Please Stop And Look Here
By Russ Bickerstaff
At last I have found it. Hopefully it will stay there for long enough for me to get at it. Hopefully the eyes scan this text long enough for me to get at it. It would be a shame to finally come across it and have the eyes dart off towards something else the way eyes so often do. Yes. I do believe that the eyes have come to rest here. I will go to work instantly. It shouldn’t take long. Less than ten minutes or so I should imagine. The important thing is that the eyes come to scan these words long enough for it to happen.
I suppose I should come to explain things. I will do so perhaps for no other reason than to keep things calm while I do what must be done. Really is pretty remarkable to have run across it today. I really had no idea I was going to be able to do it at all. Enough time had passed that I had begun to wonder. And now here I am. And now here it is. Strange.
These words written here--hanging here on this glowing screen are merely a part of me bumping into the world of the yes which are reading these words. They are impressions made in the vague patterns of dust settling somewhere in the closet of infinity or some such. Very difficult to explain. In any case, the part of me that these words are is but a small fragment of the everything that I am. These words rest here the way a hand might rest on a tabletop. . . temporarily but in a sense forever as all time exists and once and all that nonsense.
(Now where is it? I know I saw it in there somewhere. Couldn’t have gone far. It’s somewhere behind those eyes.)
Eyes that would be reading these words the way eyes do tend to be attached to an intelligence that sees things in a linear fashion. And what with these words being constructed to be coded in a linear fashion, it’s safe to say that the eyes rolling over these words belong to one who would tend to see time in a relatively simple way. In a sense I suppose that I’m going to have to engage that intelligence long enough to get what I’m after. It’s only polite.
I don’t know, though. It seems rather odd to say hello to the intelligence behind the eyes. So I’m not going to. It wold feel all too strange. But I have to continue to engage the intelligence in some way, so I suppose an explanation is in order.
(Where was I? Ah--there it is. Hiding behind a few other ideas. Come here, little one. Come on.)
Yes: I am a complex consciousness that views the rest of everything in a rather complicated way. All time exists at once. Everything that has ever happened or ever will happened is all out there. And being afflicted with a rather complicated way with which to perceive it means that things get lost. Everything that is hangs in the space around me at once. Here I have been and here I will always be right along with everyone else of my kind.
(I’m not doing a terribly good job of explaining myself, but at least the eyes are still here. Starting to coax it out anyway. Not too much longer now.)
All things are floating there in the big miasma of everything with all of us and all of those incapable of seeing all of it. (These words ARE so limiting. Almost laughably difficult to get it all across left to right like this, but I’m not REALLY trying to get it all across with any degree of fidelity so. . .) So anyway I was just there with everything else when I spotted something that I absolutely adored. Never saw anything else like and never will. It’s out there. But somewhere along the line it vanished in the huge roiling mass of everything.
Now, one would think that, what with everything being as big and infinite as it is, one little bit of it . . . one tiny, little fragment of it would be inconsequential. This would make perfect logical sense. As any intelligence would be quick to point out, however, logic is only a small fraction of what intelligence is. Any intelligence that would consist solely of logic would cease to be an intelligence. It’s those little irrational qualities that define it. And so I saw something that I loved. Instantly fell in love with it. It was a shiny little idea that filtered and flitted through various intelligences. It’s there and it’s everywhere like everything else, but it’s floating around through so much of everything like so many other ideas and it’s only now that I’ve found it settled-down enough to allow me a chance to coax it out into the open where I can get at it.
And there it is--timidly emerging from where those eyes are. It had come to rest there. Kind of remarkable that the intelligence behind those eyes didn’t take better stock of what it had. Had it known just what kind of an idea it had come to be home for, it would certainly have held onto it. That’s the problem with the more linear consciousnesses--so limited in understanding of things. So much subconsciousness in the periphery of perception. And the intelligence behind the eyes that are reading this had no idea what it had. Of course there are other issues. Holding onto this delicious little idea is going to be difficult. I believe it may have already escaped my grasp and replaced itself with some kind of less than sparkling facsimile of itself. And once again perfection is still out there. Nothing left to do but wrap up these words I suppose.
Oddly enough, I have a strange desire to say goodbye to the intelligence behind the eyes reading this. Thank you for your cooperation. We must catch up some time. Perhaps between thoughts in a crowded room somewhere. Now if you’ll excuse me, I really must get out of here. All of this left to right/words reflecting ideas thing. It’s giving me a headache.
- - -
Russ Bickerstaff is a theatre critic and aspiring author living in Milwaukee, Wisconsin with his wife and two daughters.
By Russ Bickerstaff
At last I have found it. Hopefully it will stay there for long enough for me to get at it. Hopefully the eyes scan this text long enough for me to get at it. It would be a shame to finally come across it and have the eyes dart off towards something else the way eyes so often do. Yes. I do believe that the eyes have come to rest here. I will go to work instantly. It shouldn’t take long. Less than ten minutes or so I should imagine. The important thing is that the eyes come to scan these words long enough for it to happen.
I suppose I should come to explain things. I will do so perhaps for no other reason than to keep things calm while I do what must be done. Really is pretty remarkable to have run across it today. I really had no idea I was going to be able to do it at all. Enough time had passed that I had begun to wonder. And now here I am. And now here it is. Strange.
These words written here--hanging here on this glowing screen are merely a part of me bumping into the world of the yes which are reading these words. They are impressions made in the vague patterns of dust settling somewhere in the closet of infinity or some such. Very difficult to explain. In any case, the part of me that these words are is but a small fragment of the everything that I am. These words rest here the way a hand might rest on a tabletop. . . temporarily but in a sense forever as all time exists and once and all that nonsense.
(Now where is it? I know I saw it in there somewhere. Couldn’t have gone far. It’s somewhere behind those eyes.)
Eyes that would be reading these words the way eyes do tend to be attached to an intelligence that sees things in a linear fashion. And what with these words being constructed to be coded in a linear fashion, it’s safe to say that the eyes rolling over these words belong to one who would tend to see time in a relatively simple way. In a sense I suppose that I’m going to have to engage that intelligence long enough to get what I’m after. It’s only polite.
I don’t know, though. It seems rather odd to say hello to the intelligence behind the eyes. So I’m not going to. It wold feel all too strange. But I have to continue to engage the intelligence in some way, so I suppose an explanation is in order.
(Where was I? Ah--there it is. Hiding behind a few other ideas. Come here, little one. Come on.)
Yes: I am a complex consciousness that views the rest of everything in a rather complicated way. All time exists at once. Everything that has ever happened or ever will happened is all out there. And being afflicted with a rather complicated way with which to perceive it means that things get lost. Everything that is hangs in the space around me at once. Here I have been and here I will always be right along with everyone else of my kind.
(I’m not doing a terribly good job of explaining myself, but at least the eyes are still here. Starting to coax it out anyway. Not too much longer now.)
All things are floating there in the big miasma of everything with all of us and all of those incapable of seeing all of it. (These words ARE so limiting. Almost laughably difficult to get it all across left to right like this, but I’m not REALLY trying to get it all across with any degree of fidelity so. . .) So anyway I was just there with everything else when I spotted something that I absolutely adored. Never saw anything else like and never will. It’s out there. But somewhere along the line it vanished in the huge roiling mass of everything.
Now, one would think that, what with everything being as big and infinite as it is, one little bit of it . . . one tiny, little fragment of it would be inconsequential. This would make perfect logical sense. As any intelligence would be quick to point out, however, logic is only a small fraction of what intelligence is. Any intelligence that would consist solely of logic would cease to be an intelligence. It’s those little irrational qualities that define it. And so I saw something that I loved. Instantly fell in love with it. It was a shiny little idea that filtered and flitted through various intelligences. It’s there and it’s everywhere like everything else, but it’s floating around through so much of everything like so many other ideas and it’s only now that I’ve found it settled-down enough to allow me a chance to coax it out into the open where I can get at it.
And there it is--timidly emerging from where those eyes are. It had come to rest there. Kind of remarkable that the intelligence behind those eyes didn’t take better stock of what it had. Had it known just what kind of an idea it had come to be home for, it would certainly have held onto it. That’s the problem with the more linear consciousnesses--so limited in understanding of things. So much subconsciousness in the periphery of perception. And the intelligence behind the eyes that are reading this had no idea what it had. Of course there are other issues. Holding onto this delicious little idea is going to be difficult. I believe it may have already escaped my grasp and replaced itself with some kind of less than sparkling facsimile of itself. And once again perfection is still out there. Nothing left to do but wrap up these words I suppose.
Oddly enough, I have a strange desire to say goodbye to the intelligence behind the eyes reading this. Thank you for your cooperation. We must catch up some time. Perhaps between thoughts in a crowded room somewhere. Now if you’ll excuse me, I really must get out of here. All of this left to right/words reflecting ideas thing. It’s giving me a headache.
- - -
Russ Bickerstaff is a theatre critic and aspiring author living in Milwaukee, Wisconsin with his wife and two daughters.
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