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“An oddity follows, a small circular ball of plasma drops from the ceiling of the Newara, for some reason Zara goes to catch it in her hands, “Whoa,” she juggles it, thinking it’s hot, but it’s cool to touch. The orb levitates up to face her.
“Hi Zara.”
“Rohza?”
“In the flesh.”
“Holy moley! You’re a real life will-o’-the-wisp.” Zara says, her face lit up from Rohza’s flickering light.”
― Zara Hanson & The Mystery of the Painted Symbol
“Hi Zara.”
“Rohza?”
“In the flesh.”
“Holy moley! You’re a real life will-o’-the-wisp.” Zara says, her face lit up from Rohza’s flickering light.”
― Zara Hanson & The Mystery of the Painted Symbol
“A lone wolf howls and the wind plays tricks with the howling giving the sound a mesmerizing quality...
‘Lone wolf howls at the great north celestial star… I am nothing it sings,
‘With the winds from the east,
‘The ghost army follows in the night,
‘Seen are wraiths, wisps of silvery dust, weaving waves in a sea of silken brocades,
‘And laid down the sleeping dragon is upon the land.”
―
‘Lone wolf howls at the great north celestial star… I am nothing it sings,
‘With the winds from the east,
‘The ghost army follows in the night,
‘Seen are wraiths, wisps of silvery dust, weaving waves in a sea of silken brocades,
‘And laid down the sleeping dragon is upon the land.”
―
“One morning, a young Taoist priest named Silent Thunder Ghost ran up mount Mianshan to see a Taoist Immortal. The trail was long and arduous, and along the way many perilous paths were obscured by the morning mists. Arriving at the mountain peak he found the one called He Who Hides in Clouds, trying to balance a twisted, gnarly wooden staff on top of his finger. 'Dry me a wooden mountain…' said the Immortal who then threw his staff at least a mile high into the sky, whereupon the sun seemingly appeared from nowhere sending golden beams of sunlight onto his face. 'If it was me, and that was my go at life, I don’t think I’d want to do it again,' he said laughing, then he looked at his visitor. 'You are here to tell me you are making progress no doubt, have you found the Tao?'
Unable to conceal his excitement Silent Thunder Ghost replied, 'I am no longer blind. I know the Tao and its ten thousand gifts. I live, I breathe, I see, I am life, I am the mountains, the morning dew on the trees, the moonlight reflecting in the lake, the starlight in my eyes, all these things are mine. My awareness is within me but reaches out to the furthest reaches of space.'
As soon as he said this the gnarly old staff fell back to Earth, whereupon He Who Hides in Clouds caught it deftly with one hand and went on to press the tip against Silent Thunder Ghost’s chest. The Immortal said, 'All things are yours except your heart… the Tao keeps that part all to itself.' And then he vanished quite slowly and as he disappeared Silent Thunder Ghost was left holding the gnarly old staff, wondering if the conversation had ever really happened at all.”
―
Unable to conceal his excitement Silent Thunder Ghost replied, 'I am no longer blind. I know the Tao and its ten thousand gifts. I live, I breathe, I see, I am life, I am the mountains, the morning dew on the trees, the moonlight reflecting in the lake, the starlight in my eyes, all these things are mine. My awareness is within me but reaches out to the furthest reaches of space.'
As soon as he said this the gnarly old staff fell back to Earth, whereupon He Who Hides in Clouds caught it deftly with one hand and went on to press the tip against Silent Thunder Ghost’s chest. The Immortal said, 'All things are yours except your heart… the Tao keeps that part all to itself.' And then he vanished quite slowly and as he disappeared Silent Thunder Ghost was left holding the gnarly old staff, wondering if the conversation had ever really happened at all.”
―
“Lone wolf howls at the great north celestial star… I am nothing it sings,
‘With the winds from the east,
‘The ghost army follows in the night,
‘Seen are wraiths, wisps of silvery dust, weaving waves in a sea of silken brocades,
‘And laid down the sleeping dragon is upon the land.”
―
‘With the winds from the east,
‘The ghost army follows in the night,
‘Seen are wraiths, wisps of silvery dust, weaving waves in a sea of silken brocades,
‘And laid down the sleeping dragon is upon the land.”
―
“Zara slowly reaches forward, touches the Tetragrammaton with her index and middle finger, nothing at first, then an odd sensation, a feeling of divine power and knowledge. “It’s beautiful,” a surge of information overwhelms her senses—she turns her palms face up, as she does they turn transparent to reveal the constellations, “I am that which is not, born from the imperishable stars.” With that said her skin transforms a dark blue, filled with a star-blue sky, photons of rainbow-light encircle her body; she stops dead, lifeless, in a suspended state of animation. Just then she finds herself above, looking down at the pyramid, at herself, the entire universe all stopped dead in single frozen moment of time. And then it is all gone, she awakes in another place, another time-line. Ancient Egypt. The Pyramids of Giza.”
― Zara Hanson & The Mystery of the Painted Symbol
― Zara Hanson & The Mystery of the Painted Symbol
“...and then the mysterious Elb appear to rearrange the very fabric of reality itself. They do not travel through the vast expanse, instead space becomes a cocoon as they weave the strings of the universe into a silken-case, only to break it open, emerging at their destination. A form of travel so inexplicable that the Eyt have not developed the conceptual awareness to even measure the basic mechanics of such phenomena.”
― Zara Hanson & The Mystery of the Painted Symbol
― Zara Hanson & The Mystery of the Painted Symbol
“Perhaps it’s fate,” Zara says, supping tonic-water from a beaker, “I just had the weirdest dream, but it seemed so real.”
“A dream?” Æther asks curiously, as he gives her more water, “Take your time.”
“It was vivid, so real,” she raises her eyebrows, “I was lost in it. It was like parts of me were scattered all over time itself. The past, future and present all in an endless causality loop, every moment co-creating slices of time.”
― Zara Hanson & The Mystery of the Painted Symbol
“A dream?” Æther asks curiously, as he gives her more water, “Take your time.”
“It was vivid, so real,” she raises her eyebrows, “I was lost in it. It was like parts of me were scattered all over time itself. The past, future and present all in an endless causality loop, every moment co-creating slices of time.”
― Zara Hanson & The Mystery of the Painted Symbol
“Maybe the aliens are looking for the civilisations that don’t send out the SETI signals.”
―
―
“I looked on in wonder, at seeing the magnificent sculptor at work when it noticed me, taking my cubic ship between its colossal fingers. Its giant wrist turned one way, then the other as its machine-driven eyes focused upon my darkling configuration. At that point I freely presented myself in humanoid form, stepping out of my ship, and with my mysterious abilities I levitated before him, offering my companionship. But it treated me like an insect, flicking me away with a giant fingertip. As I came to rest, stopping before another giant statue the other side of the hall—between which there lied a bottomless rift—a strange sensation ran through my mid-section, and as it did, launched from my ship was a bright sparkler. A fuzzy feeling I felt as it shot toward the giant being. As it touched the fingertip that hit me, it dissipated into nothingness… leaving the giant with half a severed finger and oozing from it a strange type of cosmic energy. A second bright sparkler quickly emerged from my ship, which seemingly communicated with the giant gaining control over its awareness. Once done, the celestial giant bowed before me, and carried on with its work.”
―
―
“A rare butterfly is born from the society that is chaotic. It was never going to exist any other way.”
―
―
“I have this recurring dream, in which I die thousands of unusual ways, but the real freak-on is I always wake up, still alive in my dream. Then I really wake up! In a cold sweat, heart pounding...”
― Zara Hanson & The Mystery of the Painted Symbol
― Zara Hanson & The Mystery of the Painted Symbol
“Lady Devanagari, with your beauty nothing can compare—not even the lotus bloom found in the outer clusters.” From behind his back, he presents one such flower to the giant automaton. With coy playfulness she waves her hand as if cooling her blushing face, having turned a Jovian red. Then, always in change, her exquisite complexion reverts to its natural sky blue...”
― Zara Hanson & The Mystery of the Painted Symbol
― Zara Hanson & The Mystery of the Painted Symbol
“In the celestial firmament the seed of infinity is sown in just one bubble in a never-ending cosmic ocean of causality. This great expanse gives way to entire universes and worlds within from which life is born, and from its evolved forms new-universes are shaped. New creations to be watched, but what if they are found wanting—who shall judge them—benevolent or malevolent beings, immortals, deities, the Gods?”
―
―
“When we see beauty, we’re seeing a part of ourselves, a reflection in time. Ask me the time, Zara.”
“What time is it?”
“It’s perhaps a time.”
“Perhaps a time, what kind of a time is perhaps a time?” Zara asks, somewhat curiously amused.
“The ‘that’ part, that’s the part of the kind of ‘perhaps a time’ we’re talking about.”
“What’s the ‘that’ part?”
“It’s the part found in anytime.”
“Anytime?” A confused look knits on Zara’s brow.
“Yes, ‘perhaps a time’ is ‘anytime’, but you need a place, ‘anyplace’ to find anytime.”
“Anyplace to find anytime? Do you have any idea how mad you sound?”
“Oh, it’s such a colorful thing this void of mine. It’s all sparkly, fluffy and light, twinned with the inevitability of life. Besides, I only sound mad when I’m ‘anywhere’, dear.”
“Where the hell is anywhere?” Zara asks, this time very confused.
“Sometimes it’s up, sometimes it’s down. Anywhere oh anywhere a place we sow confusion all around.”
―
“What time is it?”
“It’s perhaps a time.”
“Perhaps a time, what kind of a time is perhaps a time?” Zara asks, somewhat curiously amused.
“The ‘that’ part, that’s the part of the kind of ‘perhaps a time’ we’re talking about.”
“What’s the ‘that’ part?”
“It’s the part found in anytime.”
“Anytime?” A confused look knits on Zara’s brow.
“Yes, ‘perhaps a time’ is ‘anytime’, but you need a place, ‘anyplace’ to find anytime.”
“Anyplace to find anytime? Do you have any idea how mad you sound?”
“Oh, it’s such a colorful thing this void of mine. It’s all sparkly, fluffy and light, twinned with the inevitability of life. Besides, I only sound mad when I’m ‘anywhere’, dear.”
“Where the hell is anywhere?” Zara asks, this time very confused.
“Sometimes it’s up, sometimes it’s down. Anywhere oh anywhere a place we sow confusion all around.”
―
“Zara wakes to find herself one with the transcendental realm, outside of reality. And as she does the photonic realms become clearer to her. She chooses the most beautiful one. It is the land of Beautiful Immortal Sunset. Her eyes glow as she opens them finding herself standing alone on a cliffs edge and carved into the mountain side are images of Titans past. She breathes in deeply admiring the magnificence of the monuments when in the sky descending with the breeze a red phoenix appears amidst rainbow hues of light. As she lands flowers bloom all over the cliff and with the flowers a transformation as the bird becomes an image of Zara only far more beautiful. It is the one known as Beautiful Immortal Sunset.
“You are here to steal my power?”
“I am,” Zara replies warily, as the immortal walks around her as if gazing into her very soul.
“A world is born to what place or end?”
“It’s born in the mind.” As Zara replies she looks down with a look of awe realising she now stands upon the palm of the immortal’s hand; now a giant before her.
“And you. Are you born?”
“Only in the mind.”
“And what is the ultimate answer?”
Zara looks down, then up at the giant, “All questions are born in the mind, but the mind already knows the answers. It’s a game it plays with itself.”
“And what wins this game?”
“Experience.”
“And what is the mother of all ways?”
“A forgotten way.”
Beautiful Immortal Sunset raises her hand and holding Zara before her she smiles.
“The world never really begun Zara, nor will it ever really end. There is no one seeking and no one who becomes. This power you wish is yours, it always has been.”
―
“You are here to steal my power?”
“I am,” Zara replies warily, as the immortal walks around her as if gazing into her very soul.
“A world is born to what place or end?”
“It’s born in the mind.” As Zara replies she looks down with a look of awe realising she now stands upon the palm of the immortal’s hand; now a giant before her.
“And you. Are you born?”
“Only in the mind.”
“And what is the ultimate answer?”
Zara looks down, then up at the giant, “All questions are born in the mind, but the mind already knows the answers. It’s a game it plays with itself.”
“And what wins this game?”
“Experience.”
“And what is the mother of all ways?”
“A forgotten way.”
Beautiful Immortal Sunset raises her hand and holding Zara before her she smiles.
“The world never really begun Zara, nor will it ever really end. There is no one seeking and no one who becomes. This power you wish is yours, it always has been.”
―
“Your life is far worse than you think it is because your mind hides all the bad stuff from you.”
―
―
“Next up is the Elb of Fire and Fusion, it phases in front of them. Its entrance is impressive, for under its translucent shell an orbital symmetry, as one by one it mimics the atoms of the heavy elements. A surreal animation. “< This Elb has only one sin to list, the greatest of them all—nuclear annihilation. Behold the future winds of change. >” The set changes to a view from the international space-station, the entire crew looking through the window at the beauty of Gaia, but something amiss can be seen in their expressions. A grave seriousness that something is aloof, foreboding. “< I give you mutually assured destruction. As you can witness… >” From the space-station the planet Earth is viewed. A serene blue marble, peaceful, passive, when one of the crew points to a white spot, then another. More follow, leading to a chain-reaction, as the blue planet appears to twinkle in space. The whiteness hails the day of reckoning. “< This is the possibility which man makes certain. What say you Zara Hanson, seeing this glimpse of man’s future? >”
― Zara Hanson & The Mystery of the Painted Symbol
― Zara Hanson & The Mystery of the Painted Symbol
“There is a tale, you really wish to hear it?”
“Yes, we want to hear it!”
“This I’ve got to hear,” Fez says, downing another shot of green-mist. Æther tells the tale…
“It is the late nineteenth century, the last days of the Silk Road in China,” he grabs his staff and stomps it to the ground. “It was a time of great change on Terra, but the old ways still flourished—the ways of the warrior!
“Now a merchant’s caravan was making the perilous journey along the Silk Road accompanied by bodyguards, an infamous Chinese boxer and his band of brothers. Stopped in their tracks they did, on seeing from the west a strong wind picking up, a sandstorm brewing. Unseen by the travellers, high in the sky a flying saucer flew overhead—the Yún! In the distance it landed, then no sooner had it started, the sandstorm began to dissipate, as if it had never been. The sand cloud cleared to reveal a lone figure, a Grey. The Ascetic known as Oracle of the Four Winds. The one that never dies, whom for the sake of this account we shall call Lives-a-long-time.
“The story goes on to tell how Lives-a-long-time held up a hand for the caravan to stop, upon which the leader dismounted from his camel, and said to the Ascetic, ‘What is it you want demon, you dare to stop Wang-Yin?’ ‘I do!’ said Lives-a-longtime, at which Wang-Yin roared: ‘Then prepare to taste my ironpalm heavy-as-the-world!”
― Zara Hanson & The Mystery of the Painted Symbol
“Yes, we want to hear it!”
“This I’ve got to hear,” Fez says, downing another shot of green-mist. Æther tells the tale…
“It is the late nineteenth century, the last days of the Silk Road in China,” he grabs his staff and stomps it to the ground. “It was a time of great change on Terra, but the old ways still flourished—the ways of the warrior!
“Now a merchant’s caravan was making the perilous journey along the Silk Road accompanied by bodyguards, an infamous Chinese boxer and his band of brothers. Stopped in their tracks they did, on seeing from the west a strong wind picking up, a sandstorm brewing. Unseen by the travellers, high in the sky a flying saucer flew overhead—the Yún! In the distance it landed, then no sooner had it started, the sandstorm began to dissipate, as if it had never been. The sand cloud cleared to reveal a lone figure, a Grey. The Ascetic known as Oracle of the Four Winds. The one that never dies, whom for the sake of this account we shall call Lives-a-long-time.
“The story goes on to tell how Lives-a-long-time held up a hand for the caravan to stop, upon which the leader dismounted from his camel, and said to the Ascetic, ‘What is it you want demon, you dare to stop Wang-Yin?’ ‘I do!’ said Lives-a-longtime, at which Wang-Yin roared: ‘Then prepare to taste my ironpalm heavy-as-the-world!”
― Zara Hanson & The Mystery of the Painted Symbol
“She cries out loud while nobody listens.
But those who find her may sleep well at night,
Lost in the butterfly dream.”
―
But those who find her may sleep well at night,
Lost in the butterfly dream.”
―
“There lies a universe untold,
In endless reflections of star lit eyes”
―
In endless reflections of star lit eyes”
―
“Where there is life, there is love. For it is Love with her eternal kiss that makes a life worth living.”
―
―
“One morning, a young Taoist priest named Silent Thunder Ghost ran up mount Mianshan to see a Taoist Immortal. The trail was long and arduous, and along the way many perilous paths were obscured by the morning mists. Arriving at the mountain peak he found the one called He Who Hides in Clouds, trying to balance a twisted, gnarly wooden staff on top of his finger. “Dry me a wooden mountain…” said the Immortal who then threw his staff at least a mile high into the sky, whereupon the sun seemingly appeared from nowhere sending golden beams of sunlight onto his face. “If it was me, and that was my go at life, I don’t think I’d want to do it again,” he said laughing, then he looked at his visitor. “You are here to tell me you are making progress no doubt, have you found the Tao?”
Unable to conceal his excitement Silent Thunder Ghost replied, “I am no longer blind. I know the Tao and its ten thousand gifts. I live, I breathe, I see, I am life, I am the mountains, the morning dew on the trees, the moonlight reflecting in the lake, the starlight in my eyes, all these things are mine. My awareness is within me but reaches out to the furthest reaches of space.”
As soon as he said this the gnarly old staff fell back to Earth, whereupon He Who Hides in Clouds caught it deftly with one hand and went on to press the tip against Silent Thunder Ghost’s chest. The Immortal said, “All things are yours except your heart… the Tao keeps that part all to itself.” And then he vanished quite slowly and as he disappeared Silent Thunder Ghost was left holding the gnarly old staff, wondering if the conversation had ever really happened at all.”
―
Unable to conceal his excitement Silent Thunder Ghost replied, “I am no longer blind. I know the Tao and its ten thousand gifts. I live, I breathe, I see, I am life, I am the mountains, the morning dew on the trees, the moonlight reflecting in the lake, the starlight in my eyes, all these things are mine. My awareness is within me but reaches out to the furthest reaches of space.”
As soon as he said this the gnarly old staff fell back to Earth, whereupon He Who Hides in Clouds caught it deftly with one hand and went on to press the tip against Silent Thunder Ghost’s chest. The Immortal said, “All things are yours except your heart… the Tao keeps that part all to itself.” And then he vanished quite slowly and as he disappeared Silent Thunder Ghost was left holding the gnarly old staff, wondering if the conversation had ever really happened at all.”
―
“Master Wang is a strange fellow. He’s full of riddles. I have no idea why I’m his only student. I like Meizhen though, we did some watercolor painting today. I miss you Dad.’ Zara reads her diary entry, and as she does a memory plays out in her mind, in the Wang family courtyard in Beijing…
Meizhen demonstrates the technique, her slender but steady hands painting the tree before them, when she stops dead in her tracks gazing at two birds in the tree. “Look Zara, look at those two birds, see how one hops from branch to branch tasting the fruits. Tell me, what do you see?”
“Birds, I see two birds.”
“Good, but the bird on the highest branch, see how it simply observes the other bird flittering to and fro. It just watches.” Meizhen breathes in deeply and smiles, her eyes widen, “See that! The lower bird just stopped in its tracks to take a look at the higher bird watching; as if it had seen a mirror image of itself. Tell me, if one of those birds was dreaming it was the other, which one would it be?”
“I think it’s the higher bird dreaming the life of the lower bird—” Zara pauses for thought— “Meizhen, does the Universe dream up the life of the higher bird?” Meizhen smiles at Zara, giving her an affectionate hug, “The Universe as we know it, is as we are—think of it like a never-ending painting.”
“So, the Universe paints itself?”
“I suppose it does, Zara. I suppose it does.”
―
Meizhen demonstrates the technique, her slender but steady hands painting the tree before them, when she stops dead in her tracks gazing at two birds in the tree. “Look Zara, look at those two birds, see how one hops from branch to branch tasting the fruits. Tell me, what do you see?”
“Birds, I see two birds.”
“Good, but the bird on the highest branch, see how it simply observes the other bird flittering to and fro. It just watches.” Meizhen breathes in deeply and smiles, her eyes widen, “See that! The lower bird just stopped in its tracks to take a look at the higher bird watching; as if it had seen a mirror image of itself. Tell me, if one of those birds was dreaming it was the other, which one would it be?”
“I think it’s the higher bird dreaming the life of the lower bird—” Zara pauses for thought— “Meizhen, does the Universe dream up the life of the higher bird?” Meizhen smiles at Zara, giving her an affectionate hug, “The Universe as we know it, is as we are—think of it like a never-ending painting.”
“So, the Universe paints itself?”
“I suppose it does, Zara. I suppose it does.”
―
“Some very smart people say mathematics are imbedded into the universe. Metaphysics would have us view mathematics as a result of our minds interpeting the universe:
A representation of the universe takes place in time and space, taking place inside your mind, telling you about an idea (of a representation) of the nature of time and space taking place inside your mind.
It's all mind.”
―
A representation of the universe takes place in time and space, taking place inside your mind, telling you about an idea (of a representation) of the nature of time and space taking place inside your mind.
It's all mind.”
―
“She’s coming…” Fez says, taking several steps backwards as he gazes up.
“Fez, who was you just talking to?” Rohza asks, with an inquisitive yellow glow.
“The stones, Rohza, the stones.”
“Uncertainty. There is thought… I do not believe these stones can talk. How can I know their interaction with you truly exists?”
“I don’t think that thinking necessarily proves existence, Rohza. And even if thought proves that I am, I can always think that thought is not actually thought. Therefore I am not what I think and not what I am.” Fez traces the shape of a pyramid with his finger, “The universe leaves secrets sown within its structure Rohza—known only to a few—allowing those with access to such knowledge to hack the simulation.”
“But Fez, my analysis indicates an inexplicable link buried deep within your psyche. It’s as if a higher form of entangled telepathy exists between you and the Erebus, one that you are unaware of.”
“Ahh, but how do you know that isn’t just what the simulation wants you to perceive?”
“Calculating. Oh no! That would mean we are all part of an entity, a machine so advanced that there is no conceptual awareness to even conceive what such a higher-level essence would be like.”
“We’re all machines, Rohza… subject to the will of God.”
―
“Fez, who was you just talking to?” Rohza asks, with an inquisitive yellow glow.
“The stones, Rohza, the stones.”
“Uncertainty. There is thought… I do not believe these stones can talk. How can I know their interaction with you truly exists?”
“I don’t think that thinking necessarily proves existence, Rohza. And even if thought proves that I am, I can always think that thought is not actually thought. Therefore I am not what I think and not what I am.” Fez traces the shape of a pyramid with his finger, “The universe leaves secrets sown within its structure Rohza—known only to a few—allowing those with access to such knowledge to hack the simulation.”
“But Fez, my analysis indicates an inexplicable link buried deep within your psyche. It’s as if a higher form of entangled telepathy exists between you and the Erebus, one that you are unaware of.”
“Ahh, but how do you know that isn’t just what the simulation wants you to perceive?”
“Calculating. Oh no! That would mean we are all part of an entity, a machine so advanced that there is no conceptual awareness to even conceive what such a higher-level essence would be like.”
“We’re all machines, Rohza… subject to the will of God.”
―
“Device against self, self beside device,
An idea about life,
Imitations of this, imitations of that,
Very funny life.”
―
An idea about life,
Imitations of this, imitations of that,
Very funny life.”
―
“As time passes, words are said in the right way
For it is Time with her eternal gaze,
And subtle gifts that make right a world.”
―
For it is Time with her eternal gaze,
And subtle gifts that make right a world.”
―
“No one ever sees a phoenix painting words,
Thoughts echo a wasteland:
songs by fate given a heart,
the indifferent let the unpolished shine,
'Get nothing, give nothing, receive nothing,'
The way is lost.
'Maybe this is the one,' no one knows.”
―
Thoughts echo a wasteland:
songs by fate given a heart,
the indifferent let the unpolished shine,
'Get nothing, give nothing, receive nothing,'
The way is lost.
'Maybe this is the one,' no one knows.”
―
“Leave the train!”
More soldiers meet Fez and his loyal companion, “This way,” one shouts, “step into the circle!” Fez glances down, at a large circle scribed into the ground, and walks into the centre with Gnash skittering in behind him, at which point he addresses the soldiers.
“Did you know the philosopher Gurdjieff wrote about his encounters with the Yezidis—how he once saw a Yezidi boy distraught, struggling to break out of a circle drawn in the ground by other boys. Try as he might the boy just couldn’t step outside of the circle. The other boys teased and taunted him until Gurdjieff erased part of the circle, whereby the boy was able to escape. Perhaps the philosopher wants us to think carefully about the Yezidis—perhaps you should think carefully about me.” Out of the floor a circular glass wall made of toughened glass shoots up, stopping at a circular lip in the ceiling, trapping them like a ship in a bottle. “A prison—how quaint, never been in a prison before. When do I get my medication?” No one answers, but Fez spies a security camera in the ceiling and stares into its lens. “You think that I think you can’t hear me, but I know that you don’t know I can.”
“What’s he on about?” one of the operators asks in the control room.
“Something about us hearing him.”
― Zara Hanson & The Mystery of the Painted Symbol
More soldiers meet Fez and his loyal companion, “This way,” one shouts, “step into the circle!” Fez glances down, at a large circle scribed into the ground, and walks into the centre with Gnash skittering in behind him, at which point he addresses the soldiers.
“Did you know the philosopher Gurdjieff wrote about his encounters with the Yezidis—how he once saw a Yezidi boy distraught, struggling to break out of a circle drawn in the ground by other boys. Try as he might the boy just couldn’t step outside of the circle. The other boys teased and taunted him until Gurdjieff erased part of the circle, whereby the boy was able to escape. Perhaps the philosopher wants us to think carefully about the Yezidis—perhaps you should think carefully about me.” Out of the floor a circular glass wall made of toughened glass shoots up, stopping at a circular lip in the ceiling, trapping them like a ship in a bottle. “A prison—how quaint, never been in a prison before. When do I get my medication?” No one answers, but Fez spies a security camera in the ceiling and stares into its lens. “You think that I think you can’t hear me, but I know that you don’t know I can.”
“What’s he on about?” one of the operators asks in the control room.
“Something about us hearing him.”
― Zara Hanson & The Mystery of the Painted Symbol
“This stream is the hip joint for quoting quotes that are forgotten at the end of a cup of coffee.”
―
―
