Bonfire Night. No fireworks for me, except for the ones I see when I close my eyes. You couldn't hear them anyway, not down here in the guts of this place. I haven't been outside in a week. Just run after run after run.
Sometimes I'm not entirely sure what time it is, or how old I am. I feel like I'm ninety, but Blake informs me I'm just shy of 25, just like I ought to be.The INDEX is coming together nicely. Initial estimates were off – it'll probably be up and running First Quarter next year.
Everybody underestimated the human capacity for connectivity. Not just externally, but internally. The truth is, outside of the confines of limitations, raw Experience is always in flux, metamorphosing from one thing into another.
Dream-logic's the most obvious way to describe it – when you're dreaming, you don't question the shifts and paths. You don't question a dog turning into a man turning into the moon turning into your lost love swimming in a silver sea, beckoning you Down.
The INDEX is going to have to be constantly updated. We always knew that, but I don't think anybody understood just how realtime it would have to be. I think Blake did, insofar as it can know anything, being just a computer programme.
We're at war here, but we're at war with something that keeps changing form. A fire that keeps burning, whatever we do; a dreaming night that is always different. Always Novel. You can't just wipe out the icons, or sanitise a portion of it, because they'll always re-emerge as something else.
Frantzen lent me The Art of War by Sun Tzu. I'd never read it before, but I'm glad I did now. I like Frantzen.
There's going to have to be eternal vigilance. Except, if you go Down deep enough, you know nothing is eternal. Nothing is constant, nothing endures. You can't fight Novelty. There, I said it.
[Five minute pause]
Well, look at that. I've not been arrested.
So yeah, we can't fight Novelty. But we can fight Virulent Novelty. Because they're not the same thing, not at all. Something I'm beginning to understand, something hiding in the centre of my brain. Something in my heart. Something I'm Sure of, no pun intended.
Maybe Frantzen would say the thing in my head is my pineal gland or some such [EXPLETIVE DELETED] but he works in Pharmacology and likes his subject.
The Thing, though – The Thing I can feel, hidden but moving? They checked me out in Medical but didn't find anything, said it might be psychosomatic. I couldn't stop grinning, because they're right – it is exactly that – but they don't know what it means.
Maybe I've gone Down too far, but I don't think so – I'm not going to pull a Campbell. Maybe I just know what the Enemy is, now. Dusty was right, we are hunters – though Dusty's gone now, sidestepped into politics. I'm told it's rather common. Next time I see him, he'll probably be a Minister Of Something Or Other.
And you know what? Good luck to him.