Through Yonder Fractured Window Breaks

Through Yonder Fractured Window Breaks

Somewhere, in a Noir Far, far Away . . .

With special Guest, as Earl, Bread of

Sandwich : Harry Persiflage &

starring Special, special Guest

Rosa Herrings Galore

with unique Assistance ;

her Sisters in the roles as

the 5 Muses of the Moore

so let us Now join the Story

Lest, quoth these Scrawls, e'er more . . .

Chapter 49 : Blue Dawn Breaks, or, Fate Fatale Only Rings Twice

The message lazily flashing black and white on the display before them suggested pushing any key, and so, chest heaving heavily and undismayed, Mairead reached and did, finally, as it beckoned.

Only after acting did she glance over to the panting Sam to verify his approval. Well, it needed doing anyways, now that they had both come, each having expended so much hard effort, and all they had to show for it was on display here in this cold room they had ran to. Was it possible they were being watched? . . . ? . . . ?? The screen seemed to suddenly shrink to a point of pure light ; all that the mind could detect of the rapid process that were the collapsing sides of the cube, seeming to distort in the hurry to get on with things. A wavvy rectangle briefly condensing to the bright center of the old-fashioned CRT and then, from that seeming white-hot point, one could almost imagine an audible 'pop' as it re-emerged - re-erupting from its point of creation as form and a rainbow of colours as an image stabilizing to fill the screen.

The word announced ' Welcome ' as an aged, gentle continence materialized from off screen, turning out of focus from some distraction and then coming into sharp relief as a man came before the link's camera, and pulled into view an already smoking pipe trailing twining helical ropes of bluing smoke, a device which he proceeded to smoothly insert between full, smiling lips.

' Looks like an aged 'Bob' Dobbs, ' whispered Sam sideways to Mairead, shuffling self together.

The voice continued, growing from a slow start - low in timbre, almost rumbling ' I am so glad you both came. I hope you didn't find it too hard - I'm sure you have many questions and - here - are answers, even if it may take a while for you to find any particular one, the librarians, so to speak, being on strike, even if they watch religiously. '

' Well, ' whispered Mairead out of the side of the mouth, a skill she had been practicing with help of late of her phone's camera, ' minus the coif and with a bit more gleam on top. But the pipe sure matches. ' as she straightened herself, reviewing all she had been down to in the last minutes.

' Now ', the Host continued, unabated, ' I believe the protocol, were we in some corporate hell of quotidian, tedious meetings, would be the round robin of introductions. '

Sam and Mairead swiveled necks and met eyes. Then in unison, their attention went back to the images unfolding on the screen mounted on the wall before them. The cave-like entrance of the sub-basement they had entered, the cellar door as forgotten, slowly closed silently shut, sans any iron handle as was found outside, the shifting winds on the surface, finally getting their desire.

' First, call me Jack as that is close enough to whom and what I am - and this is indeed une pipe! We can derive your nicknames later once we know another better. But, obviously, I have the advantage on you, as personae dramatis of some limelight, with bios that can thus be read and studied and snippets such as photos of an existence glimpsed as escaping the private and gracing various social media. So in the interest of time, as I know who you are generally, allow me to introduce my self to you and, with time eventually behind us, you shall share what you believe is important with me, in return.'

the Host continued, after pausing to let this sink in, to allow the reverberating minds of Sam and Mairead, barely caught up in their breaths, to process.

' Obviously, I am not who you think I am - at least what little you might have gleaned off the web. Opportunities arrive when you least expect and off one is pulled by some vortex, in a direction one never imagined as even possible. So, I set off, my craft underway, with what I had in hand including kids to finish raising and half-scaffolded dreams of Art and writing, now that I was necessarily retired and, frankly I was becoming rather tired. And bored, yes, that is also true - but mainly tired after a long slog. These days I be sure to get my beauty sleep . ' Was that a wink?

Jack paused to look at each of his guests, directly gazing into their eyes somehow, through the magic of technology of digital communications, even if the CRT was a rather steampunk-inspired touch, thought Sam.

' My history : ' and here Jack took his time to ensure his audience was sufficiently caught up as to be awaiting, briefly ' is so commonplace as to be urbane, but definitely not urban : born, and reared and then bored again in the Middle parts, planted with roots in the native soils, I somehow escaped the local vampires of complacency - of simply fitting in and teen pregnancies or suicide by drunk driving. Born somehow in motion, I jettisoned myself and, after my questions took me around the globe, I now live in the parts known as New England, right next to Strawberry Lake - if,' he continued - ' as the old joke goes, you call that livin'. ' A wry smile coursed across the flickering visage as Jack took another, deep draw on the pipe. After a New York second, his lungs let exude a slow luxurious cloud of particles marking the flow of his breath.

' A key element is that in the process, however : I wrote a doctoral thesis in Biology at some point, from an illustrious alma mater no less, and have explored much of the art including the faulty systems manifest in human disease. My specialty of explorations in earning my daily bread : that of neurodegeneration and other aspects of the human neurological system. But before these more cerebral noodlings, I studied deeply the fundamentals, diving into the details of our forebears and commensals guest, the bacteria, and understanding concepts in DNA, genetics and especially biochemistry and biophysics. And one conundrum, in particular, a minor mountain I scaled in understanding, was how mother nature takes the random vacillations of energy and converts such stochastic randomness to directed work. How She gets her will and way done with the available raw materials, full of potential, but undirected. Think of clocks : at heart, a wheel abiding the flow of time, the so-called timing wheel. But only going back and forth - creating nothing unique or otherwise useful. But, if you keep feeding it, tiny bits of energy can be extracted from this wheel, just going back and forth, to push the hands of time on the face of the clock, only going forward. That is what I investigated : the relationships in the enigmas of these fundamental molecular machines that keep our cells up to date, moving forward in time and thus alive. '

Again, a pause - but our Heros were still struggling to find the holds on such threads and how such related to the wild ride they had just been on. Was this all some sort of jest? Which of her friends had sufficient love for her . . . was it Subpop Pound? No one was a better or more creative card cheat, but sufficiently subversive to create this experience? Such was all Mairead was capable of forming in her mind as islands of coherent understanding to be immediately rejected as not stable enough to stand upon. As for Sam, he was starting to slip backwards, reviewing what had brought them to this place, when Jack interrupted his thoughts, luring him back :

' The rest, as they say, whoever they are, is hysteresis, and is why we are here. And about time. '

Jack, taking advantage of the slack jaws, plowed on : ' time enough for questions whenever you put something together articulate and sufficiently compelling that you need to ask. Otherwise, on we go forward in the story : but we shall switch our topics - from me, to allegories. '

' Wait! ' interjected Sam ' I thought this was about the Maths and Physics, the missing pieces? That is why Mairead and I are here, that is . . . our specialities? '

' It is among the reasons that you are here, yes. But mathematicians and physicists are as carrots, a dime a dozen - you have so much more to offer. OK, let me put what we do here in scope, dream a bit about what can we accomplish, as that is your mission, should you choose to accept. '

' Mission!?, ' now the flow of Jack's narrative was broken by Mairead ' you mean, like a quest? I'm not sure why I am here other than keeping this dork next to me out of trouble. '

' You are absolutely free to do whatever you desire with what I give you. That is the concept, in its entirety. Look, let's get to the quick : in consideration of the holiday season and other reasons, let us update the choice - red or green. And, we will do the modern and invert our usual connotations, like phat with a "Ph, duh" or "sick" with excitement ' as a quick chuckle escaped from Jack. ' So, imagine two pills before you - the red allows you to Go!, go forward and to see the world much more accurately. With the usual accompanying initial vertigo, I'm afraid! - so don't blow your horn too quick, even if you don't tend to seasickness. Red is also, however, the ur-colour of temptation and royalty. The green as blue, filtered through yellow, stops the insights and back you go to whatever had you mesmerized. Simply, turn now and leave, push the green button below if you like, and the screen will switch to static and thus yield more drama from your decision. Go back to your academic and other self-centered pursuits! and all of this will fade as memory and seem rather more like an over-baked dream. '

Mairead and Sam both held still, weighing the moment for what seemed an eternity.

' So, you are free to go. But, before you make any decisions, I beg you : allow me tell you the tale of mythical maths that contain much power and can launch progress and must simply be our future. That becomes so very obvious, at some juncture. These are the basic relationships of numbers, fundamental ones, that allow and guide our experiences and hint at so very much more. These are maths we have extreme difficulty in seeing ; they are blind spots in our mental vision. Now, as such, this represents Knowledge that can free or likely as well enslave. In our oldest myths, we see the cautionary whales of lessons. In one, I am a snake and your roles convenient, full of youthful spirit and no costumes even required. Come as you are! However, I prefer the tale of Prometheus in at least I get sympathy and robes look good on me and they let the breeze in. Regardless, these are the warnings that we can work with as our first learnings. And is why you are here - I am an omnivore! ' adding after what seemed liked an overly dramatic pause ' I even eat chicken liver when we slaughter the feathered, modern dinosaurs! '

' That's offal irony ' quipped Sam to a chorus of ' ugh! 's from Mairead; catching up Jack, clearly now totally engrossed in conveying his story, who took a moment to think.

' Yes, it is ' Jack agreed, ' and ever so delicious together with the hearts and gizzards, chalk full of essential minerals as you say and truly awful, I suppose to some ', ' - an acquired taste, one imagines - ' his voice waxing more dreamy and husky ' but with a dash of rosemary and together with a nice Alsatian riesling or a nice crisp brut ciser, 'tis quite toothsome. It is an old family tradition - the post-slaughter feast . . . '

Sam took the opportunity to whisper to Mairead ' I'm getting hungry - did you bring snacks? ' and Jack was pulled back from his distraction.

' So, where was I?, ' Jack wrestling a bit, found the threads again of the narrative and ignoring the basic wisdom of not tugging on such, forged ahead anyway ' ahh, having my liver pecked for eternity by an angry, avenging eagle, for my decisions that are inevitable in my moralities - that is a real possibility I consider and thus, I want to hedge my bets. '

' Yeah ' summerized Mairead concisely ' you would be toast, like my friend that brought the bodice-ripper to the Librarian-Off. Well, when I say, "friend" ; rather, was. To be fair, in her defense, she did say she took it as literature-ally . . .' ' Ooof, ' sympathized Sam of the singular mind ' that would be as stinky as using Munster for the cheesy layer in the middle! ' adding ' are there any dolphins in this story? Is it necessary to have a porpoise at all? '

' No! well, now there are and Yes! Right!' struggling to right the vehicle they were in, Jack went ' on to the point. We are here to fashion no less than - the way forward out of a myriad of possibilities. And to try to figure out, crucially, how to do such with the least harm. Imagine ways to open eyes and accelerate discovery and development of solutions to our most pressing challenges. I have the keys to do this . . . but if I do this wrong, much harm can be done to not just institutions - for these I care not - but for people. Disruption and inherent danger for innocent folks. '

' That is the boat of knowledge we are in, the reality of this existence we, you and I, find ourselves in. A boat adrift, that we need to figure out how to steer. The way I like to think about it? Robin Hood engages with the Pirates of the Caribbeing who happen to be on their way to a soiree at Camelot. All props wooden, of course, safety first, last and in the middle too, no bunny gets hurt and all that. '

Sam was still dreaming of carbs and salt and worst case, fruit, when for some inexplicable reason the strange thing "Ruby due!" came to his thoughts, as Mairead was contemplating whatever a gizzard are while Jack simply interpreted the silences as enrapturement and thus, finding an opening, plunged back into his meandering but purposeful story.

' Pandora's box tells us a paradox : how could she have known without opening, what the actual dangers are? But I see the lesson more on the importance of order of opening doors. And if you understand - truly have intuitive grasp of the Monty Hall concept of how opening doors stacks fate in your favour - than you understand the need to open many doors. But timing and order of opening is everything and that is what we are here to devise : the origami of this. Imagine and craft ways and paths forward for dangerous knowledge that will light the way of the future. '

' Let's look at one more historical allegory before we craft one of our own, consider that allegory, and then I will show you. I will give you a glimpse of the maths, on that, you can count. That our covenant. I will satisfy your curiosity and you will be amazed at what I can conjure out of nothing. The asymmetry that arises in an entirely symmetrical and most simple maths system when overlaid on the constraints of our IRL experience. If you seek here, groot among these rather ragged remains of once mighty architecture, you will find all you need. The rest, naturally follows - it will come to you naturally. So seek, and ye shall find - another fundamental aspect of the universe that you shall experience. Start to trust your gut and instincts more, as I know from where they arise. '

The two listened with increasing bewilderment but clearly intrigued.

' I don't know your thoughts on religion, ancient and less so - how they intersect your life and give uniqueness to each our journey - but their documents hold many clues. As example, consider the Book of Genesis where you will eventually be able to read the fundamental maths and physics in plain text. But it contains as well, perhaps the greatest known allegory of all, that of Eden. And the thing about Hebrew is that it is perhaps an example of a divine language that some prior promethean dropped, ooops. It has complexity in that each word can be read as a sentence derived from the letters. And each letter itself derived from a hieroglyph that contained an entire allegory within. The information density of such a script, as language, is deep, as you can imagine. And the poetry can take a lifetime to decipher and if a poet wants to be truly challenged, then craft palindromic such poetry, as after all . . . the maths of creation are perfectly symmetrical. '

' So, the allegory of Eden can be considered both ways. What if, for example, if this, here, is Eden and the true knowledge yet hidden. The crafty serpent tricked the woman and all that is around is to keep us safe and innocent. Because, perhaps, what is possibly out there, makes all this good and evil stuff look trivial. Or, perhaps equally, gives us the space to sort such complexities out before the next challenge. Get our heads in the right mindset for what comes next down the road. The playground, thus, for what kind of experience? What fury is back there, with that tree? '

Sam took Mairead's outstretched hand and they took a collective breath standing there. So focused they were on staying up with the implications of the tale Jack was crafting, there was the danger of swaying from distraction.

Jack continued ' and now, our final allegory, all shiny and new, the one we craft, like chrome : '

' Imagine, if you will, you go exploring in some derelict urban hell, a place that is only inside and has no access to direct sunlight. No pure, unadulterated information or energy or light - whichever you will. Your standard generic cave-and-wall-projection allegory. And you stumble upon some poor pale creature coveting gold rings or whatever; happy in their ignorance and reveling in what they have been told is of relevance. Proud of their great cities, perhaps, built, under the veil of not wanting to see a brighter and broader, much more interesting, possible way. '

' Are you with me, so far, ' queried Jack, taking the opportunity to prop himself again, drawing on an object that was also an image. Both Sam and Mairead nodded, becoming mesmerized.

' To keep it simple, let's then set our allegory, thus, at the local abandoned mall, perhaps the Starcourt Mall and all the ice cream long ago melted, the Pleiades 7 no longer projecting - you look up and all hangs strange and inside, the ceiling tiles dripping as brown-stained stalactites. Through an open, broken window, you find yourselves exploring. Seeking something. Perhaps its seems you desire backdrops for your selfies, so exploring you go . . . and you stumble upon a poor soul who was born and evolved in it's bowels and has never seen the sun. And you are filled with compassion and so the selfies can wait. ' The image on the screen took a minute to gather thoughts and then continued ' so now obviously, as a compassionate and good person, you take them in your soft, gentle and certain hand outside, to see the sun and all they are missing. Now, what must you first tell this innocent soul? What do they need to know, before anything else?'

' Don't look at the sun! ' exclaimed Sam and Mairead nodded her head in agreement.

' I'm glad we all agree. Although, I would parse it thus, as I know the future a bit, of this allegory. Don't stare at the sun. Glance ever so briefly and then think about what you cannot see nor do you want to gaze at directly. As a kid, we called it hot-gravel-in-the-eyes, for those who ignored the warnings and watched welding, the arcs as bright and merciless as the un-filtered sun. Glance if you will, but don't stare. Stare directly at someone welding and the pain teaches and eventually time will heal the wounds and the lessons will be learned. It's a simple and effective, natural process and the lesson transcendent in that any words of warning may in future be better heeded. '

' We are all analytical here, you - Sam, Mairead and I as well - and so you want details of the why we cannot look directly at the maths. The why it behooves to practice not looking. Because that is the direct translation of the allegory to the skin of our story here. And, as a proper allegory, the lesson transcends the first layer of understanding. The allegory also reminds you that the universe is built not just of what you observe, but the voids as well. The outlines which appear bare. Cosmologists figured that out in their sponge models of where to find mass as star systems and where they exist not. In the sea sponge, the voids allow feeding of the inner spongieverse. Space sacrificed for long term benefit in that what comes around, goes around. '

' First, however, we consider the reasoning, for us, on why to approach some knowledge carefully, especially if it has inherent power. Remember my gradual studies? Biology and neurology? The human brain, which is our interface with reality or even any higher reality, has to be built somehow and these maths are the natural maths that let the universe spring forth. Efficient and powering any possible existence that we experience here, they also are necessarily built on the subtle grain of reality. And so our brain and neurological architecture flow along those grains just as the sponge grows. All is well, unless you stare and spend too much time on those maths. One simple way of understanding is simply that you become lost in your thoughts, literally. The maths are necessarily modular and every scaling practically identical. There are no sign-posts, zero lamps to revelate your way out of the labyrinth. ' A long break took it's time while Jack relit his pipe. ' You are, of course, aware of the stories, all the apocrypha around logics and maths and madness. To say nothing of eccentricities. ' as a quick smile flirted across the face.

' It is as the Rapture of the Deep but without scuba tanks or anoxia - just a comfortable chair, a pipe and a glowing fire to stare at. Enticing beauty as your sensual and aesthetic selves are seduced by sirens of pure, unadulterated knowledge waiting to be drunk in and so deeper you go. Simply meditate too long on modular infinities, concepts most brains are not wired to cope with, and your trip could be seconds in your pure white thoughts and years for your friends and family. I should know, ' Jack's eyebrows did a caterpillar wiggle of ambiguity. ' I came back because they needed me and I could discern their concern. It was but heaven - a moth to flames. And the recovery, as bends here on dry land, does take a while. ' ' ahhh ' the air held pregnant, almost as if Jack were embarrassed in exposing too much of himself when he needed to keep striving.

' Was it . . . very beautiful? ' came Sam's question, like a mist quavering and slitherin' o'er a moor.

' It was . . . as slurping tea . . . but extraordinary . .!. . with the Queen of Netherlands . . .' came Jack's words, more tripped than tumbling off his twisting tongue, tasting the tease of memories.

Mairead plowed deep in her imagination, brow - plucked - but furrowed, considering the shape of a rising sun hanging above an orange fractal horizon when she came back up in her thoughts and hastily clearing her mental deck with a quick sweep, she gushed ' the other, the other lesson here!'

' Word!.' let go Sam, face purple, still standing stiff and erect!.' what else is here pointing the way?'

Jack seemed to stare past them on the monitor and took the seconds of time to get into the swing again before engaging the next topic. ' It has to do with the voids. What we don't observe in this picture. If we go back to the allegory of the Mall; for example, who built the mall and who let it go abandoned for us to so find in such a state, like a euphemism, tired -- flogged a bit too long. '

' I thought the Maths built themselves . . .' interjected Mairead, handily helpful as hoping eternal.

' Yes and no - and so many buts to consider lying betwixt ; regardless, some Entity arranged the reality of the Mall - even if just me in crafting the allegory. We are here, in a reality where these maths are cryptic, at least to most. They allow an understanding of an experience that we have here, only filtered. And so one always has to wonder - who else knows? and if they know, why don't they share? What are the powers behind such? what do they know . . . that we do not?'

' We have to assume this knowledge is not limited to me and what I can thus share with you - and I will fully, as promised. You will understand all I do, in your own way and time. Each will have their own unique journey of understanding. And, the more you understand, the more you might withhold from even me - perhaps I too will need to find out things on my own so as to not burn my eyes! !! My concern is only who might want to keep us from such freedom and insights . . . '

At this point, Jack suddenly leaped from the screen, a blue trail of smoke the only hint he had been there. A muffled shout and noise indicate events were happening out of their ability to observe with only the cryptic 'They Live!', a shout penetrating the confusion from someone's voice and. Suddenly. the lights in the concrete room they occupied, died along with the power, in an instant, and they were plunged into blackness and the screen image once more swallowed greedily by the glowing point, seeming at end like an angler fish from the deep with a wisp of a lure.

' darn!, ' exclaimed Sam, his facing loosing the red ' I never got to ask him if he was scared. '

Mairead, quick to the pragmatic ensuring en route her towel was still flattering her fabulous figure, reached her hand into her capacious pockets to retrieve her phone, flicked the light & glanced at the time. She looked at Sam and took a deep, seemingly bottomless breath and came back with a splash of consciousness as reality sunk back in. Here they were : it was 8 o'clock in the morning! In the bowels of the abandoned seaside taffy factory, scheduled to demolished that very day, and they didn't know the way out! So no matter how cool he looked, Mairead reached over, grabbed the sunglasses, so very unnecessary an accessory in the underground, and yanked them off Sam's face, revealing his cerulean eyes, the pupils seeming to shrink, the more his irises seemed to glow!

' Time to face our pickle-dicklement here ' she proclaimed! the only way being forward . . .

to be continued . . . assuming Jack survives . . . and likely so, even if he doesn't . . . JSM 7:49 pm January 7, 2022 . . .

Heaven, as Depicted by Yeshua, 2019