Chapter Four - The Monolith Walker
Raspintillius took a liking to me, and I began to copy his refined talking style. I kicked my lessers in their disgusting teeth and hoarded their possessions as my own. Some of the men even above Raspintillius kept watchful eyes on me while I stomped on little people throats, and I took pride in it, knowing that they felt threatened at my growing importance. I began to wear socks, and the comfort was so neat that I decided I would stop at nothing to collect as many socks as I could. I soon realized that one sock provides maximum comfort anyways, but I was so embarrassed that I had stolen so many socks that I decided to keep stealing to keep up my image. Either way, I reasoned, I needed backup pairs in case my socks were lost. Yes… I took great comfort in the knowledge that I was good. And I finally knew wear. All the while, I had invested heavily in myself, so with every new possession of mine, I profited. The “stock market” is what Raspintillius called that deal, and I liked it, so I kept slashing throats and putting lethal socks on people so I could take their stuff and so my value would increase. He said I was “making a killing,” and I reasoned that all the dead folks would say the damn same.
Raspintillius and I had made it about halfway up through the line when we came across the first of many monoliths in the line. These were square, angular formations, made of crystal, I suppose, and towering hundreds of feet above the ground. Their secrets were supposed to “lighten” whoever could figure them out, and the Mister supposedly liked it when his subjects were light. I suppose I can agree to that; I certainly don’t want any fat people wasting all our precious air. That air’s for us skinny folk, and they should find their own air to breathe. But the monuments were impossible to climb for ordinary blokes, and only one person within our sight had ever reached the secrets at the top: Azraxbior Quavoxitrintintillius - the monolith walker.
“Azraxbior, here. Pleasure to make your acquaintance, wee one. You can call me Azaraxabiorex for long,” he suggested. I particularly enjoyed that nickname, and after a few seconds, it was so warm and flew off the tongue so smoothly that I just about forgot his original name in the first place. It was incredible to watch him work. The monoliths could not be climbed, but he didn’t let that get in his way. He called it “manipulation of perspective.”
“You see, Sqiquo, it all has to do with perspective. That’s what this world is really about. The grand conundrum. The marvelous impediment that allows for reality - defines it, even - and inhibits comprehension. If I am to exist, then I only exist in my own perception. I am certain only in the knowledge that I can perceive, but there is no certainty in the existence of anything beyond my own ability to perceive that existence. Indeed, you see, what I sense is a construction of my mind. There exists no color - only messages from my brain to my consciousness telling me to perceive what I’ve come to call ‘color.’ There exists no sound - only what my brain instructs my consciousness to perceive as ‘sound.’ I can be certain of the concrete existence of nothing beyond my own awareness, for all senses and all perceptions are created by the self, and it is therefore possible that nothing at all exists, and that the mind is deceptive, creating a virtual universe in which we believe that we live.
“But, happily, the converse is also true. If I can perceive something, then it exists; or, at least, it exists as concretely as any other perception of mine - as concretely as my body exists, and as concretely as the Earth exists, and as concretely as anything tangible exists. But it is not enough to pretend to perceive that existence; I must convince my own mind to deceive itself. My conscious mind must temporarily supersede my unconscious mind for long enough to convince the unconscious to believe in that perception, despite the necessary skepticism of the lying conscious, and, furthermore - and here is where the complication emerges - the conscious mind must then forget that it has fooled the unconscious; once such a detachment occurs, and once the conscious mind is unaware of the supposed untruth - that is, an untruth in the sense of the traditionally accepted boundaries of physical nature, or, for that matter, laws in any sense - then the deception will be realized in its entirety, and the discrepancy between belief and possibility will melt away, for the unconscious will know - unbeknownst to the conscious - that there is no strangeness in the supposedly impossible act, and, therefore, perception will become synonymous with truth and reality.”
“Ah, but you aren't buying it! No, you're no fool. You want proof!” Azaraxabiorex approached the monolith - what must have risen two hundred feet into the sky that it penetrated - with an arrogant sneer. This one was a rectangular prism, jutting straight up out of the earth. With one maneuver, he entered the clear, doorless walls. With another, he stepped to the monolith’s top. From up in the clouds he called down at the amazed crowd, and wonder tickled the drippling saliva of the open-mouth folk staring up at the impossibility.
Azaraxabiorex returned to the ground a little sweaty but overall much unchanged, and his young eyes beamed with the answers to a thousand questions. I didn't bother asking; somehow I knew he was gonna reply anyways.
“You see, Sqiquo, it is all about perspective. The belief in a reality - and that alone - consolidates its existence,” he chimed.
“Sir, that was all mighty fancy, but there must be some mistake -” I began.
“Mistake? A mistake! Ho! What is a mistake but a schism betwixt truth and society? Mistake! A mistake in whose eyes? Certainly not mine own, and if I define my personal reality, then it is society that is mistaken, confused in erroneous ideology that places its values above those of the individual. The mind decides in truth, and the mind develops reality,” Azaraxabiorex interrupted. “Sqiquo, imagine this scenario for me. Space and time, directly related to each other in an xy plane. Yes? Flatly laid out, so that our horizontal axis is space, and time exists vertically. Acceptable?”
“I suppose so,” I reasoned.
“Indeed. Now, suppose that space exists in beyond one dimension, as it does. Suppose we add a second layer of dimensionality. Perhaps a third; a rectangular prism, if you will, eh Sqiquo?”
“I don't see why not.”
“Any object,” he continued, “lies within this rectangular prism - this infinitely sized prism - somewhere in each of the three dimensions of space. All points in our xy plane, therefore, while appearing flat, can be expanded into a rectangular prism located somewhere on our vertical axis. When our horizontal points in space are translated into points in time, the rectangular prisms also extend vertically, into an essentially infinite void of time. Are you with me thus far?”
“I suppose I am, but I'm not sure what any of this has to do with the monoliths,” I replied, a tad irritated at his nonsense.
“Well, Sqiquo, imagine I were to decide on two points in our rectangular prism of space. Suppose I were to decide on this point right here, where we are standing, and suppose I were to also select that point, on the very top of the monolith. Now suppose I ceased my perception of the depth of the prism. Suppose I decided that there existed no third dimension in space, and that all objects now existed on a flat rectangle, within the same horizontal plane.”
“Now hold on there, that doesn't make sense. How can that exist in only two dimensions if I can see three? Gosh, I can feel three with my own two fingers!” I retorted.
Raspintillius took a liking to me, and I began to copy his refined talking style. I kicked my lessers in their disgusting teeth and hoarded their possessions as my own. Some of the men even above Raspintillius kept watchful eyes on me while I stomped on little people throats, and I took pride in it, knowing that they felt threatened at my growing importance. I began to wear socks, and the comfort was so neat that I decided I would stop at nothing to collect as many socks as I could. I soon realized that one sock provides maximum comfort anyways, but I was so embarrassed that I had stolen so many socks that I decided to keep stealing to keep up my image. Either way, I reasoned, I needed backup pairs in case my socks were lost. Yes… I took great comfort in the knowledge that I was good. And I finally knew wear. All the while, I had invested heavily in myself, so with every new possession of mine, I profited. The “stock market” is what Raspintillius called that deal, and I liked it, so I kept slashing throats and putting lethal socks on people so I could take their stuff and so my value would increase. He said I was “making a killing,” and I reasoned that all the dead folks would say the damn same.
Raspintillius and I had made it about halfway up through the line when we came across the first of many monoliths in the line. These were square, angular formations, made of crystal, I suppose, and towering hundreds of feet above the ground. Their secrets were supposed to “lighten” whoever could figure them out, and the Mister supposedly liked it when his subjects were light. I suppose I can agree to that; I certainly don’t want any fat people wasting all our precious air. That air’s for us skinny folk, and they should find their own air to breathe. But the monuments were impossible to climb for ordinary blokes, and only one person within our sight had ever reached the secrets at the top: Azraxbior Quavoxitrintintillius - the monolith walker.
“Azraxbior, here. Pleasure to make your acquaintance, wee one. You can call me Azaraxabiorex for long,” he suggested. I particularly enjoyed that nickname, and after a few seconds, it was so warm and flew off the tongue so smoothly that I just about forgot his original name in the first place. It was incredible to watch him work. The monoliths could not be climbed, but he didn’t let that get in his way. He called it “manipulation of perspective.”
“You see, Sqiquo, it all has to do with perspective. That’s what this world is really about. The grand conundrum. The marvelous impediment that allows for reality - defines it, even - and inhibits comprehension. If I am to exist, then I only exist in my own perception. I am certain only in the knowledge that I can perceive, but there is no certainty in the existence of anything beyond my own ability to perceive that existence. Indeed, you see, what I sense is a construction of my mind. There exists no color - only messages from my brain to my consciousness telling me to perceive what I’ve come to call ‘color.’ There exists no sound - only what my brain instructs my consciousness to perceive as ‘sound.’ I can be certain of the concrete existence of nothing beyond my own awareness, for all senses and all perceptions are created by the self, and it is therefore possible that nothing at all exists, and that the mind is deceptive, creating a virtual universe in which we believe that we live.
“But, happily, the converse is also true. If I can perceive something, then it exists; or, at least, it exists as concretely as any other perception of mine - as concretely as my body exists, and as concretely as the Earth exists, and as concretely as anything tangible exists. But it is not enough to pretend to perceive that existence; I must convince my own mind to deceive itself. My conscious mind must temporarily supersede my unconscious mind for long enough to convince the unconscious to believe in that perception, despite the necessary skepticism of the lying conscious, and, furthermore - and here is where the complication emerges - the conscious mind must then forget that it has fooled the unconscious; once such a detachment occurs, and once the conscious mind is unaware of the supposed untruth - that is, an untruth in the sense of the traditionally accepted boundaries of physical nature, or, for that matter, laws in any sense - then the deception will be realized in its entirety, and the discrepancy between belief and possibility will melt away, for the unconscious will know - unbeknownst to the conscious - that there is no strangeness in the supposedly impossible act, and, therefore, perception will become synonymous with truth and reality.”
“Ah, but you aren't buying it! No, you're no fool. You want proof!” Azaraxabiorex approached the monolith - what must have risen two hundred feet into the sky that it penetrated - with an arrogant sneer. This one was a rectangular prism, jutting straight up out of the earth. With one maneuver, he entered the clear, doorless walls. With another, he stepped to the monolith’s top. From up in the clouds he called down at the amazed crowd, and wonder tickled the drippling saliva of the open-mouth folk staring up at the impossibility.
Azaraxabiorex returned to the ground a little sweaty but overall much unchanged, and his young eyes beamed with the answers to a thousand questions. I didn't bother asking; somehow I knew he was gonna reply anyways.
“You see, Sqiquo, it is all about perspective. The belief in a reality - and that alone - consolidates its existence,” he chimed.
“Sir, that was all mighty fancy, but there must be some mistake -” I began.
“Mistake? A mistake! Ho! What is a mistake but a schism betwixt truth and society? Mistake! A mistake in whose eyes? Certainly not mine own, and if I define my personal reality, then it is society that is mistaken, confused in erroneous ideology that places its values above those of the individual. The mind decides in truth, and the mind develops reality,” Azaraxabiorex interrupted. “Sqiquo, imagine this scenario for me. Space and time, directly related to each other in an xy plane. Yes? Flatly laid out, so that our horizontal axis is space, and time exists vertically. Acceptable?”
“I suppose so,” I reasoned.
“Indeed. Now, suppose that space exists in beyond one dimension, as it does. Suppose we add a second layer of dimensionality. Perhaps a third; a rectangular prism, if you will, eh Sqiquo?”
“I don't see why not.”
“Any object,” he continued, “lies within this rectangular prism - this infinitely sized prism - somewhere in each of the three dimensions of space. All points in our xy plane, therefore, while appearing flat, can be expanded into a rectangular prism located somewhere on our vertical axis. When our horizontal points in space are translated into points in time, the rectangular prisms also extend vertically, into an essentially infinite void of time. Are you with me thus far?”
“I suppose I am, but I'm not sure what any of this has to do with the monoliths,” I replied, a tad irritated at his nonsense.
“Well, Sqiquo, imagine I were to decide on two points in our rectangular prism of space. Suppose I were to decide on this point right here, where we are standing, and suppose I were to also select that point, on the very top of the monolith. Now suppose I ceased my perception of the depth of the prism. Suppose I decided that there existed no third dimension in space, and that all objects now existed on a flat rectangle, within the same horizontal plane.”
“Now hold on there, that doesn't make sense. How can that exist in only two dimensions if I can see three? Gosh, I can feel three with my own two fingers!” I retorted.
“Ah, but remember the value of perception, my student! Remember that those senses are constructed by your own belief in their validity! Should you convince your mind that there exist only two dimensions, then so it must be! But, anyways, back to our rectangle of space. Related with time on an xyz scale, we have now formed one three dimensional object - again a rectangular prism, but now our prism encompasses time as its third dimension, rather than a third dimension of space. Now, all of our perceivable dimensions compose this prism. But here’s the trick: you must detach your consciousness from your physical self. Remove yourself from the scene; become a passive spectator of this prism, relieved of the constraints of your body. Can you see it, Sqiquo? Can you manipulate your perception enough to separate it from its physical chassis?” His voice twinged with excitement, and his lips curled into a confident smirk.
I could see it. Yes… It was beautiful! Perception… It was an operation of its own! It did not need my body to survive. Azaraxabiorex knew what I had seen, and he kept on.
“There is an angle, Sqiquo! Find that angle. There is one value of theta - one golden measurement - that melds into one the corners of the dimensions - the juncture of a theoretical maximum vertical space and x horizontal space and that of a theoretical minimum vertical space and x horizontal space - on opposite ends of the three dimensional prism of spacetime. If such an angle is perfectly achieved, then one can traverse theoretically infinite vertical space with a mere step through horizontal space! We can reach our second point - which we defined as the top of the monolith - through a single, miniature movement from our first point - which we selected to be here on the ground. Any manipulation of the dimensions of this prism is possible; junctures between vertical space and theoretical maximum and minimum times could mean that jumping a certain vertical distance would result in travelling years - perhaps decades, centuries, eons - through time! Only our own creativity in the arrangement of these dimensions limits the possibilities! Squiquo, harness your perception! Walk the monolith!” His voice boomed now, louder than ever before. He believed in me. But it was my own perception that mattered.
“There is an angle, Sqiquo! Find that angle. There is one value of theta - one golden measurement - that melds into one the corners of the dimensions - the juncture of a theoretical maximum vertical space and x horizontal space and that of a theoretical minimum vertical space and x horizontal space - on opposite ends of the three dimensional prism of spacetime. If such an angle is perfectly achieved, then one can traverse theoretically infinite vertical space with a mere step through horizontal space! We can reach our second point - which we defined as the top of the monolith - through a single, miniature movement from our first point - which we selected to be here on the ground. Any manipulation of the dimensions of this prism is possible; junctures between vertical space and theoretical maximum and minimum times could mean that jumping a certain vertical distance would result in travelling years - perhaps decades, centuries, eons - through time! Only our own creativity in the arrangement of these dimensions limits the possibilities! Squiquo, harness your perception! Walk the monolith!” His voice boomed now, louder than ever before. He believed in me. But it was my own perception that mattered.
I closed my eyes, detached my perception, and believed. I flattened the walls, found an optimal angle, and touched them both. I was crying now, shocked at what I had done; the inches between my fingers and thumb, stretched across a twenty foot gap! My feet trembled as they took the step around the walls. I was inside. I was laughing then, but I forgot to hear myself, for the secrets were near! And with another step, when I opened my eyes, I stood at the top of the monolith, victorious, grinning.
Now the secrets! But there was nothing but my reflection from the crystal monolith. I heard muffled screams of approval below; they were from Azaraxabiorex, thrilled to see me walk like only he could.
“By golly, son, you've done it! Haha! Oh, Sqiquo! The secret is yours! In fact, it is you! Sqiquo, it was you all along! The secret of the monoliths! For do I exist without your belief in me? To you, no! To you I am nothing but an illusion! And perhaps that was all I was ever meant to be. Perhaps your mind created me to reveal your secrets to you. Perhaps you know more than you know! Haha! Bravo, son!” he shouted up at me from the ground, hundreds of feet beneath me. But I was not above him. He was always better than me, I realized. He would not be chosen by the Mister, for he relented too much, and his interests were in the collective. Only the individual can survive in the line. Only the selfish, the civilized, the violent, the tyrannical. But he wanted my success, and he wanted to "lighten" the masses. He was better than the men up front, I knew, but our society would deem him a pawn - a mere cog in the grand machine, never destined to rise above the rest. He was too good to be the best.
Now the secrets! But there was nothing but my reflection from the crystal monolith. I heard muffled screams of approval below; they were from Azaraxabiorex, thrilled to see me walk like only he could.
“By golly, son, you've done it! Haha! Oh, Sqiquo! The secret is yours! In fact, it is you! Sqiquo, it was you all along! The secret of the monoliths! For do I exist without your belief in me? To you, no! To you I am nothing but an illusion! And perhaps that was all I was ever meant to be. Perhaps your mind created me to reveal your secrets to you. Perhaps you know more than you know! Haha! Bravo, son!” he shouted up at me from the ground, hundreds of feet beneath me. But I was not above him. He was always better than me, I realized. He would not be chosen by the Mister, for he relented too much, and his interests were in the collective. Only the individual can survive in the line. Only the selfish, the civilized, the violent, the tyrannical. But he wanted my success, and he wanted to "lighten" the masses. He was better than the men up front, I knew, but our society would deem him a pawn - a mere cog in the grand machine, never destined to rise above the rest. He was too good to be the best.
I held the secrets in my palms now. I was the monolith walker, and walk I would - on the heads of my lessers - on the throats of the defeated. The next monolith stood taller than this one, and a few hundred ground-dwellers were in between the two structures. Azaraxabiorex had never known what he would create in me, for I would not relent. I would meet the Mister, and I would live.
I mentally placed the second monolith on the same plane of space as the first. One hand touched each monolith now - a gap of about a half mile - and I stepped across. A roar of outrage came from the wimps I had just passed, but I was too civilized and urbane for them to contest my place. I screamed and bled from my voice, and mucus trickled into my open mouth.
"I am lightened! I am lightened! I know the secrets of the monolith! It has forgotten you! You are beneath me!" I blasted. My veins popped, and my chest heaved with every rich breath. I socked a challenger in the jaw, and his blood stained my knuckles. I kicked one in the groin and shattered his knee before stomping on his defeated nose. My hands sliced into the necks of two onlookers, and I squeezed their vocal cords into a pulp, holding on until the black crept into their eyes. This was civilization! This was life! Oh, I was finally moving! I was somebody! I was Sqiquious Twillzospyon - the Monolith Walker - and the Mister would see me soon.
I mentally placed the second monolith on the same plane of space as the first. One hand touched each monolith now - a gap of about a half mile - and I stepped across. A roar of outrage came from the wimps I had just passed, but I was too civilized and urbane for them to contest my place. I screamed and bled from my voice, and mucus trickled into my open mouth.
"I am lightened! I am lightened! I know the secrets of the monolith! It has forgotten you! You are beneath me!" I blasted. My veins popped, and my chest heaved with every rich breath. I socked a challenger in the jaw, and his blood stained my knuckles. I kicked one in the groin and shattered his knee before stomping on his defeated nose. My hands sliced into the necks of two onlookers, and I squeezed their vocal cords into a pulp, holding on until the black crept into their eyes. This was civilization! This was life! Oh, I was finally moving! I was somebody! I was Sqiquious Twillzospyon - the Monolith Walker - and the Mister would see me soon.