhaps a 'TOT' I would have thought had I not--that our ponderings had given us a welcome distraction from waiting for, finally thought it was time to arrive. We all put our thoughts on hold as we thunked ourselves aboard it, and I imagine the ponderings running through professor Not, Nor, and Xor's heads, remained with them as long as they did with me: an hour or two before--we figured--no one would ever have to ponder another useless phylo thesis again. I barely blinked during the indefinite ride to the Memory of Old New Central Square. Flush, phlush, hmm.. slush, flush, ohhh!...flush, fling, ding, turkey done.
As I wandered around the busy trails of thought zig-zagging haphazardly throughout the center of Slate City preparing for the end of everything, the conversation at Imagination Station still stuck in my head like a unwelcome metal pike through my brain. Like a vampire watching the last hour of the last episode of the last season of 24, slain by buffy from behind via a long metal stake through the brain. But instead of dissolving me to computer generated ash, it simply remained a splinter in my mind. A splinter driving me mad, I quoted, having no idea what I was quoting.
It's "The Unit Circle."
What? It was what might have been a teenage Star Trek nerd turned Philosophy of Sci-Fi graduate professor who had overheard my thought.
It's a lame horror movie of 155th billenia Earth. An absurdly gifted hamster messiah--or meter maid, I forget which, named Neo--it's all so fuzzy out here you know--begins his journey stuck inside a huge plastic gerbil ball, and a few people text and email him that this is so. One of them named Gumby describes it as a splinter inside his mind, driving him slowly mad. Then he gets taken out of the ball into a full hamster cage, where the same thing pretty much happens, ad infininin. Ironically, some phylors point out that actually going fully mad in such a place usually blinks people to a welcome lobby somewhere here in Zeroa. So his journey might have taken a dramatic shortcut to enlightenment had he simply taken the Viagra he was offered instead of the Chaser pill, and just tolerated the insanity of human gerbil balls for just a few days longer. Swallow, think, wallow, ding, turkey done.
" 'True knowledge is the maddening epiphany that everything corporeal is hallucinatory.' "
Jumper the Mutant Orion Frog; Discourse on Method. I'm impressed.
" 'I will flush out from my corporeal existence all that is tangible or green. I will detach from the concrete Blorkkian swamp globs of science and matter and atoms and nanons infesting my ku, and consider my graduate physics studies an imaginary waste of a bad, forgettable daydream. The only thought we need think is that thought is only that, and substance and sense are psychotic prayers to Santa that they are anything more. That is thought, I think, and since thought is all there is, then end of thought is end of all. The end is near, the end is now, somehow. I've thought the thought least thunken by. Email Robert Frost: The world doesn’t end in fire or ice, but rather trivial poetic epiphanies.' "
Beautiful. You quote it well for a enpsee with massive penalties for a five INT and three and a half WIS. And how relevant its quoting seems given the upcoming implosion of both thought and corporeality.
"Friendly sir, Mr..."
"Call me Kip. And what shall I call you?"
"I am called Piq."
"Well, Mr. Piq--"
"Oh not at all. Why don't you just call me Piq."
"Piq, I sense something might be slightly askew disturbing you about the eventuality of the coming end of Okuaka."
"Your perception approaches power-gaming. Well, Kip, I just had a disturbing conversation with three expert logicians an indefinite period of time ago...."
"Ah, yes, your splinter. How providentially co-incidental a topic considering it was that which served as the catalyst to our long-term friendship just now.
"Yes, well, Professor Nor theorizes that the world isn't ending this afternoon at all. That our final pure thoughts here in Zeroa are not the end result of all science, but rather the dead middle, and that time will continue on and do the whole damn thing again tomorrow. This confused his colleagues, and I must admit that my defense that logic is basically a load of useless crap, might have been just a self-defense mechanism to protect myself from a sudden attack on my most core beliefs of how things are and what will happen today, especially today."
"I agree that seems strange. Or at least half-wrong. And I agree that logic is often a half-true lump of pointless crud, but let me ask you, Piq, supposing Professor Nor is correct, that our whole known universe of Okuaka does not end this afternoon, then, I must as a basic question: What's next?"
"Why I don't know, did the world ever end for Neo?"
"A few times actually. My favorite is when he opens this door in the middle of nowhere to blinkwarp into a white room equally appropriately in the middle of nowhere, where a Deus ex machina elderly fellow explains some total nonsense to him about why the plot of the saga is extra equally appropriately in the middle of nowhere, and in general just makes everything make a whole lot more sense than it was making."
"If only we were there."
"Perhaps we will be."
"You think so, Kip? I must admit I'm rather fracused at the moment."
"What would you say if I told you I had a solution to not just your logical dillema, but to your incorporeal real world application of your vague axioms?"
"I would say that would probably double both of them."
Piq shrugged, not knowing what to expect, then suddenly felt a surreal--surreal even for surroundings that incorporate the absolution of all that's surreal--second splinter blink into existence right by the first, as if to say, Hey Pal, long time no see.
"Well, that's just what I need, thanks."
"Give it a minute."
"I really don't have time for this."
"Not much else to have time for if you don't have time for the end of the world."
"But really, I have things to do, Kip. It's been nice, but there are a couple errands I had to run before-- wait, how long do we have, anyway?"
"If my daylight hallucination of an internal clock is working right, about 420 mots." A mot was the standard Zeroan unit of time: officially defined as any undefined, non-defined, or vaguely defined unit of time. It was also a logical term. It was essentially a fusion of the phrases: moment, might, may, may not, might not, may or may not, and "the mot of the month of May." It's been noted by at least one person--the only number of people (one person once noted) that can ever note anything if that person's memo is universally distributed after which others can only comment--that the use of the word 'mot' in its own definition mot actually make 'mot' recursive above and beyond the usually confusing circulinear Zeroan definitions.
All those who've ever commented on the only person to ever note a defense to this, repeat the following phylo riff. Firstly, there's really nothing anyone can do about it since the definition fell through a freak graffahole from a future Zeroa who was equally confused by their definition falling through a respectively equally freak and confusing graffahole from their future, ad infin. And second, they ostinate what many Zeroans ostinate whenever they don't have a good answer, "It'll all make sense just before the end of time, at which point you'll have bigger things to worry about, so don't worry about it."
The children who are upset by any mention of the end of time, of course, upon hearing any note of the sort, are always told, "Oh, don't worry about that, there is no end to time." This is always followed by allusion to the first Zeroan child to ever make the obvious note, "Well, why the hell is the end time worth the wait, then?" and the friphany when they're quoted the first parent to ever to end any type of logical debate their child, "Exactly." Occasionally a child will ask, how do you know the end of time is worth the wait? Which is followed by the ostinato of the first parent anywhere to ever end a debate with their child, "Because I said so."
Since I had no memory of being a child, as no Zeroans did (since by Zeroan logic, since thought defines reality, then if you forget something, it never happened, and Piq had a traumatic memory surge at a stage in development that might be considered the coffee break just after brainstorming an instantly forgotten idea for a virus patch for World of Warcraft), the same attitude came just as naturally today. At this mot, I mot have thought had I not: "If there really is something after the big crunch of Okuaka, then I really must wonder if it'll be worth the mots of splinters poking my brain this past few hours just to know whether there is or not."
"Sorry, Kip, I got distracted. What did you say?"
"I said, it's just about here."
"The end of Zeroa. The big crunch of the only known universe anybody in it ever knew about, and now, it seems, ever will."
"I thought you said we had 420 mots."
"I thought you said you got distracted."
"Touche." And it was here that my brain exploded with a migraine of epiphanies and brain dead input mechanisms. The two splinters seemed like they had gotten stone dead drunk and passed out while thinking about making out in an empty philosophy classroom. Things spun, flished, flushed, jumped, blinked, swam, slurshed, and then then there was only white.
Piq expected something different, but everything was the same. In the room was a very pretty yet bored looking young woman. Or at least she seemed young. She also seemed old. Timeless, ancient, youthful, and generic. Yes, Piq silently thought, definitely generic. What would be her attire if any Zeroans wore any seemed a surreally generic mix between a casual t-shirt and gap jeans, a magical feathery medieval wedding dress, and the tekicka battle armor of the female paladins of Old Kroffonia. It looked like she had just picked them up at an Okuakan generic clothing store at the center of the known universe. The young woman smiled a welcoming smile, just standing there with a dumb friendly look on her face as if she'd been waiting for all eternity for that door to open. Her eyes faintly glowed with a curiosity that betrayed the rumor of her infinite wisdom that she herself hadn't quite known who would walk through it.
Ah, yes, now I remember. It was just like this last time.
Again, again, repeat that feat; algorithm shmalgorithm; if, then else. I remembered the quote from studying the Generikan texts, passed down from the Old Old World of Kroffonia, from a Generikan frangle. The whole room seemed to blink awake and frown at the quote, at the speaking of anything at all in fact, as if enjoying a perfectly silent and still 877 billion year slumber, then awakening for the first time by the morning alarm of the loud beeping of an infinitely large truck backing up nearby carrying a load full of Philosophy 101 books and final graduate theses of a nearby Arts & Sciences University. The next exchanged thoughts between the two people in the room mot have seemed to flow very quickly, or at least been indefinitely prolonged, had they not.
So, it's that time again.
You always say that, Piq.
I suppose you always say that, too.
...Or I mot have had I not.
Let's cut to the chase, shall we.
Not much else to do.
In fact not much point in saying anything at all, is there?
And then--due to absolute accumulation of full abysmal cumulative boredom of the 877 trillion year progression of Okuaka--something happened Piq never would have expected in a million years. Things suddenly swished and blinked and flushed again, and then sploarshed into the very dead end ending of a polar inverse Final Phylo of Zeroa frwoa novella start-end of which some friter had actually put much more thought into than the dull and cliché Matrix lines of the above dialogue pretty much going nowhere. Incidentally, in the friter murder trial of boring freeners to death with the weapon of utter retarded laziness, the classic "Douglas Adams" defense was used of the medical condition of ADHD being necessary to portray any kind of rambling story whatsoever. The trial, of course, never concluded due to the understandable laziness of the friters friting the trial frwoa, the same ones who originally brainstormed the following potential ending to a lengthier version of the first Zeroa frwoa novella on the back of an idea for a screenplay called "The Title of This Screenplay Was Brainstormed On the Back of a Classified X-file called 'The X Angle Files.' "
Why, Piq, if only there were extra time to spend together. What a joy it would be to go find a memory of an old Earth Nintendo console and play that old Metroid game we always loved to play.
That sounds a delightful idea, old friend. I remember its ending was your favorite of any interactive frwoa in the universe. When Samus's helmet is finally removed, and the guilt ensues that we had just assumed something quite prejudiced about our main protagonist.
And yet it all makes sense at that point. Who better to go through the entire progress of all there is to go through yet again than a type of person with more intimate knowledge of life and birth and death than an old boring man such as myself could ever have? Who better than a woman--intimitely familiar with birth itself--to hit the end of the only game she's ever played, wait for her user to hit reset, shrug, then begin the whole damn thing again.
Except with the usual tendency of a slightly more attractive sprite to power-game a little the second time having picked up a few new tricks.
Yes, I certainly think that would be a pleasant afternoon. If I was not so old, Piq, and hence tired of such games, I would certainly make it a point to invite you out on such an occasion again.
Consider it a rain check, old friend.
A rain check of about 530 trillenia, if memory serves.
I shall hold my breath and never blink.
The enveloping white foggy limbo of the final moments of our corner of Zeroa frowned with a threat of floating right up to us to inform us the bar is closed, you know, and if you stay here much longer I'm going to have to call the authorities. Then endless, timeless, penultimate puffs and huffs of mindless thought pondering how exactly to begin the process of thinking itself into a corporeal existence, twirled and swirled and uberhurled all about, Robert Frostily mashed in the goopy debate of whether to choose the road of learning fire1 or ice1 first when thought finally solidifes into the fantasy console games that Mr. Pash and I'd bathed in the nostalgia of just now. It was a collective swirling consciousness smashed of dignity of full kuic royalty down to a whining needy toddler of little use until it got older and developed exponentially more brain cells. Excited, yet scared. Confused, yet all-knowing.
It seemed to diminish from the infinite to the infinitesimal and gaze upward toward a colorblind sky infinitely higher than itself that it was too egotistical to have noticed was there. The gaze into infinity seemed like a portal to anywhere. That if thought just concentrated hard enough, it could erase its own past and whisk itself away to anywhere else where someone was similarly staring with a dumb introspective look up at the sun or sky or clouds. Two similar points in infinitely dimensioned space that allow the traversal of the perception of one to the other, by any and/or all and/or none of the infinite paths one could take there; all traveled and trampled, and/or never quite lived before.
As it committed ambivalently to choosing one--as the entirety of Zeroa shut its eyes and drifted off to a sleepy daydream of brewing the coffee, making the donuts, initializing some Z++ headers, and internally debating what exactly pi should be this time around--Mr. Pash and I were allowed one final exchange of words, at least for what would be a few hundred billenia if time had not been shut down long ago.
A final thought, Piq, I must know, purely out of an ambivalent curiosity, what was really in that room?
Nothing fancy, Mr. Pash. Nothing worth speaking of.
Yet I must know.
It was simply a simple artifact, what might as well have been some old Earth yard sale item.
Come now, surely any historical frwoa documentary hovering about would require slightly less of a mystery at the conclusion of all there is, to get any more than a few people to tune in.
You forget, sir, that the ultimate and final conclusion that all Zeroa have all now svice and thrice proved, is that everything is just sort of in the middle of things, just as we theorized at the very beginning of this frwoa. To conclude anything profound here and now would be an apocalyptic hypocrisy.
Q.E.D, End of Line, and touche. Yet, I'd still like to know anyhoo. Just for the record.
All the surviving souls in Zeroa but us two had now thunk aboard their respective final trains of thoughts to anywhere, and the fog actually was now calling the authorities. We shrugged and were allowed the last two lines always spoken in the last seconds of the forgotten leap year between the end of the only known universe anyone has ever known known as Okuaka and the dawn of time.
"Ms. Piq, if the end of time is truly worth the wait, then I must have an answer to the only question that will be on my mind for the rest of eternity."
"Why, Mr. Pash, in the room at the end of oblivion was just an old wall mirror.
|Xangles > Frangles > Zeroa > Novella Z1|